Bianca's Take April 2016

For the first time ever, the doctor was coming over to my apartment.  I lit some candles, slipped into my leopard print robe and made myself a cappuccino.  I was nervous.  Not only because it was my first time having a man over in a while, one that I really liked, but also because of the warnings I had received from friends in the past twenty-four hours.

First from Fillip and now the woman from my dinner at the Core Club.

“Just be careful.”  Why did everyone keep telling me that?  Frankly, I was getting a little tired of hearing it.  I’m a grown woman.

I decided I needed some advice from other women who were in the same boat, who were familiar with the world of arrangements and might be a good sounding board.  I opened my computer and began browsing.  I came across a blog called LetsTalkSugar.com, which was a virtual community of girls in the exact same boat.  I was amazed at just how many girls out there were also having arrangements.  Perfectly normal girls right here in Manhattan.  Writers, designers, students. I felt a bit comforted knowing I wasn’t alone.  I guess I wasn’t the only single girl paying $3k for a studio in the city.

I checked my watch.  10:59.   As the minutes ticked by, I felt myself getting antsy.  What was I doing with a married guy?  We were only a week into things.  I could just end things now and no one would get hurt.  But something told me to hang on and see where things went.  It was all just to interesting to walk away now.

I continued to tidy the apartment, fidgeting with flower vases and obsessively straightening picture frames, when I finally heard from him.  He had landed safely at JFK.

I was “not the other woman.”  Right.

How could that be?  Of course I was the other woman.  I was being paid $5k a month to play that role.  I rolled my eyes slightly at the fluff.  I didn’t need him to pay me lip service just so I’d stay in the picture.

Still, there was something so unique about the doctor.  I took inventory of our relationship up until that point.  Despite the unique circumstances, it was such a stark contrast to what I had experienced with my robotic ex husband. The doctor was passionate and caring, poetic and loving.  He was incredibly accomplished, had his own Wikipedia page and his intellect surpassed that of any man I’d ever met. And it seemed that he saw me for more than just my looks.  I had felt objectified by men almost my entire life, but the doctor saw me for who I was and for my personality.  He believed in my intellect.  So much so, that on our last date he brought me a rare copy of The Fall by Albert Camus.  I actually felt smarter just being in his presence.

Still I couldn’t get my friend Fillip’s words out of my head.  A married man.  I could do better.  I knew he was right.

Later that evening I found myself at The Core Club, an exclusive members only spot in Manhattan sitting across from a fascinating and accomplished woman.  We had connected through my high school alumni association and agreed to meet for dinner.  I listened to the story of her experiences of becoming a New York socialite and her journey to her current residence, a sprawling penthouse on Park Avenue.  Five years ago, she has gone through a very messy public divorce that had been splashed across the tabloids.

After sharing her story, she swirled her martini glass and smiled at me.

“Tell me, Bianca, are you seeing anyone special?”  She asked.

“Well, sort of.” I’d obviously not get into the specifics. “He’s very sweet.  A doctor.”

“That’s nice.  Just be careful.  There are so many evil men in this city.  They’ll say and do just about anything to get you in bed.”

“I think I have a good one,” I replied confidently and clinked my glass against hers.  I glanced down at my phone and realized I didn’t have much service where we were seated.  When the check came and we settled the tab, I snuck off the to ladies room to send the doc a quick message...

To My Readers

I just want to take a moment and thank my readers for following Dear Bianca.  I have had an incredible response since I started the blog in March and have received lots and LOTS of questions so I wanted to address a few points.

This blog is the story of what has happened to me in this most eventful year (so far.)  I discovered the world of “sugaring” when times had gotten hard and supporting myself financially was becoming rather challenging.  I couldn’t have imagined the adventure and the relationship that would follow.

Why am I writing this blog?  The best answer to that is that as this affair has unfolded for me, I have found it to be even stranger than fiction.  It was and has been such a surreal experience that I find it cathartic to write and share it with others.  

Am I still with the doctor?  I have gotten this question more than anything else.  Just keep reading.  As many twists and turns as this journey has taken for me, even I have no idea how the story will end. 

Does the doctor know I have this blog?  Hell NO.  Please don't tell him.

Names and a few very minor details have been changed to protect the parties involved.  But you are reading the actual conversations that took place between me and Mark over messaging.  Looking back, you can definitely see how all consuming our relationship was from day one.  We message morning, noon and night.

For better or for worse (as you have read by now,) I found myself brushing aside the fact that he was married.  As far as I was concerned, he was the one cheating and committing adultery not me.  It wasn’t right, but the fact that he and his wife have no kids also made things easier to justify in my mind. 

For us, the intensity button was pushed almost from the start.  It was a whirlwind of feelings, both exciting and confusing.  If you have ever had an affair, you know that once feelings come into play it becomes incredibly complicated and difficult to “quit.”

I am well aware that there will be some hate and judgment heading my way as readers continue to follow.  And that is perfectly ok.  Everyone is entitled to their opinion and I will accept the good and the bad!

Thank you again for reading along and for your questions.  I hope you continue to enjoy the blog!

xoxo,

"Bianca"

Girlfriend…No one had called me their girlfriend in 5 years.  The last person was my ex husband.  I felt like a giddy high schooler with an insane crush.  The high was just too good.

So far, there were only a couple of minor red flags.  Like the fact that he said dishonesty triggered “strange reactions” in him.  What did that mean exactly?  Maybe I was reading too deeply into these things.  Besides, text could get confusing.  The correct tone doesn’t always translate in messaging.  Or maybe there was a bit of a cultural language barrier between us.  I decided to give him the benefit of the doubt.  For now.

I decided to message my gay best friend Fillip and get his advice on the matter.  It would be almost impossible to get him up to speed on all the developments that happened in such a short time, but a recap was certainly in order.

The conversation went something like this (abridged)

Me:  Hi Fillip, I have a new boyfriend…

Fillip:  Who is this rich Arab billionaire?

Me:  Ha. No actually.  He’s a married guy.  A doctor…

Fillip:  NO

Me:  But …

Fillip:  NO.  Bianca.  Why are you doing this?  You can do better.  Where can this relationship go?  Men never leave their wives.  And you are only pursuing things with a married man for one reason.  It’s safe.  You never have to fully emotionally open up.  What about their kids?

Me: They don’t have kids.  They never wanted them.  His wife hates kids.  You know what?… it doesn’t matter.  Nevermind, I shouldn’t have told you any of this.  Forget it.

Fillip:  Bianca I am super worried about you.  I don’t approve of this.  AT ALL.  Just stop.

Me:  It’s all good.  Don’t worry about me.  Gotta go.  Bye.

Holy shit.  I logged off Facebook and slammed my Mac shut.  The buzz kill shot straight through me and sobered me right up.  I wasn’t prepared to be schooled by Fillip of all people.  He was so incredibly open minded.  I thought maybe he and I would justify the situation, laugh it off and agree to meet for a cocktail.

Fuck.  Why had I casually glazed over the fact that the doctor was married?  The world of arrangements was so bizarre that all rules seemed to be off the table.  For the very first time I wondered about his wife.  What was she like?  What did she do? The doctor told me that she was aware of his indiscretions.  I suddenly wondered why.

I cared for him.  That was the first and only conclusion I could reasonably make.  But I suddenly had lots of questions running through my mind...

I was feeling pretty content when I went to bed.  Life had become significantly less stressful in just a week’s time.  Between a doting lover and my newfound financial freedom, I felt unstoppable.  Life was good with the doctor.

But somewhere in the middle of the night I awoke, and couldn’t get something he said out of my mind.

A tad possessive.  I wondered what that meant.  He threw it out there, and then retracted it.  Maybe I should have brushed it aside.  But it was still out there.    Possessive.   A strange word veiled in a sea of beautiful prose and flattery.  I decided to flag it as a warning unless he said something similar in the future.

The doctor had given me a little Ziploc bag with a dozen or so Ambien, so I decided to pop one and go back to bed.  I had a busy day ahead of me and needed a good night of sleep.

As I was dozing off around 2 am, I realized that as strange as our relationship was, I didn’t want to see anyone else besides him.  At least for now.  I decided to deactivate my profile from Making Arrangement the next day.

I sat across from the 50 something attorney and pretended to laugh at his obnoxious jokes.  I was counting down the minutes until the waiter brought our check and I could get in an Uber and head home.  I had my first allowance from the doctor burning a hole in my pocket and had been eyeing a black Prada fur vest on The Real Real which would look good with my blonde hair.

On the cab ride home, I contemplated if I really wanted to have multiple arrangements.  I had a connection with the doctor and I knew he had taken his Making Arrangement profile down.  I wasn’t sure if he wanted me to do the same, but I did know that I couldn’t have been less interested in my date that evening.  Would anything else be as exciting as my newfound fling with Mark Reilly?  It was becoming increasingly less likely.

When I got home I fed Marty and eagerly began perusing the fur vault on www.therealreal.com.  Shopping after a bottle of Moet was probably not the best idea and I definitely had bills to pay.  But I felt I deserved a little treat for myself.  Plus, the doctor was there to help alleviate my financial stress.  And it didn’t seem he was going anywhere anytime soon.

I had just pulled my hair back in a messy bun and slipped into my blush pink silk robe, when I got a text from across the pond…

Were the doctor’s messages a bit too much too soon?  A little.  But they were flattering, so who was I to curb his sentiments?  The way I viewed things at this stage, he was a lonely man and I was simply playing a role in his life.  I was the mistress that would indulge his romantic side and be the recipient of love letters on a daily basis.  How awful could that be?  I decided to keep my mouth shut and play my part.

I definitely cared for him and felt an interesting connection.  But at this point, I wasn’t sure what those feelings meant.  When he mentioned he might “fall in love” with me, I dismissed it as pure fantasy on his end.

I was definitely deep in a sex fog and my brain was perhaps confusing lust for infatuation.   Every time I tried to concentrate on something at work, my mind wandered back to him, and my physical longing to be with him again.  I couldn’t remember the last time anyone had ever made me feel that way in bed.

All this for five grand a month?  Sold.

That evening I was meeting the 50 something attorney at Cosme, an upscale Mexican joint in Flatiron.  I still wanted to keep my options open and I figured what the doctor didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him.

What I didn’t realize though, is that it’s very (very) difficult to concentrate on a date with a middle aged balding man, when you’ve exchanged racy sext messages on the cab ride there with someone else…

(Warning: letter SO not suitable for work…)

It was a busy Wednesday at work and I was working with a massive hangover.  I had a photoshoot scheduled at 9am, otherwise I probably would have spent the morning in bed with a venti iced coffee.

Countless details of the night before were replaying in my mind.  I found myself daydreaming more often than I should have been, but I couldn’t help myself.

“Bianca, just please…Do not disappear from my life,” the doctor whispered before I left the hotel room at The Roxy.

“How could I?” I smiled back at him.

It was surreal that just six days ago I was tossing and turning at night, totally sleepless about making ends meet.  And now, I had a man willing to take care of everything for me.  And it seemed there might be more to this than just the financial benefit.

I was on such a high that I almost completely forgot I had another date on Thursday.  A 50 something divorced attorney whose texts were bordering on desperate.  I wondered if I should cancel.  After all, the doctor had taken down his Making Arrangement profile.  Did he expect me to do the same?

I knew he was leaving for London that night and that we would have a long distance relationship for a few days.  Until Sunday at least.  I decided to keep my date with the attorney.  It would be good to have a distraction.

Our night replayed in my mind all day.  I was on cloud nine.  I didn’t even take the time to contemplate if the doctor was too good to be true…I simply didn’t care.

I woke up at 4 am on Wednesday, restless and replaying the unexpected events from the night before in my mind.   I rolled over to check my phone and was surprised to have received a long letter from the doctor just hours before.  It only confirmed that what I experienced with him was in fact reality and not just a dream.

An arrangement. It was just supposed to be an arrangement, I reminded myself.  Nothing involving feelings.  And yet I found myself baffled at how something that was meant to be all business could feel so incredibly…passionate.

After he kissed me by the window at The Roxy, I decided to slip my dress off.  He called me a goddess.  He told me I should be worshipped.  I hung on his every word.  He lay me down on the bed.  We both decided we wouldn’t sleep together that night.  

But before I knew it, we were both breaking our rules.  I gave in.  Fireworks.  That night, for the first time in my life, I had three orgasms.

Afterwards, I was lying in his arms with my head on his chest, my hair a wild mess.  We began opening up to each other about our past (and current) relationships.  I told him a bit about my divorce and how I had pridefully left my ex husband without any sort of settlement for myself.  I told him about the slew of meaningless flings I had rebounding after my marriage.  He was so easy to talk to.

He told me that he felt very neglected in his marriage and that lying there with me was the first time he hadn’t felt lonely in years.  And then he asked me something.

“Bianca, what is your greatest fear with me?”

“Getting hurt,” I replied without hesitation, “What’s yours?”

“Bianca?  I am afraid that I am going to fall in love with you.”

I paused.  I was flattered.  But I brushed it off as post coital infatuation.  How could anyone have feelings that strong after only meeting someone twice?

We lay together for hours.  He confessed to me that he was abused by his father as a child and at one point, he was a drug addict and a sex addict.

“Aren’t we all sex addicts?” I joked seductively.  He didn’t laugh.

Moments later, he sweetly kissed me on the forehead and informed me that it was time to head home.  His curfew was 9pm.

As he showered, I slipped on my dress and coat.  I cringed as I collected the envelope full of cash from the dresser.  It was a harsh reminder of the true nature of this relationship and perhaps the reality check I needed.

Don’t fall for this guy, don’t fall for this guy, I repeated in my mind on the cab ride to my apartment.

After all, I doubted I’d be hearing much from him until our next date…