The story of my life and the endless question

What trip! And I don’t mean the one where Ben and I are right now! No. I mean something bigger. Like in a life story line. I never would have thought that personal achievements and goals that were once unattainable, implausible, and unrealistic for me back then, would be living on now. I would not even have imagined the term sugar baby associated with my life. We both decided to take a break from our comfort zone of high-rise restaurants, West End nights and Sketch London nights and gave way to the fairytale landscape that surrounds us with its icy landscape that we are now traversing at the bullet speed. I have no idea why now I suddenly started writing down these thoughts, but I guess since we have a few hours until we get to Geneva and Ben has completely fallen asleep next to me, that will just do the trick of killing time. Correct! I’m Jannet, for those of you who might see me in a more positive light if I give you my real name. But the more common reality is… I am rarely seen in a positive light. A night shift aviation worker might have a little better luck than me on that one, I can tell you! But insolence aside, I’m someone you probably already know or at least meet on a daily basis: the girl you saw giving an old man a seat while you were traveling, that other one who bent down a bit to pick up your dropped coins at Starbucks or that other one who selflessly went out of his way to spend some time explaining to you where the street you were looking for was? I’m an average person, who like everyone else, enjoys being appreciated for what it is, but in my case I’m mostly judged by what I do: I’m a sugarbabe…

I am the eldest of three Coventry-raised siblings who were raised by doting parents, that is, none of whom were a sugar daddy or sugar baby even though Dad has religiously deposited monthly money into Mum’s bank account to date. My father was the type of man who would go out of his way to see that his wife and children had everything that would be considered a common possession in the average UK family. We all went to education and led pretty normal lives and were given a great example of principles and moral aspects of a Christian life. I always felt comfortable talking and being a talkative girl and got straight A’s in humanities. Unlike the exact sciences, where I struggle a little more at the University at the moment. I would say that I could always keep an equal proportion of energy invested both in my personal and professional development and in my relationships. But it was very early in life that I learned from experience that what I held most dear would eventually become the most significant trigger for a titanic change in my life. His name was Phillip… My first love. And as an eighteen-year-old girl, that meant the world to me and possibly the underpinning force that was second only to me. Needless to say, I was heartbroken by Phillip, which in itself is not grounds for persecution; after all, people do get their hearts broken at some point in their lives through no one’s fault. But Phillip…Phillip had managed to keep me and his other girlfriend a secret for a good two years. The foolishness of youth? You could say that, but unfortunately that had been the continuing pattern in my emotional life for a long time: the cheater, the dishonest, selfish, sometimes gambler type. I hadn’t been a sugar baby to any of those… I was getting used to it as the years rolled on! Until one rainy night. It was pouring with rain when I wiped the smeared mascara off my face. Not because of the torrential rain, but because of the uncontrollable tears she shed that night that my son’s biological father left me upon learning of my pregnancy. It was misery the likes of which he had never encountered before and at that moment all I could see as my life was my unborn baby and that bus shelter sheltering me from the rain. A car passed and stopped slowly. It was black with black tinted windows and there was some sort of horse emblem on top of the front hood (I later found out it wasn’t a horse but a Jaguar). The window rolled down automatically.

He introduced himself as Ben and asked:

– I couldn’t help noticing the terrible state you are in right now. Please don’t blame me if I feel moved to ask if you’d like to come in.

I immediately declined his offer, adding that he was not up to par with what he thought he was at that bus stop. But somehow, his smile and the way he invited me had already said that his intentions were not what I seemed at first. A good thirty minutes later we were sitting at a table eating dinner, as I told her my life story and how I had no plan B for being a single mom and still had to finish my studies. As the night wore on we decided to meet up in the next few weeks; during which time I gave in to his lovely way of making me feel safe and cared for. I had never felt so selflessly welcomed and accepted…as if for the first time I felt like he belonged. Mark gave me what no other young, volatile, immature boy had ever given me. He treated me like a woman. In the months that followed, the deep feelings I felt for him in the beginning began to fade and I think the first shock of being rescued by my hero was gone and what was left were warm, tender feelings for each other. None of those emotional changes influenced the way he would help me organize my life, and to this day, he is there for me. My daughter Sahra is in good health and well cared for, and I have a future career. Since then, I have taken note of websites like Mysugardaddy.com and have met other men in circumstances similar to the ones I just described. They are all there for me as much as I am there for them. There’s a learning curve from all this inadvertent first introduction to the sugar baby lifestyle.

So often I wonder if people, by human nature, sometimes simply oppose the achievements of others because, compared to themselves, they covet the level of effort through which those achievements are produced. People need to look at each other from the perspective of “who they are” and not “what they do”. I remember reading an excerpt from a law book that a friend had forgotten in my apartment some time ago. And out of curiosity, while he was flipping through the pages, I randomly found the word “neighbor”. By coincidence, at that time there was a big problem between a neighbor, me and a palm tree that I got as a gift (yes, I know I don’t even want to start with that), so I stopped to read it. The way he talked about “neighbor” in the context of what the book was about (which, by the way, had nothing to do with my neighbor at the time, so I was a little deflated by that) was so beautifully moving in the way it was. rationally logical it was that it got stuck in my mind till date. In short, he defined people who are affected by the things you do or, just as important, the things you don’t do. And I have thought about this question for a long time without success in answering it: who am I so negatively affecting with what I do?

Sincerely,

Jannet…and hoping to live a life with less judgment