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A new site pops up immediately.
There are no pictures. But the lettering sings like a siren calling to drowning sailors. I can’t help but stare, breath coming fast.
$$$ Cute, Innocent Girls Wanted. Be a $ugar Baby Today! $$$
My face flushes.
Is this …?
Could it be …?
It has to be. I’m inexperienced when it comes to dating and relationships, but not dumb. I know what a sugar baby is. It means that you date guys for money right?
But what does “dating” mean?
What kind of guys?
And how much money?
It’s the last question that firms my resolve. Because if there’s anything my family needs right now, it’s money. We need cold hard cash to put food on the table so that my little sister doesn’t go hungry. It’s not just about white-out and school supplies. It’s about calories and rent at this point.
So lips pressed into a line, I click. The screen flashes with a site called Sugar Babiez, a sexy-looking woman smiling while sitting on a couch. Oh god, oh god, is this really happening?
But it is.
This is the only way out right now. I could try and get a job tutoring, or maybe working as a barista somewhere. But what would it pay? Minimum wage? That’s nowhere near enough, not when our circumstances are so dire.
Maybe I could make more as a sugar baby.
A lot more.
Maybe even four figures.
Hope makes my heart pound. We need it so badly, even a thousand dollars would make a huge difference. I could pay some of the overdue bills, especially the electricity and gas ones marked “final notice.” I could go to the grocery and buy some nuts and real cheese, not the government-issued cheese product we usually eat.
So maybe this is a possibility.
The rush to my head is overwhelming, my vision literally going blurry for an instant. But first things first. If I want to explore, then I have to create a profile.
What should my user name be?
A bunch of things jump into my head.
Honeybunz.
Jewelz.
SweetThing314, for my birthday March 14.
But those sound idiotic, like I’m a teen who spends all her time on the phone. So instead, I enter my real name, Carrie, and the site accepts it alarmingly fast. No “User Name Taken.” No suggestions of “Carrie314” or “Carrie12345.” Just Carrie.
Oh god, oh god.
Maybe I’ve screwed up already.
Am I being dumb?
Am I being hopelessly naïve?
Oh god.
But there’s no way I’ll actually meet someone on here, I tell myself. This is just to see who’s on the site. So taking another deep breath, I fill out the basics. I’m five five. Curly brown hair. Brown eyes. Average build. Well, that’s not actually true. Because I’m a curvy girl, with a big butt and huge, soft tits, along with hips that swing like a pendulum. So slowly, my finger unclicks “average” and instead presses down on “A little to spare.” “A lot to spare” would be more accurate, but that’s not a choice.
Oh god.
Moving on.
But it gets worse because the next screen prompts me to upload a pic of myself. What? I don’t have anything!
But it makes sense. Pictures tell a thousand words right?
So I surf around my laptop hard drive, trying to find something suitable. Definitely not my school ID, I have huge glasses and my hair’s a mess, it’d been windy that day. Definitely not a shot from my recent trip to Six Flags with Nicole, I look about fifteen years old with a giant ball of cotton candy and a silly smile.
But there’s nothing else. There really isn’t. I don’t have any suitable pictures, not something that I could upload here.
For a moment, I consider using someone else’s pic off the web. It’d be so easy, and no one would ever know. I’m not going to really “join” this site, anyways.
Or am I?
Because what if something comes along?
Or more realistically, what if we need the cash so bad that this is the only way?
That’s the real answer, hard and cold.
So trembling, I get up and grab my cell. Making my way to our tiny shared bathroom, I stare at my reflection in the mirror. Huge, round eyes with masses of curly brown hair. A chin that’s shaking somewhat, but at least they won’t be able to see that in a photo.
And holding my cell towards the mirror, I snap a pic. It’s terrible. Really, really bad. The flash obscures my face, making my head look like an exploding lightbulb. All you can see is my scoopneck tee with big boobies pressing forwards.
So I take another one, turning off the flash this time. This version’s better, at least you can see my face. But the expression is all wrong. I look like a haunted deer, eyes wide and staring, poised and ready to run.
Get with it! scolds the voice in my mind. Guys want someone cute and approachable, if not downright sexy. You think this is sexy? You think you’re gonna attract bees when you don’t put out the honey?
