It all started two years ago when my bulldog, Hemingway, got sick. After the $500 I’d dropped at the vet, I couldn’t even afford a cab home. And all the freelance work I could find wouldn’t come close to footing the impending bills. Huddled at the bus stop, Hemingway drooling on my knee, I Googled: “How to find a sugar daddy.”
But I’d always been curious. I imagined my life with a sugar daddy to look like a mash-up between an old black-and-white movie and a rap video — with ample time left over to write the Next Great American Something. There would be shopping in Milan, swimming in the Maldives, and gambling in Monaco. In other words, a fantasy complete with five-star pet care.
I created accounts on several websites. Every week or two, I would meet another potential sugar daddy. Six months and as many unpaid vet bills …