by Robin Roseau
I laughed.
We went through the email together, reading them carefully and looking at the profiles of the women who had sent them. Of the seven, they were a variety of types. The youngest was in her upper 30s. Most were in their 40s and 50s. But there was one woman who was 77, and her picture showed a kindly woman with ample laugh lines and a twinkle in her eye.
"You go, Grandma!" Maggie said when we looked at that profile.
"Well, I need to reply to all of these," I said. "And Jean cautioned me not to use some sort of form letter or it will sound stilted."
"Let's reply to Grandma first then," Maggie said.
And so, one by one, we responded to each letter. I crafted each email individually, but they followed a pattern. I thanked them for their welcome and told them I was excited to begin a new phase in my life. Then for each women, we found something special about her. For instance, Grandma’s profile mentioned her favorite authors, so when I wrote back, I told her I’d read one of them but would check the others. She could decide if she wanted to use that as a jumping off point for a longer conversation. Then I closed with thanking her again and inviting a nice evening.
We answered each, finishing the last just as the door opened and a sweaty, panting Steph stepped in.
I decided that was my signal to leave. “Thanks for the company, Maggie,” I said. “I better get back to the books.”
Initial Dates
I wouldn’t have my first date for nearly two weeks. However, the real email, as I thought of it, began arriving on my second day. The first was a woman named Roma. Roma was forty-something, tall, slender, and referred to herself as “a proud Italian”. The email included a link to her profile, so I clicked and spent a few minutes.
For forty-something, I thought she looked pretty darned good, and I found a way to tell her that. Then I stared at her picture for a while, trying to decide how I felt about all this.
The reality of my situation struck me anew. If I went forward with this – and by this point, I felt committed – I wouldn’t only be dating women like Roma. I would be sleeping with some of them, almost certainly.
And so, I stared at her picture, and I thought about the implications. I thought about what I was willing to do for my future. Thinking of it that way put a perspective on it. I needed to be able to be proud of my choices. But at the same time, dropping out of school wasn’t my preference.
And so, could I be myself and still give Roma what she wanted from me?
And for that matter, could I convince her she wanted me more than someone else? I realized I had a sales job.
But I wasn’t going to be a skank about it. And so I decided I needed to be able to be honest.
I looked at Roma’s photo. She looked good. Her letter had been nice. And so, I smiled, and I added more to my response before sending it off.
Then I went back to homework, but it took time to concentrate.
* * * *
Roma wrote back late that evening. I read her letter and replied briefly, but told her I’d write more when I got a break tomorrow.
Sleep was difficult.
* * * *
Roma and I emailed for a week before she asked if she could have my phone number. In the meantime, I received an email from Fanny. Fanny was older than Roma with what I would call a matronly figure. Between the age and her body shape, I wasn’t sure how much passion I would be able to find for her, but it had been a nice letter, so she got a nice letter back. It was in her third letter that she said, “Email is fine and good, but would you let me call you?”
Gentle Affection had given me a phone specifically for my patrons to use. And so I sent the number and told her she could call at 8 tonight, if that time was good for her.
By 8, I was inside one of the academic buildings. I had homework with me, so I studied. By 8:20, I had decided Fanny had changed her mind, but that was when the phone rang.
“Hello.”
“Is this Minnesota Sweetie?”
“Yes, it is. Oh, you have an amazing voice.” It was deep and sultry, and I decided immediately I wouldn’t mind talking to her.
“Thank you,” she said. “This is Fanny. What should I call you, Sweetie?”
“You may call me that if you like,” I said. “My name is Astrid.”
“Is it really?”
“Honestly,” I said. “I know that’s unusual.”
“It is,” she agreed. “You’re new to Gentle Affection.”
“I am,” I said. “I haven’t had any dates yet.”
“I bet you’ve had dozens of women emailing you though.”
“A few who said ‘hi’, and maybe one or two others who have written more,” I replied. “But we’re not going to talk about them, Fanny.”
“I suppose that’s best,” she agreed. “Am I really looking at your photo?”
“Well, if you’re looking at my profile, then yes. If you’re looking at another girl’s profile, then no.”
She laughed. “I’m definitely looking at your profile, Astrid.” She stumbled before saying my name.
“I’ll make a promise,” I offered. “I won’t lie to you.”
“You bring this up now?”
“You don’t believe that’s really my name. If we get to the point of dating, I’ll show you my driver’s license.”
“I believe you,” she replied. “You’re in college?”
“Yes.”
“Where are you attending?”
“Fanny, there are a few elephants on this phone call.”
“Is that a comment on my figure?”
“Is that what you think I meant?”
“No,” she said. “Although.”
“Please don’t go there, Fanny. I’m barely 19, and if you want to play word games with me, you’re going to win. I’m willing to concede in advance.”
“I’m sorry,” she said. “You’re right. What elephants?”
“This is an unusual way to meet,” I said. “And because it’s unusual, we both need to protect ourselves. I’m not going to ask you where you live. With a name like Astrid, if you know my school and age, I bet it’s trivial to find me. Do you think I should tell you?”
She paused. “No. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have asked.”
“It’s okay,” I said. “I actually don’t know what questions I should answer.”
“But you’re new at this and a little nervous.”
“More than a little,” I said. “Do you want to tell me why you replied to my profile?”
“Ah. Is that also an elephant?”
“I don’t know,” I said. “It might depend on why you wrote me.” I gave a little laugh. “Have you done this before?”
She hesitated and then said, “I thought we weren’t talking about other women.”
“I asked only to judge whether you were likely to be as nervous as I am.”
“I have,” she said. “I’ve been a member for about four years.”
“So you’ve done this phone call a few times.”
“And you haven’t.”
“No. You’re my first.”
“Well then,” she said. I could hear her smile. “Why you? First, there aren’t all that many sugar babies in the Twin Cities.”
“Ah, so it wasn’t that you were rooting around in the barrel of apples. Pickings are slim, and you’re desperate.”
“I did not say that, Astrid!” she said, sounding offended. “I am not desperate.”
“I was being self-deprecating, Fanny. I wasn’t trying to insult you.” Inwardly, I sighed. I was really screwing this up.
She paused. “I’m hypersensitive.”
“And I’m young and can be socially inept. Am I forgiven?”
“If I am for overreacting,” she replied. “I wouldn’t say that I contact every new sugar baby in the cities, and of the ones I contact, it doesn’t necessarily progress as far as phone calls. But when I saw your profile, I had hopes.”
“Hopes are good to have,” I said so
mewhat noncommittally. I hoped she’d say more, and so I waited.
“There are different basic types of sugar babies,” Fanny continued. “One type are the tweezed-to-perfection sorority girls.”
“I know the type.”
“For a while, that was the type I pursued, until I realized at least with the ones I had met, I didn’t like them.”
“Ah,” I said with a smile.
“You’re a different type, at least you appear to be. Cute girl next door. And as in my younger years, I had such a huge crush on the very straight cute girl next door…”
I laughed. “I’m sorry she was straight. I’m not.”
“So I’ve gathered,” Fanny replied.
We talked for another twenty minutes before she asked, “Do you have Skype?”
“I do,” I said. “My handle is MN-Sweetie-Pie-Girl.”
“Did you just give me permission to use it?”
“Yes, but you’ll only get a response if I’m expecting you. I leave it turned off when I’m studying.”
“Fair enough. Tomorrow night, same time.”
“I can’t. I can do Thursday.”
“All right. Thursday at eight. Astrid, could I ask another question?”
“You may ask. No promises on whether I’ll answer.”
“How many women are you seeing?”
“You were my first phone call, Fanny. Whether I’m emailing anyone else isn’t your business.”
“I like you, Astrid.”
“I’ve enjoyed talking to you, Fanny. I think you’re leading somewhere.”
“If Thursday goes as well as tonight has, then I want to ask you on a date this weekend.”
I froze. That’s what it was all coming down to. “All right,” I said finally.
“Is that a problem?”
“I’m still growing accustomed to this is all,” I said. “If Thursday goes as well as tonight, then I’ll agree. What does this have to do with whether there are other women vying for my attention.”
“I saw you first, so to speak, and I don’t want you to fill your weekend.”
“Ah,” I said. “Would this be a coffee date?”
“Are you telling me it needs to be for you to accept?”
“I’m about to offer something. I want to make sure I make the right offer.”
“That wouldn’t be my preference, Astrid. Dinner.”
“All right. Then I will ensure that I am available for dinner Friday or Saturday. I don’t promise to keep them both available, but if you invite me on a date, I’ll be free for at least one of those evenings.”
“I can’t ask for more than that,” she said. “Good night, Astrid.”
* * * *
Fanny hadn’t asked, but she probably guessed that the reason I couldn’t speak with her Wednesday night was because I had another call scheduled. And so Wednesday found me back in the same place when Roma called.
She was actually two minutes early, but I answered with a smile. “Good evening.”
“Good evening,” came a lightly-accented woman’s voice. “This is Roma.”
“And this is Astrid,” I replied. “Thank you for calling, Roma. I’ve been looking forward to hearing your voice.”
“And I, yours,” she replied.
We made small talk for a while. And then she thanked me and told me she’d let me get back to my school work.
“I’ve enjoyed our chat,” I said.
“I have, too,” she replied. “Good night, Astrid.”
“Good night, Roma.” She clicked off, and I stared at the phone for a minute, wondering what I’d done to disappoint her. Then I set the phone aside and began to pack up my books, intending to head back to the dorm. I had just zipped up my laptop when the phone buzzed. I picked it up to see a text from Roma.
May I call again?
When?
Immediately.
LOL. Sure. Thank you for asking.
It took fifteen seconds, and I answered with another smile. “Hello again, Roma.”
“I hate telephones,” she said.
“Oh?”
“For me, telephones are for sharing information. I hate them as a form of getting to know each other.”
“Ah. I can understand that.”
“I thought about asking if we could Skype.”
“And yet, it sounds like you don’t care to Skype with me.”
“I hate Skype,” she said. “Almost as much as phones.”
“Ah.”
“Could we meet?”
“I’d like that. When and where?”
“You tell me.”
“Are you inviting me for a coffee, dinner, or something longer?”
“Let’s start with coffee.”
“Then you may have any weekday afternoon you like, after 3:30, if I can be home no later than 6:00. There’s a Caribou at the Mall of America.”
“Tomorrow. 3:30.”
“3:30 tomorrow,” I agreed. “It’s a school night, and I have studies, so this is just coffee and conversation. I’ll have to leave by 5:30.”
“Understood,” she said. She paused. “Astrid. What is this going to cost me?”
“Five dollars for my coffee.”
“But.” She trailed off.
“Are you willing to donate towards my Uber bill?”
“Of course.”
“Let’s call it another fifteen each way,” I said.
“All right,” she replied. “Astrid, that’s not the response I expected.”
“I figured that out,” I said. “It’s just coffee, Roma. If we start dating, I’ll tell you about my situation, and we’ll figure things out.”
“Tomorrow. 3:30. Caribou at the MOA. Will I recognize you?”
“I’ll send you a selfie of what I’m wearing and will hang out near the entrance until you find me. Please don’t make me wait too long.”
“I won’t.”
* * * *
I knocked at Maggie’s door. Steph answered, then invited me in. She hooked her thumb towards Maggie’s bed before heading back to her desk.
“Hey, Astrid,” Maggie said.
“I need a selfie,” I said. “Could you?” I held out my phone.
“I don’t think it’s a selfie if I’m the one pressing the shutter.” But she climbed from the bed. “I can do better with mine.”
“I’m sending it to someone,” I said. Her eyes widened, and she nodded. “Somewhere with a nondescript background,” I added.
“There’s good light in the lounge,” she replied. She gestured, and I proceeded her from her room. We walked down to the lounge. I moved to one wall. Maggie actually took several photos. Then we looked at them together.
“You look hot,” she said. “Got a date?”
“Coffee with Roma. It’s at the MOA, and I’ll be back about six.”
“How are you getting there?”
“Uber.”
“Your first date,” she said. “This is momentous.”
“It’s just coffee.”
“Still,” she said. “Good luck. What time do I panic?”
“If I’m not back by 6, I’ll call you.”
“At 6:01, I’m calling you.”
“Thanks.” I hugged her quickly. “You’re a good friend. I need to run.”
“See ya.”
Five minutes later I climbed into the back of an Uber. “Mall of America?” the driver asked. She pulled away from the curb, and I focused on my phone, sending a couple of the photos to Roma. She sent back a simple “Tks”, so I decided she was driving.
I was nervous. I was really quite nervous, and for several distinct reasons. This was to be my first date as a sugar baby. I didn’t necessarily need Roma to like me, but I need someone, or several someones, to like me enough to help me, or I would be dropping out by autumn. That wouldn’t be the end of the world. I had enough perspective to realize that. But the implications of dropping out would be felt for years, perhaps the rest of my life.
I didn’t kn
ow what would happen if Roma didn’t like me. Was I likeable? Fanny had said she didn’t care for the really gorgeous women, and I knew that absolutely wasn’t me. But that’s the standard of beauty, isn’t it? And if you’re going to spend the kind of money I needed people to spend, don’t you want the most you can get?
I didn’t have any illusions on that. I wasn’t the most someone could get, if she had money.
If Roma didn’t like me, what would that mean for me? This date was about far more than Roma.
At the same time, I was about to do something that two months ago I never, ever would have considered. I was meeting a woman twice my age for a romantic encounter. If we hit it off, by this time next week, we’d probably have shared a bed, and she’d be paying me.
In that moment, I felt like a hooker. I turned and stared out the window.
And then, of course, there was the last part of this, which I thought about while wondering how big a mistake I was making. What if I didn’t like Roma? What if she didn’t look like her picture? What if she treated me poorly? What if I just didn’t like her. What if she wanted things from me that made me uncomfortable?
That was the flip side of my worries she wouldn’t like me.
What was I willing to do to stay in school?
I knew the answer was absolutely not, “Anything”. That wasn’t the answer.
So I had limits. I thought perhaps those limits could get further pushed out over time, either as I became jaded, or as I was exposed to things I didn’t think I would like, but it turns out I liked them after all.
I wasn’t at all attracted to Fanny based on her photo. At the same time, she had a to-die-for voice. What did that mean? I didn’t know.
And so I stared out the window, going in circles. It wasn’t until the Mall of America was in sight that I realized something. Two somethings, really. The first was that I was about to meet Roma, and at least until we parted, no one else mattered. This was about Roma and me and no one else. Don’t worry about Fanny or other women I hadn’t even met.
And I thought Roma was attractive, even though she was so much older than I was.
And at the same time, I realized something else, and I made what seemed like an obvious decision, but it would turn out to be momentous, and I said it aloud besides. “I’m not going to do anything I don’t want to do.”
“What was that?” asked the driver.
