Sugar Baby (5 page)

“Oh fuck! God! Fuck, fuck!!” I yell out, fiercely coming on his hand. I collapse back onto his lap, breathing for a moment with a huge smile on my face. Then, dismount, only to lean over and kiss him deeply on the mouth again. I heave a sigh.

“One of these days, I have to please you,” I smile blissfully.

“You never have to do anything,” he responds, running his hand through my hair. “And you do please me. Greatly.” I moan pleasantly, eyes closing, head resting on the back on the couch. “I think we should get you back, before you fall asleep.”

“Mmmm, if we must. In ten minutes?”

“In ten minutes,” he chuckles.

He puts his arm around me, and we both gaze into the fire.

Chapter Six

I take the next day off from everything; Rigatoni's, Stephen, plans for my cafe, in an attempt to really try and ground myself. But, considering my A-type personality, it's difficult. I have to actually make myself do it. Despite the excitement of the dates I've had with Stephen, I've been feeling a lot of underlying anxiety about the big life changes happening. So, not exactly pleased with my current cramped living arrangements, I decide to go to a small park, bundled, and with a hot beverage. Just do this for twenty minutes, and then you can go back in and work on your cafe. I make the hot chocolate at home, and put it in a travel mug, out of the habit of saving money.

Money. I heave a sigh, settling into the park bench. Would I have met Stephen if I wasn't in need of it? Given him the time of day? But, do I have feelings for him now? Yes, I definitely do. Almost like an arranged marriage, I feel like we were brought together by an ulterior motive, but a genuine relationship is forming. And arrangements like this have been around for centuries, despite it being taboo in Western culture. I wouldn't continue to see him if I didn't feel we clicked. Or would I? Maybe I'm just one of the lucky ones, that we did. What would I have done, if I didn't feel attracted to him? Do many of those girls at the Gentlemen's Club have a genuine connection with their SD? And, can I ever be certain that I'm not just attracted to what he can give me?

I take a sip of my hot chocolate, and check my online banking on my phone. I see that Stephen has deposited the first of eight installments. It's official. I'm a Sugar Baby.

My next shift, which are becoming fewer and farther between nowadays, I find myself trying to stuff my hair into my chef's cap before anyone sees it. I wear plastic gloves with the dual purpose of hiding my nails, and avoiding damaging them. Despite my efforts, Jeremy's big nose notices a vividly coloured strand of hair.

“Whoa. Did you dye your hair?”

“Uh, yeah. It was a present.”

“You got a haircut for a present?”

“Haven't you ever given your mom a gift certificate for a spa or something?”

“Oh, yeah. I guess. Well, it looks really good!”

Just then, I look past the swinging door, to see Stephen in his usual spot at the bar. My breath catches for a moment, feeling the flutter of butterflies. What a nice surprise! I take a quick look at myself in the reflection of a pot. He's usually much more discreet than this, having never come in to Rigatoni's since we've been seeing each other, so I consider it a special treat.

“Uhh, I've got to go to the washroom. Watch my station?”

I scurry over to the front of the restaurant, pretending to get myself a pop from the bar fountain.

“Why hello, Miss Chef!”

“Hello, sir! Lovely day we're having,” I wink.

“I couldn't resist your cannoli. I hope you don't mind,” he says, in a near whisper.

“Not at all, sir! Besides,” I continue sotto voice, “I wanted to thank you for the other night.”

“My pleasure, as always.”

“Maybe I can bring you some pastries, next time,” I smile. He looks so handsome in his day suit. The colour really compliments him. Suddenly, I notice Jeremy eyeing me from the kitchen, and my face drops. I hope he didn't see the way I was looking at Stephen just then.

“Everything alright, my dear?”

“Hmm? Yes! Fine! I should get back, though. Good evening sir!!” I manage to joke one final time, despite the panic. I also feel bad giving him the slip, as I speed walk back through the doors. “Sorry! I wanted to grab a drink!”

“That's fine. Who was that?”

“Who? At the bar? A regular, I guess. He likes my cannoli.”

“Oh yeah?” Jeremy replies offhandedly, already back on the line, chopping some basil for the finishing touch on an order of lamb bolognese pasta.

“Yeah! Just wanted to tell me so. Anyway, I'm going to get to these orders! ‘Scuse me!”

A regular? I hope that never gets back to Stephen. It would hurt him. I hate that I had to lie like that to Jeremy. But, what am I supposed to do? I could've said Stephen was a friend of mine, but that doesn't look right, either. A friend of the family, I guess? Just a different lie. If only Jeremy wasn't interested in me, he would never notice in a million years. Or care, even if he did notice. He's a stoner, after all! And Stephen knows I'm at work. He's a reasonable man. He knows I can't pay him the attention he deserves if he just pops in like that without telling me. I take a deep breath. It's fine. It's all fine.

With the night off, and anxiety to burn, I decide to look over my updated business plan. Fresh out of the shower with my wet hair in a towel, I spread out the files onto the table. I recalculate my projected initial investment, and if my addition is correct, my current part time salary, along with the $20,000 from Stephen, should top up my original savings nicely. I can't believe that it's finally in my grasp.

Now, for the fun part. I rip out a new page and jot down a rough menu. Breads, buns, bagels, muffins, pies, pastries, cookies, cupcakes. Sandwiches, salads, soups? Yes, a small menu. Espresso coffee, loose leaf tea, specialty hot chocolates. I write out ingredients lists, and combine the like items for a rough initial food order. I look online for storefronts in my budget, and bookmark the ones in the areas I'm considering. I'm only planning on a cosmetic renovation, so existing restaurants only. Two or three stand out. Do I call? No, it's too early. But, what's the harm in starting to look? Besides, it's after five. I'll just leave a message, and they'll get it tomorrow, anyway...

“Hello?”

“Oh! Uh, hi! I'm interesting in booking a viewing?”

The first space I see is in a nice area. The kitchen is spacious, and the dining area has a nice reno, but is overshadowed but the fact that it's so achingly small. The second appointment is in a great area of town, but isn't in fact, a storefront as advertised, but a catering kitchen in the basement of an existing restaurant. The third place is an old dive bar way out in the middle of nowhere; and I didn't even go in after traveling all that way. Once the excitement of actually going to view a space wears off, I decide that I have to be much more selective. I take my time with the next person on the phone. How many square feet? Full kitchen? Recently renovated? What was in the space previously? The prices jump, but I manage to find something at a decent price. After carefully inspecting the pictures, and an extensive preliminary talk with the realtor, it looks very promising. Now that I'm going about this a little smarter, I pick up the phone.

“Stephen? What are you doing tomorrow?”

From the moment we walk in to the cozy, yet open space, I know that it's a serious contender. I look past the garish colours, and cheap, almost non-existent decor, already picturing my rich, modern rustic style transforming it. I turn to Stephen with an expectant, excited look in my eyes, and he just laughs.

“The main counter could go here, a bar installed along the window, a large display fridge here, some couches here, and still have room for eight tables or so... Can we see the kitchen?”

Wow. Surprisingly large for the size of the dining area. Could grow into this nicely, maybe run some catering out of here, eventually. “Hmm, most of the equipment is here. All I would have to do is get a couple standing fridges, even residential ones, since there's no walk-in... When's the last time these fridges were serviced?”

While I continue to inspect the rooms, Stephen asks about the previous businesses in this space and their histories, the condition of the building, the landlord. Why the low rent? He finds that the property taxes run quite high. “So Kat, with TMI you will actually be paying about $3500 monthly. Even though the rent is $2000.” I do some quick math on my phone.

“That's still only about $120 a day. Let's say another $150 in additional labour, plus stock. Maybe $325 total. Let's do some market research.”

A trendy area, with quaint designer shops, and packed restaurants during this lunch hour. He sees me eye a unique grey dress in a window, and encourages me to go in and try it on. We get a couple looks from other customers, but the lady is very polite. While I change, I can hear Stephen ask her about their clientele, how long the business has been there, her experience with this neighbourhood. I emerge from the change room wearing the form fitting number, and he saunters over to me, smiling.

“Oh, we're getting that!” He laughs, then leans in. “To remind us of this special day.”

“Very lovely! Like a princess!” The lady adds, bringing over some jewelry. She loosely holds a necklace across my throat. “Perhaps your daughter would like a necklace, to go with the dress?”

“Uhh,” I stutter, feeling heat on my face. I don't find that I'm particularly embarrassed personally, but I immediately have an awful, guttural empathy for Stephen. I just want to run over there and shield him from all the ignorant comments of the world. As always, he recovers like a true gentlemen.

“Of course! And a matching pair of earrings!”

We sit in a cafe a couple blocks away, but all their breads and desserts are ordered from a corporate distributor. And, nothing else similar in the area. We sit for an hour, and I track all the purchases, while Stephen inspects the lease.

“I can't believe people are buying these pre-packaged, preservative stuffed baked goods. And at these prices!”

“Perhaps they don't know any better,” Stephen muses, looking into my eyes. I avert them, having lost my confidence over the encounter with the store person. “Where you bothered by what that woman said?”

“No. Yes. A little bit,” I admit.

“That's alright. Things like that bother me, as well. Not as much anymore, of course. But, to see you hurt or embarrassed by them...”

“I'm not embarrassed.”

“No?”

“I'm embarrassed by... what they're thinking of us. I wish they knew what our relationship was really like. It's not how they think it is.”

“Oh no?”

“No.”

“What is it like, then? What would you tell them?”

“I would say... that these people really care about each other.”

“Mm hm,” he agrees, nodding.

“And it's not just about money. And sex.”

“Oh no?” He smiles, winking.

“No!” I say, hitting him on the arm. “You're not helping!”

“Do you know what I would say to them?”

“What?”

“That I don't care what they think.”

“Easier said than done,” I smile.

“Yes. It took a long time for me to learn how to readjust my thinking,” he says, finishing his espresso. “So, shall we go back and tell him?”

“Who? About the cafe? Oh, I haven't made my decision yet...”

“Yes, you have. And I support you completely.”

“Really?” I say, feeling my former excitement come back. I continue, almost in a whisper. “It's great, isn't it?”

“I think you'll be very happy there.” I blush, a big smile on my face.

“Okay. Let's do it. Let's go tell him.”

“I was just waiting for the word!”

We practically break down the door of Stephen's apartment, making out with fervour as we strip off our coats, and kick off our shoes. Linked as the lips, we stumble down the hallway, laughing in release into each other's mouths. He picks me up, and I put my legs around his waist, squealing with excitement. He carries me towards the bedroom, and we continue to deeply kiss each other.

He bends at the waist, almost falling towards me as he places me down on the bed. It doesn't help his balance that my legs won't let go, creating a vice, pulling him down on top of me, wanting to feel him against me very badly. I pull off my sweater, revealing a white lace camisole, my breasts falling slightly to the sides under it. He kisses my neck and ears, as he unbuttons his own shirt, removing it as well. When his hands are free again, he feels up my breasts through my shirt, before unbuttoning the fly off my jeans. I quickly help him, by lifting my hips and kicking them off my feet. I peel the tank top up over my bare breasts, as I watch Stephen take me in, and unbuckles his belt. I love him standing over me like this. He senses it, and continue to lustfully ogle me as he unbuttons his pants, and pulls down the fly. My hand wanders to my pussy, and I massage myself over my matching lace underwear, keeping eye contact with him the whole time. He smiles, and lets his pants drop to the floor, revealing a pair of black boxer briefs. His erection bulges through them, and he pulls down the waistband, taking it out. I moan at the sight of his hard cock, again feeling the intense need to have him against me. In me. I rip off my underwear, beside myself with anticipation.

He bends over me again, and we kiss passionately, our mouths opening, wanting to take as much of the other in as possible. I feel my breasts press against his chest, as I pull his hips into me with my legs. Now I feel the length of his erection against my moist pussy, and I grip him tighter with my legs to keep it there. He moves it over and over my silky slit, teasing me with it, and each time it passes by my opening I tilt myself in anticipation of taking him. Suddenly, almost by mistake, he slips in, and I cry out in ecstasy. I immediately encourage him to thrust, not letting go of his hips for a second, feeling myself coat his cock with my moisture. He moans in my ear, bent over me, as he begins to finally give it to me.

“Yes! God, yes!!” I mutter, now also grabbing his ass in my hands, feeling him slide in and out of me. “Just like that! Don't fucking stop!” He methodically fucks me, keeping a steady pace just like I tell him to. I push his chest up, and he erects himself, grabbing my legs for leverage. That's the spot. Oh fuck. I feel myself go silent in concentration, but my hand manages to communicate to keep going, by tapping him frantically on his side. My other hand moves to my clit, and the moment I start stimulating it, I know that I'm close. He continues to move his cock against my g-spot, rubbing it precisely and with an intoxicating rhythm. I feel myself bear down on it, everything contracting at once, and I cry out, gripping the sheets, coming intensely on him.