Page 12 of Sugar Baby

Successful with my mission, I wrap the folded towel around my thumb and scoop my phone back up. I’m not really sure what to do with the first part of their reply.

Also, talking about them in plural is oddly weird, yet not. Like, I know there are four of them, but it makes it seem like they are all on the same page. I wonder if there is one speaking on behalf of all of them, or if they are all sitting together, formulating responses.

I really hope it’s the second option.

SugarBB_Emmy:Yes, you would be my first daddies. Is that a problem?

SugarBB_Emmy:Have you ever shared a baby girl before?

I leave the thread open, not even caring that their message will come in as read upon delivery. I’m way too keyed up to wait for a notification, only to have to wait as I unlock my phone to get in.

Noting that the status under their username says they are typing, I force myself to eat a bite of my eggs while I wait for their reply to come through. I’m swallowing my second mouthful when their reply pops up, and the reason for the delay is evident by the lengthy message.

Brat4Us:It’s not exactly a problem, more of a concern. Are you sure jumping into the deep end is the best way to start your sugar baby journey? We don’t want you to get hurt. Do you think maybe exploring this lifestyle through some of the tamer date types would be a better idea?

Brat4Us:And to answer your question, no, we have not shared a baby girl before. We have yet to find the right one for us.

Brat4Us:We have shared women, but never in a baby girl/daddy dom setting.

My messy bun shifts as I wiggle in my seat. They’re concerned for me? Some random chick they’ve never met before, who could very well be some old fat dude sitting in the darkness of his mama’s basement, catfishing the shit out of them.

Why the hell do they even care? Is their concern fake? Something they think they should say? Like how you say “bless you” when someone sneezes because everyone within a ten-foot radius expects you to, but really, you couldn’t give two shits about the person’s soul?

The happy, squiggly feeling in the pit of my stomach is turning into something a little less pleasant and kind of uncomfortable. I decide to go with my version of the truth again.

SugarBB_Emmy:None of the other invitations interested me the way yours did. I’m not a virgin. Sex isn’t new to me. I might be young, but I know what I want. Yes, I’m nervous, but that has more to do with the sugar baby aspect of things than the idea of being with four men. I don’t want to make a mistake as a sugar baby. I’m thankful for your concern, but I don’t need it. You don’t know me, but I can assure you that I only do things that I want to do. If you are able to trust me enough to know my own mind, I am happy to continue exploring this thing with you, all of you. But if this is going to be an ongoing issue, I’d prefer to know now so that I can withdraw my interest and go try a few of the tamer, less interesting, invitations.

I hitsendbefore I can second-guess myself.

The uncomfortable feeling expands, compelling me to stand and traverse the tiny living room, doing laps around the couch and dining table while I stare down at the screen. My message is instantly onread, and I wish I knew what their faces look like, so I can imagine their expressions.

Are they pissed off that I stood up for myself? Did I just set myself up for failure? Ten thousand dollars and my life for atleast the next year is on the line here. If I truly have fucked this up, I’ll have to do what both they and Oakley suggested and accept three to four dinner dates a week, meaning it would take me months to make the same kind of cash they are offering.

Why waste all of that time, when I can make the same amount of money in a few short hours?

I’m staring so hard at the screen, it takes me a few seconds to notice that the little green icon next to the username has gone dark.

I blink. Then I blink again.

Well, I guess I did fuck this up.

Chapter 5

Emery

With music streaming from the loudspeaker on my phone, I wash the breakfast dishes while ignoring the heavy feeling in my stomach. It’s been over an hour since I sent my message. I’ve showered, cleaned up my room, and now I’m stress cleaning the fucking kitchen.

This is so far from my norm, it’s ridiculous.

I feel like one of those stupid women in a rom-com who is pinning after some dirtbag guy.

I don’t even know their fucking names, for god’s sake.

Urgh.

I throw the sponge into the last of the soapy water, the lack of dramatic splash only worsening my irritation.

A distraction is in order. Maybe I can look at more invitations?