sugar daddy

Why Are Pearl Necklaces So Damn Sexy?

Kate Sloan

Sometimes I just get obsessed with a particular fashion item and I don’t know why. It’s like being struck by a new kinky fantasy: it’ll pop into my head one day, or I’ll see it in a piece of media or hear someone talking about it, and I’ll fall down a mad rabbit hole of Googling (or Pinterest-ing). Most recently, I felt this way about pearl necklaces.

You know, the classic jewelry item worn by style icons like Jackie Kennedy Onassis and Grace Kelly? The kind of thing you see on women in period dramas like Mad Men and The Crown? Yeah, those.

I find them not only gorgeous, classy, and timeless, but also sexy somehow. At first blush, it would seem obvious why: there’s a sex act known colloquially as the “pearl necklace,” in which someone ejaculates onto someone else’s chest and décolletage, creating a pearly effect. But that’s never been a kink of mine, and I don’t even particularly like watching this act performed in porn – if the coming isn’t happening inside somebody’s orifice, I’m probably not interested! #InternalCumshots4Lyfe

So the question then becomes, what is it about pearls as a jewelry item that is so alluring to me?

In answering this, my mind goes straight to the phrase “clutching pearls.” To clutch one’s pearls is to react with shock and dismay to something, and it’s a phrase typically associated with upper-class types, or morally “superior” types, reacting to something they consider low-class or immoral. (Think: Helen Lovejoy in The Simpsons screaming “Won’t somebody please think of the children?!?”)

I am decidedly middle-class and don’t consider myself a moral authority on anything, so this isn’t an image I can directly relate to – but in some ways, that’s what makes it hot. The idea of pretending to be a certain type of woman that I definitely am not – of co-opting a classy aesthetic to conceal the mischievous mind behind it all.

Pearls’ associations with 1950s housewives also appeal to me. A standard string of pearls isn’t super long, so you can do household chores while you’re wearing it and not worry about dropping diamonds in the dishwasher or sapphires down the sink drain. This delights my inner submissive, and fills my head with images of waiting around dutifully for my spouse to get home from a long day of work, to a clean house, a hot meal, and a hot wife.

The financial aspect of pearls also definitely adds to their charm for me. It’s not that they have to be wildly expensive – the two strings of pearls I own are from Horae and Kay’s, and cost $45 and $100, respectively – but they have the air of being expensive, and for me, that’s enough. I’ve explored financial fetishism from several different angles, and my newest pearl necklace was sweetly bought for me by my partner as a financial domination task I assigned them; I can also imagine finding it deeply erotic for a sugar daddy(/sugar mama/glucose guardian) to buy me some pearls and place them around my neck before a glamorous dinner date. Like a perfectly-tailored suit or little black dress, they’re the sort of thing that can make you feel instantly richer, fancier, and more powerful (or more spoiled, as the case may be).

Notable, too, is that pearls don’t look out of place no matter what I’m wearing, and even when I’m wearing nothing. I feel very Marilyn when I spritz on a jasmine perfume, dab on some lipstick, clasp my pearls around my neck, and slink into bed completely naked. Rachel Rabbit White says she likes to have sex with her false lashes on, and I feel similarly – not only about lashes, but about lipstick and pearls, too. (And, uh, socks, but that’s neither here nor there…)

I’ve looked at a lot of pearl jewelry online these past couple months, and many such pieces are far too ostentatious, expensive, or just plain weird-looking to attract my interest. It’s only the most timeless, simple, and elegant pieces that call my name. Someday I’d perhaps like to get a triple-strand pearl necklace, as those really take fanciness to the next level. But for now, I’m thrilled with the two very straightforward single strands I own. They go with everything, they gleam under every light, and they make me feel like the world’s sexiest little minx.

Why is Having a Sugar Daddy So Hot?

Kate Sloan

Regular readers of this site will recall that I am a former sugar baby. A handsome, charming man paid me in bimonthly instalments for the pleasure of my sparkling company. (That makes it sound more wholesome than it was. There was also phone sex. And devious sexting.)

I had a lot of Thoughts ‘n’ Feelings at the time about money fetishism, “financial domination,” sugar dating, and how it all fits together. I think a lot of sugar babies who seek their daddies on sites like Happymatches probably just think of these interactions as jobs of a sort – and they’re not wrong to do so; sugar dating is often considered a form of sex work. But seeing as I’m a kink nerd, I found myself delving deeper into the psychology of these transactions, seeking to understand why I felt a thrill of titillation whenever a beefy sum landed in my bank account after a late-night telephone tryst.

After thinking about it a lot, here are some of the factors I’ve come to identify in sugar dating’s hotness quotient…

When you have money, you can relax.

Emily Nagoski writes in her book Come As You Are about how stress puts a damper on sexual arousal. Not only are you mentally distracted when you’re stressed out – you’re actually physiologically less able to get turned on.

Nagoski differentiates between the sexual “brakes” and their counterpart, the sexual “accelerator.” If you’re a naturally libidinous person, having the pressure taken off your brakes can kick your accelerator into high gear. So, if stressing about money has been a regular part of your life and then suddenly isn’t anymore, it could affect your sexual desire levels in positive and surprising ways. That’s certainly what happened to me!

With more money also came more free time – some of which I spent on activities that made me feel beautiful, pampered, and sensually stimulated, like taking myself out for fancy meals, lying around getting high, and – yes – masturbating. All of this can kickstart your libido if it’s been stagnant!

Money is power.

This is the thinking upon which all “findom” play is predicated. In the typical dynamic, a male submissive showers a female dominant in cash, because the cash is the metaphor they have both chosen for their consensual power exchange.

Of course, money’s not just a metaphor: it makes you powerful in the real world, too. And for many people, feeling powerful – capable, strong, unfuckwithable – can boost their sex drive.

Interestingly, I was a submissive in my dynamic, as is relatively common in sugar relationships. My sugar daddy found power in his ability to take care of me by handling my expenses and treating me to things I wanted. But there is lots of power to be found in submission, when it’s something you want and have chosen. When someone else puts me in this role I love so much, I feel respected, seen, and understood – and those are definitely powerful feelings.

Payment is evidence of your desirability.

It’s not the only evidence, certainly. But it’s pretty hard to deny that someone finds you attractive if they are literally paying you for the privilege of spending time with you.

Despite knowing on a logical level that many people think I’m cute, I often find it difficult to believe. I have to look for evidence, cognitive-behavioral therapy-style, that I am indeed hot – and even then, I rarely quite believe it. The exchange of money was almost like a shortcut to understanding my own hotness, though. It just seemed so concrete and real to me; there was no way for me to rationalize it away. Clearly this man wanted me; otherwise he would not have gone to the trouble of seeking me out and lavishing cash on me.

With money, you can make yourself look – and feel – hotter.

Last but not least, when you’re cashed up, you can do things like get waxed, get your hair done, buy makeup, and update your wardrobe. These things may seem small, but they can affect your sexual self-confidence and thereby your libido.

In a perfect world, we would all be able to conjure confidence from within ourselves, without having to rely on external factors or extrinsic validation – but until that perfect world comes into being, I’ll take the opportunity to look hot on someone else’s dime if they’re offering. Why the hell not?

 

Have you ever been in a sugar-dating dynamic? Did you find it hot? What appealed to you about it?

 

This post was sponsored. As always, all writing and opinions are my own.

Sex Sells, Part 3: Being a Sugar Baby

Kate Sloan

This week’s mini blog series on my sex work experiences is coming to an end. For this instalment, I’ve partnered with Rachaels London Escorts to tell you a story I’ve never really opened up about in detail before: that time I was a sugar baby for a little while.

I used to dream of having a sugar daddy who would buy me lingerie and handbags and luxury sex toys. I mean, who hasn’t had some version of this fantasy at one time or another? Though I played around on SeekingArrangement (the best-known “sugar dating” site) and mentally mapped out how I’d spend a generous benefactor’s money, I didn’t think I’d ever actually have a sugar daddy; men with the means and desire for this type of relationship are usually inundated with fit blonde conventional beauties in their early twenties, and I am… none of those things, so it seemed like a long shot.

However, one day in 2017, I got a cordial email from a man whose name I didn’t recognize. He introduced himself, heaped on compliments about my blog and podcast, and asked if I’d be open to a (paid) phone-chat session with him sometime, as the phone “happened to be a favorite play medium” of his. He attached two photos of himself, serious black-and-white formal portraits in which he smouldered at the camera in a suit. I was intrigued.

I was used to charging in 15- or 30-minute increments for such services, so I was surprised when he wanted to book a whole hour. “Please let me know how to render the honorarium and I’ll handle immediately in good faith,” he wrote – music to the ears of someone who so often has to harangue potential clients to finally, reluctantly pay. We agreed on a price and a day and time, and he sent the money promptly, in advance. What a dream.

He opened our first phone call by telling me he planned to approach it as a “first date” of sorts – i.e. he wanted us to chat and get to know each other, hopefully as part of an ongoing connection, not just a one-off phone-sex encounter. That first night, chatting is all we did: he complimented me and my work profusely, told me about his career and interests, and explained his own journey with non-monogamy and kink, which had led him to me. He had a wife, but they both dated and fucked other people with each other’s full knowledge; he, however, preferred to pay dates rather than seek them out organically for free, because he said it simplified the process. He was a highly busy small-business owner and didn’t have the spare time and energy to trawl Tinder or OkCupid, besides which, those sites rarely connected him with the open-minded, kinky, smart women he was seeking. Hence paying me by the hour for a phone date.

We enjoyed our conversation so much that when the hour was up, he asked if I had time to stay for another – with proper compensation, of course. When I said yes, the amount landed in my account almost immediately, and we carried on chatting about our lives. I was amazed that I’d just made the equivalent of 20-30 hours of minimum-wage work for a two-hour phone call that hadn’t even felt like work. He was eloquent and charming and I’d enjoyed our chat. I’d basically been paid to be complimented and flirted with for an evening. Pretty ideal.

I took myself out for a fancy solo dinner the next night, spending some of his money on pasta and cocktails I worked my way through while leisurely reading a book. The decadence made me feel guilty. This wasn’t my life. But maybe it could be.

We continued having these get-to-know-ya phone chats on and off for a few weeks. I learned that he lived in New York, that he had followed me and my work for quite some time, and that some soul-searching on the topic of kink had brought him to the realization that he was a daddy dom. That role spoke to him because he liked guiding the action of scenes and having consensual control over sexual partners, sure, but also because he longed to give guidance, structure, and wisdom outside of the bedroom. I warned him that I wasn’t comfortable calling anyone “daddy” just yet, having recently had my heart broken by my first daddy dom, but I could open myself up to a new dom by another name, perhaps.

We had phone sex for the first time late one night, once he’d established I wanted it, and had (of course) paid for my time. It was long and slow and lovely. I felt guilty taking my time to come as I listened to him spin sentences about giving my clit and labia lots of attention, but he assured me repeatedly that he liked the arousal process, he liked listening to me getting closer and closer to orgasm, and he intended to pay me for any extra time we spent because he wanted to hear me come. He was true to his word.

Sometime after that, he floated an idea he’d been pondering this entire time but hadn’t felt brave enough to bring up yet. He wanted to work out an “arrangement”: he would pay me an agreed-upon monthly allowance so we could talk and text and email organically as our schedules allowed, in lieu of paying by the hour to talk only at certain times. He offered, too, to cover my airfare for all trips I took to and from New York while we were “a thing,” even if I only saw him once during the entire trip. This especially excited me, as my best friend lives there and so did a new person I was flirting with and potentially wanted to date. I’d been wishing I could afford more NYC trips, and now here was a person offering to fly me there once every month or two. How perfect!

The arrangement began; the money flowed in. I bought a Coach handbag and a microwave. I stared at my bank balance sometimes, half-bewildered, half-turned on. I felt better about my financial situation than I have ever felt in my life.

We started planning our first in-person date, slated for mid-December. Pasta, musical theatre, a night in a hotel. I mentioned casually in passing that I’d also be seeing my new beau while there, and I heard my sugar daddy’s voice waver a bit. He told me that, despite having been non-monogamous for years, he still struggled with jealousy occasionally – and this situation triggered it especially, because the other person was “right in [his] own back yard.” I was confused, because he’d known going into this that I had other partners, but I told him I was sure he could work through those feelings and that I could provide some poly-newbie resources if need be.

However, just 10 days before I was scheduled to fly down to see him, he called me and confessed that his jealousy had gotten the better of him. He wanted to “bow out” of our arrangement. He’d thought he could handle me dating another New Yorker, but he couldn’t. I was disappointed – not just because of the money, and not just because it was another rejection in a year that had been full of rejections for me, but also because I had grown genuinely fond of this man. Hearing his supportive voice over the phone had become a comfortingly dependable tradition, and I was sad to lose that. I went over to another partner’s house later that day for a scheduled date and he held me and consoled me and got me high and fucked me well. (Good poly is so good.)

I’m still sad from time to time about the loss of that arrangement. It fulfilled so many of my core desires: to be cared for, and appreciated, and listened to, and pleasured, and spoiled. It topped up my bank account while also topping up my self-worth and my sense of being supported by someone who wanted the best for me.

But there is also joy to be found in making my own money, treating myself to nice things when I can, and developing relationships with people who aren’t threatened by my other potential paramours. I like having people I can depend on, and I also like feeling independent to some extent. This foray into sugar dating taught me more about my ideal balance in between.

 

Thanks to Rachaels London Escorts for sponsoring this post! They’re open from 10AM to 1AM (amazing!) and are available for a range of booking opportunities, such as dates, massages, parties, and naughty nights in hotels.

Monthly Faves: Velvet, Sugar, & Sprinkles

Kate Sloan

It’s been a weird month for me sexually. I’m juggling a bunch of different romantic/sexual connections right now and feeling a little overwhelmed (#PolyLyfe, amirite?). Here were some of my fave sexy things this month…

Sex toys

• Remember how Fucking Sculptures shut down recently? (Imagine the saddest of sad trombone sound effects here.) As soon as that announcement was made, I placed an order for one last toy from them, and it finally arrived this month: a large green Corkscrew. Honestly, I mostly just ordered it for the brand cachet and how beautiful I knew it would be, but it turns out it’s also highly functional too. Intense G-spot stimulation ahoy!

• We-Vibe sent me their new Gala clitoral vibrator and, as per usual for We-Vibe, it’s lovely. Definitely different from any other clit vibe I’ve tried, even Jimmyjane’s visually similar Form 2 and Intro 2. I will have waaay more thoughts in my full review, coming sometime in early 2018!

• I have rediscovered my Eroscillator this month. This happens periodically. I had forgotten how easy and profound my orgasms are with this toy!

Fantasy fodder

• Dominating my kinky thoughts this month are the notions of sugar daddies, financial domination/submission, and cash fetishism. That’s partly because I tentatively have a sugar daddy now (!!) and partly because I recently listened to a fantastic episode of Why Are People Into That? about findom and cash kink. Soooo much to unpack here with regards to power, class, privilege, “worthiness,” and desire. Hmm!

• Whenever I get into a new kink, I tend to search for Sherlock fanfic about it (surprise, surprise), which led to me discovering this “Sugar Daddy John Watson” story featuring copious gay sex in between hunger-stirring descriptions of magnificent Italian food. I will have to do more research along these lines…

• This month I had actual goddamn phone sex for the first time in, I dunno, probably 8 years or more. It’s an interesting medium for me as someone who totally gets off on words but also has anxiety about not being a good dirty-talker myself. It is nice when someone appreciates my moans/purrs/giggles, though!

Sexcetera

• Orgasm stats: I only had 20 this month. I don’t know why. That’s shockingly low for me. Something to work on! (I did, however, hit 300 orgasms total for the year this month – all over my FWB’s cock, on the top floor of a sex club. A++ experience.)

• Now that November’s done, my yearly wrap-up series 12 Days of Girly Juice is about to start! So it’ll be all best-of lists all the time until the year is done, after which we’ll get back to our regular programming here. I’m excited to tell you about all my faves from 2017!

Femme stuff

• I’m really into velvet lately. And, like, always. I remember going shopping with my best friend Bex in September and shrieking “I LOVE VELVET SO MUUUCH!!” and them looking at me incredulously and saying, “I don’t think I knew that about you.” Well, I do. I think it’s mostly a sensual thing; my feelings about velvet are almost sexual (but then again, us pervy kinksters are always rounding things up to kinks when they aren’t necessarily). This month I bought a red velvet dress at H&M and I’m gonna thrash it once holiday parties start happening.

• I bought a pink heart collar on eBay for literally 99 cents, and it’s kind of perfect. Can I get one in every color so I can always be wearing one, please?

• Though I don’t wear jeans very often, because #FemmeLyfe, my favorite old pair is shredded to death so I bought a new pair this month. They make me feel very put-together and wholesome and grown-up. Hurrah!

Little things

Compliments so good I have to copy them into my journal to re-read over the coming days and weeks. Buying tickets for Max and I to go see his fave comedian, Sebastian Maniscalco, in March! Cuddling my roommate’s dog when I’m sad. Nerding out over my income spreadsheet. Singing “Crazy” for a rowdy karaoke crowd. Talking blog strategy with Suz over Indian food and cocktails. Deleting all my notifications except ones from PayPal ($$!). My super-sweet dermatologist. Respectful cam show clients. Hearkening back to phone calls in a text-centric world. Cheesy pasta delivered to my door. Rachel Hills’ The Sex Myth. This adorable song which came up on my Spotify Discover playlist this month (“I think you’re cute…!”). Cadence serving me roast veggies and chicken with boozy cream soda while we watched stand-up. A handsome older gentleman calling me “young lady” and “kiddo.” Vanilla donuts with sprinkles (and pumpkin pie donuts!). Long kink negotiations that devolve into hysterical laughter.

Here’s An Idea: Ethical Fetishism + Shoe Sugar Daddies

Kate Sloan

Last week I found myself madly lusting over a pair of shoes. They were gorgeous and I NEEDED them – but they were $275. And as a full-time student and part-time blogger, that ain’t a doable price for me. (I ended up buying a similar pair at a way lower price point – that’s me modeling them above!)

I spent some time complaining on Twitter about this problem, and then my mind wandered to all the fetishists who’ve left me lascivious comments on my clothes, shoes, and hosiery over the years. You might remember from my post on how to be a non-douchey fetishist that I’ve been posting outfit photos online for 8+ years and attract a lot of creeps through that venue. These people are getting off on my pictures – so shouldn’t I be getting some kind of compensation for that “service” I’m (nonconsensually) providing?

Okay, hear me out. My idea is this: an online social platform where you can sign up in one of two categories, fetishist or fashionista. (The names could use some workshopping; ideally they’d both be gender-neutral.) The fashionistas build profiles full of as much or as little personal information as they’d like to share and a gallery of photos that are as sexy or sexless as they feel comfortable being. They attach a wishlist to their profile, filled with clothes, shoes, and other cute things they have their eye on. And if a fetishist takes an interest in a particular fashion fan, he can buy her something from her wishlist. (I’m using those pronouns for clarity’s sake; obviously there are fetishists and fashion fans of all genders.)

The wishlist would hide her address, of course; no one wants to put themselves at risk for being stalked. And when the item of choice arrived, she could try it on, pose for pictures or video, and post them publicly or privately for the fetishist who supplied the money.

There could be a way for fetishists and fashionistas to negotiate the terms of the agreement in advance – e.g. “If I buy you these shoes, you’ll model them in tights, in knee-high socks, and barefoot.” There could be an eBay-esque feedback system to avoid scammers and creeps.

I know that systems like this exist already, but in my experience, they’re usually hypersexual and mostly frequented by camgirls and their patrons. While there’s obviously nothing wrong with sex workers (you go, gals and guys!), not all of us feel comfortable being super sexy online. My half-baked dream for this social network conceptualizes it as a space that is as sexy or unsexy as individual users want it to be, so that everyone feels comfortable and safe.

I just think that there are better ways to manage the relationships between fetishists and the subjects of their affection than the way that those relationships usually go right now. The subjects often (in my experience) feel victimized, grossed out, and used. I know that for myself, when I receive a message from a fetishist telling me he loves me in sheer hose or he wants me to wear heels for him, I feel squicked out but I also always send him a link to my Amazon wishlist, because dammit, if I’m going to fulfill someone’s fetish, he’s going to be the one to foot the bill for it, not me. Of course, I’ve never actually had a fetishist buy me anything, because the ones I encounter all seem to be cheapskates who expect me to be their masturbation fodder at no charge, but… I’m sure there are shoe sugar daddies out there somewhere, right?

I don’t have the know-how to build a website or get it off the ground, but if anyone ever takes this idea and runs with it, just know that I would promote the shit out of it, happily beta-test it, and send the link to every fetishist who’s ever given me “helpful suggestions” for what to wear!