Sugaring Is Sex Work: My Real Experience as a Sugar Baby

I didn’t think of myself as sex work when I started. I thought I was just getting help with rent, eating at nice restaurants, and traveling without worrying about the bill. But after six months, I realized the truth: sugaring is sex work. It’s not always about sex, but it’s always about exchange. And that makes it work - real, messy, complicated work.

I met my first sugar daddy through an app. He was 52, divorced, and lived in Istanbul. We talked for weeks before meeting. He asked about my studies, my favorite books, my fears. He didn’t ask about my body until the third date. That’s when he said, "I don’t want a girl who just shows up. I want someone who talks." I didn’t know then that this was the standard. That the best sugar relationships aren’t about bodies, but about presence. There are women who do this full-time in Paris - some call themselves escort girls paris, others prefer the term "companion." But the lines blur fast when money is involved and intimacy is expected.

How It Started - Not With a Bang, But With a Text

I was 21, studying literature at Ankara University, working two part-time jobs, and still couldn’t afford new textbooks. My mom was sick. My dad had left years ago. One night, I scrolled through a forum someone linked me - "Sugar Baby Basics" - and read a post titled "I Got My Rent Paid for 6 Months Without Selling My Soul." I laughed. Then I cried. Then I applied.

My first match was a retired engineer from Germany. He offered €1,200 a month for two dinners and a weekend trip. No sex required. I said yes. We went to Cappadocia. He taught me how to read the stars. We didn’t kiss. But he gave me a necklace made of real silver, and I kept it. That’s when I realized: this wasn’t just money. It was care. Quiet, transactional care.

The Rules No One Tells You

There are unwritten rules. You don’t ask for more unless you’ve delivered. You don’t post pictures of him on Instagram. You don’t tell your friends unless you’re ready to be judged. You don’t cry when he cancels. You don’t get mad when he forgets your birthday. You learn to separate the person from the payment.

Some sugar babies get treated like queens. Others are treated like apps - swipe right, use, delete. I had both. One man sent me flowers every Tuesday. Another never called back after I said "I love you." I didn’t say it to trap him. I said it because I was lonely. That’s the hidden cost: emotional labor. You learn to perform affection without feeling it. And that wears you down.

The Sexual Expectation That Never Goes Away

Most sugar daddies say sex isn’t required. But most of them expect it. It’s never stated. It’s implied in the tone, the timing, the way they look at you after dinner. I turned down two men because I wasn’t ready. One stopped paying. Another sent me a message: "I thought you were different. You’re not like those sugar babies who just want money." I didn’t reply. I deleted the app for a week.

Sex work doesn’t mean you have to have sex. But if you’re in a space where intimacy is the currency, and money is the reward, then sex becomes part of the deal - even if it’s never spoken. That’s the trap. You think you’re in control. Then you realize control was an illusion.

Paris, the City That Made Me See It Clearly

I went to Paris on a trip he paid for. Not as a tourist. As a guest. I stayed in a tiny apartment near Montmartre. He flew in for three days. We ate croissants at a bakery he knew, walked along the Seine, talked about his ex-wife. He didn’t touch me until the last night. I let him. I didn’t want to be rude. I didn’t want to lose the money.

While I was there, I met another sugar baby - a 23-year-old from Colombia. She called herself a sexmodel paris. She said she didn’t do sex, just photoshoots and dinners. But she had a contract with a photographer who paid her €800 a week to wear lingerie in his studio. "It’s art," she said. "It’s not sex work." I didn’t argue. But I knew the truth. The camera doesn’t care if you’re smiling. The client pays for the fantasy. Whether it’s a photo, a kiss, or a night together - it’s still exchange.

That’s when I understood: the labels don’t matter. What matters is the power imbalance. The money changes everything. Even when you’re the one holding the purse strings, you’re still the one being paid to be present.

The Day I Quit

I quit after a man asked me to wear a dress he bought me - a red silk thing with lace - and take photos in his hotel room. He said, "I just want to remember you like this." I said yes. He paid me €2,000. I didn’t sleep that night. I stared at the ceiling and thought about my mom. About how she used to say, "Don’t let anyone make you feel like you’re worth less than you are."

I sent him a message the next morning: "I’m done." He replied: "You’re not ready for this life." I didn’t argue. I deleted the app. I closed my bank account linked to the payments. I told no one. I went back to school. I started tutoring kids in English. I made less money. But I slept better.

What I Learned - And What No One Tells You

Sugaring isn’t glamorous. It’s not the life shown in movies or TikTok. It’s quiet loneliness wrapped in expensive dinners. It’s learning to say no without losing income. It’s carrying shame you didn’t earn.

But it’s also real. Real people. Real needs. Real survival. I met women who did this to pay for medical bills, to get out of abusive homes, to finish degrees. I met men who were lonely, grieving, or just tired of being alone. The system is broken. But people are trying to fix it with what they have.

Some call it exploitation. Others call it empowerment. I call it what it is: work. Hard, emotional, invisible work. And if that’s sex work, then I was a sex worker. Not because I had sex. But because I sold my presence. My time. My silence. My ability to pretend I wasn’t afraid.

There are women in Paris who do this full-time. Some call themselves sex model paris. They have portfolios, agents, contracts. They don’t call themselves prostitutes. And they shouldn’t have to. But if you’re exchanging intimacy for money - no matter how you dress it up - you’re in the same industry. The only difference is the label.

It’s Not About Morality. It’s About Choice.

People judge sugar babies like they’re making a bad decision. But what’s the alternative? Working three jobs and still falling behind? Borrowing money from family? Staying in a bad relationship because you can’t afford to leave?

I didn’t choose sugaring because I wanted to. I chose it because I had to. And for a while, it worked. It gave me space. Time. A chance to breathe.

Now I’m done. But I don’t regret it. I regret the silence I had to keep. The fear. The shame. Not the work itself.

If you’re thinking about trying it - know this: you’re not broken. You’re not immoral. You’re just trying to survive in a world that doesn’t pay you enough to live.

And if you’re someone who thinks this is just about sex - you’re wrong. It’s about dignity. And sometimes, dignity costs money.