Why is It...

 

Broke people (men in particular) are always so f*cking charming?

The (ex)boy reentered my life last night.  Somehow, he was magically "in the area" and decided to pay a visit to my night job (the one I only work 1 day a week now). You know, just to see how I was...

Fast forward an hour, and we're on the ride back to his place. 

He fucked up, he says.

He didn't mean what he said at all...

He really misses me.

I, taking pity on this poor soul before me, am having a hard time not believing the hype.

Another hour later, we're in his bed spooning. His massive arms pull me in close, urging me not to go...ever. I'm comfortable - too comfortable.

He and I have never had sex (of any kind...no Clintonian side-stepping here). We're just intimate with each other.  Being with him makes me feel good, despite the fact that there are some things about me he just doesn't get, and vice versa.  Other than that, there's no benefit to our relationship...not the kind a sugar is looking for, anyway.


When I see certain traits in him, I wonder how long this can last.  My time would [likely] be more profitably spent elsewhere.
 
This morning, I took the boy on his first trip to Whole Foods.  EVER.

Yeah, I was shocked, too.  He owns a condo in the city, two cars, has a job that pays fairly well, and is health conscious.  How have you never been here?

He marveled at the juice bar, the free samples, how giving the staff was - it was bad.  This man thinks that frozen chicken in a crockpot & and a microwaved bag of steam-fresh vegetables is the epitome of healthy eating. Nothing wrong with any of that, but I'm saying - there's a much higher level.

Mr. Norway, on the other hand (more on him later), believes you can tell how a person feels about themselves by what's in their fridge.

With this new experience, my brain started putting together pieces of conversations, experiences I've had with him and things he's done. Then it hit me-

The boy is CHEAP.

Don't get me wrong.  Whenever we go places & do things, he picks up the tab.  There's never an argument about gas money or anything silly like that. He opens doors, [always] cooks for me, and really seems to care for my well-being.

BUT, he doesn't "spoil with money" (his words, not mine).  If something financial is going on where money would need to be exchanged, he doesn't offer...I don't ask.

EX: He complains and teases about the condition of my cell phone & not reaching me.  I told him I have other priorities, and if he wants to go pick up a new one for me, I won't refuse it.  That shut down the cell phone conversation.

I can't help but wonder why this is a running theme with sugar babies.  We tolerate in a real life relationship what we'd never consider in a sugar one.  If a pot/SD asked me about my (now outdated) Blackberry, I'd simply tell him that other things were more important financially right now, and he'd most likely take care of it.

Why aren't I (or we) holding our real life lovers to the same standard?

Perhaps it's an unreasonable expectation.  Has sugar warped my view of what a real relationship should be like?

These are questions...what do you think, ladies?

XOXO,
Dandie

Twice as Much as You Speak...The Finale

 Please be sure to read Part I & II first...

Nothing like a good skyline view...

High above the city, dinner began.


While I enjoyed beautiful views of the night sky, The Frenchman continued to drone...

-Why he'd responded to my profile
-Driving in the French countryside
-The extent of his watch collection

Occasionally, I exited the reverie of my wild porcini soup and winter risotto (both delightful, by the way) to attempt to get a word in edgewise.  I succeeded at rare moments.  Otherwise, I simply smiled, nodded and focused on a small line on his forehead above his right brow.

I couldn't help noticing how focused he was on bargain shopping.  When speaking of his watches, his eyes lit up most when mentioning how he'd gotten this one or that at just above cost.

He'd chosen to abstain from ordering a drink after looking at the wine list...which made me slightly uncomfortable.  I, of course, still ordered a glass of the vintage I preferred.

Of clothes, he mentioned the importance of always shopping for the best deal, and how he'd scour Ebay for gifts.

Now, I might just be chief among SBs when it comes to concern for frugality & the prudent use of finances. When, however, a man seeking a supposed arrangement mentions how much he ISN'T willing to spend on this or that more than 10 times in the course of 3 hours, alarm bells start ringing.

At the close of dinner, the check arrived.  After an excruciating 10 minutes or so of avoidance, Mr. Frenchman (so named for the emphasis he placed on his French heritage, to the detriment of his Canadian one) looked at the total and jokingly mentioned how he hoped he had enough on his debit to cover it, as he does not travel with credit cards.

The grand total, you ask?  Given what we ordered I'd estimate approximately $130, including tax.

After the server picked up the check with his card in it I, naturally, excused myself to the ladies' room, in an effort to allow him to save face and settle things gracefully should there be any issues.

All went well, and we were allowed to leave with our dignity intact.  On the way out, he asked if I'd like to walk a bit...in whipping wind and 4" heels, of course.  I suggested a cup of tea and sorbet around the corner.  He agreed, but rather than order himself anything, he sat & watched me...and regaled me with tales of his previous "sugar" relationship.

There had been no exact terms, you see...he'd simply helped her out when she needed something.  A gift here or there; OH! and she'd had the pleasure of traveling with him on business several times.

Isn't that delightful?

I, by this time, had completely checked out other than wondering if he'd be gentleman enough to pay my taxi fare home.

Once back on the street, he asked me if I was busy the next day - perhaps we could meet for lunch before he left. I was [not]...an early morning meeting had suddenly materialized at work, and I'd be swamped all day.

He suggested I join him in his hotel room for the evening...I could always wear my lovely dress to work in the morning. I declined with a laugh & good-natured swat on the arm while groaning to myself.

He hailed a taxi (at my expense), smiled and hugged me.  It had been a pleasure, and he looked forward to speaking again soon.  He hoped I'd get home safely.

Then off he scurried into the night; nary a granule of sugar in sight.

Not a call, e-mail or text message was sent thanking me for bearing his endless self-absorbed soliloquy.

Exit The Frenchman.

Twice as Much as You Speak, Part Deux

YES, I know it's been a minute.  Blame my ADD. :-)

If you've not yet read Part I of this story, go here to do so before beginning this installment.

Easy there, boys...

After meeting the good Rev. Dr. (Pot #2 for the day) for a drink in a nearby restaurant, I sent The Frenchman a text stating that I was free if he'd like to join me for dinner and a bit of Super Bowl perusal.  He agreed & made the journey down to meet me.

Given that a good friend of mine is the bartender at this fine establishment, there were no questions when one gentleman slipped off the stool next to me...and shortly thereafter another took his place.

Over drinks and a couple of salads, The Frenchman proceeded to tell me all about his travels, his philosophy of American healthcare, the difference between American football and TRUE football, so called by the rest of the world [soccer, as if I didn't know].  This went on for the course of the game, until I made it blindingly obvious that I'd rather watch the much maligned football than continue the conversation.

At the end of the evening, pleasantries exchanged, he asked if I'd be free for dinner the next evening.  I was, and would be happy to make a reservation at a wonderful restaurant nearby...

The Ultimate Evening

The scene was set...

There I was, perfectly coiffed and adorned in a darling (original) 1950's black wiggle dress, nude heels & snake print clutch. I made my way to the hotel for our scheduled reservation & headed to the downstairs bar while awaiting my quarry.

Heads turned.  Businessmen of all shapes, sizes & labels sent adoring smiles and nods of fascination my way. I perched myself on an empty stool and ordered a club soda with lime.  The gentleman next to me struck up a conversation.  What did I think of the primary race so far?

I smiled - and turned on the charm.

He nodded, turned his torso towards me.* Laughter ensued.  I tilted my knees in his direction and brushed back an imaginary wayward hair.  Was I here on business? No, just meeting a friend for dinner; you?

Once again, enter The Frenchman.

He arrived at the bar, gave me a hug and occupied the waiting stool next to me with a glare in The Gentleman's direction.  Consider his territory marked.  I made an introduction, through which both men struggled gracefully.

The Frenchman grabbed my drink check and proceeded to whisk me upstairs to our waiting table.

There went The Gentleman, with no details exchanged. *sigh*

Stay tuned for Part III...

Twice as Much as You Speak, Part I

Image Courtesy of MenKnowPause

It would turn out to be an almost endless evening. It was, in fact, an exercise in the art of silence on my part.

Enter The Frenchman.

He is actually French Canadian, but I digress.

He sent me a message on one of the sites two weeks ago stating that he found me attractive and would like to meet.  He'd be flying in for a week-long conference; would I like to get together?

After doing my best to explain across the (slight) language barrier that I am not an escort [no disrespect intended to escorts, naturally] and receiving his reply that he understood, I agreed to meet him for coffee near his hotel.

This cafe was the scene of the first red flag.  

Upon my arrival,we greeted each other and I sat down. He already had coffee in hand, so I figured we'd make a bit of small talk, then he'd invite me up to the counter to place my order. Not so.

For the better part of an hour, he talked about everything under the sun...from his work, to his habits and his parents (lovely people, I surmised).  He asked me a grand total of one (1) question about myself during his verbal voyage. 

When the hour drew to a close, I actually had another meeting nearby, so I pulled myself away. He suggested that we get together after my dinner for coffee (again).

I couldn't help wondering: would he actually offer me a drink before launching into soliloquy next time?

I'll be back with Part Deux...