What a Choice! Sex With a Sleaze for $100,000 or Writing for Peanuts

By Nicole McClelland, Mother Jones. Posted February 28, 2008.

Few things are less appetizing than a man four years my father's junior, a dumpy, pasty, greedy-eyed man in a gray suit who says he doesn't care to screw fat women because they're harder to overpower, asking me over a big bowl of warm apple crisp if I like anal sex. But since he's just offered me $3,000 a month plus perks -- gifts, dinners, shopping sprees -- to get naked with him once a week, I keep my tight young ass in its place, laugh politely, and pick up my fork.

I learned about SugarDaddy.com when an acquaintance I'll call "Kim" recommended it to my friend, who's had trouble finding a job despite (or because of) earning her master's in media arts several months ago. Kim collected $900 every time she went on a date with one of her sugar daddies; another gave her $3,500 in less than a week before announcing that he had to quit her because his wife had found out. Kim's best friend "Jill" had two sugar daddies giving her a combined $8,000 a month until one got jealous of the other. Jill has blond hair, amazing lips, and is 19.

All I had to do to gain access to the "meeting grounds of the rich and the beautiful" was enter a user name ("Nextdoor_Nicole"); some vitals like age (I lied and said 23, afraid 27 is overripe), marital status ("Do You Care?" is kind of an exciting choice), and body type (slim); and "Expectation: Select Financial Assistance You Desire," which ranges up to "more than $10,000 per month." I chose "negotiable," so as not to seem like a gold digger, I guess, and slapped up a picture my mom took of me last Christmas.

By the next day, I'd received 13 emails and 6 kisses, whatever that means, and been checked out by 36 older, wealthy men, two of whom added me to their "favorite list." Which brings me to my place across the table from Do You Like Anal, who puts proprietary hands on my shoulders and hips before we even get our cocktails and starts bartering for carnal treasure by the time dessert comes by asking me if I'd want to "hang out" once a week. I ask if "hang out" is a euphemism for "screw"; he says yes; I say that I wouldn't consider it for less than $5,000 a month. He counters with $3,000.

There is actually no stack of cash large enough to persuade me to have sex with this guy, but as his income is listed as "more than $1,000,000," I feel slighted. I ask why he uses this website if he's not prepared to dole it out, and he says regular dating sites don't cater to his preferences regarding age or "sensuality," and that the young girls on Craigslist are all unclassy whores. This statement is followed by an offer of $500 to "get into" my "cooch."

My double vodka doesn't do nearly enough to muffle his egotistical blather ("Enough about me," he says 20 minutes in. "Tell me about you. What do you think about me?") or the commentary he provides about his, um, girth. My roommate -- charged with checking in on me -- texts, "If he gets you the guacamole egg rolls you owe him a BJ. Also, ask him if I can have a pony."

When I arrive home to a houseful of twentysomethings, we rail against the lowball. The lone male in the group asks, "Would it have made a difference if he'd been attractive?" Nobody answers for a second. "Probably," I concede, and everyone reluctantly agrees; we are all sex-positive feminists here, offended not that he offered me money for sex, but that he offered so little and was so gross, and if the idea of doing him were palatable, and I were single, it's possible he'd be doing double duty as my boyfriend and payroll officer.

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