Sugar Daddies

by Celia Crown

  My hands go to take the offered meat as the beeping noise from the card machine signals the approval of the purchase. My mind is nowhere near the price of it; I’m more focused on the heavenly smoky aroma that whiffs off of it.

  The moment I bite into it; I am never going back to regular turkey for Thanksgiving. I need this as my daily meal. The taste isn’t exactly like a turkey. It’s somewhere near cured ham, and the meat falls off the bone in one smooth peel.

  The meat melts in my mouth with a small tang of saltiness. Juices run down into the bag, and I couldn’t care less how barbaric I look in front of the ever-so-handsome Mr. Stephan.

  I’m more concerned with devouring the turkey when he steers me to sit on an oddly suspicious empty bench. I chew as I think of reasons why no one is taking the seat. It’s a hot day, and there are a lot of people here so it should make sense to have trouble finding places to sit.

  I shrug and sink my teeth into the meat again; it’s so juicy and tender as I swallow the rest of it down my throat. I may look like a starved child, but Mr. Stephan has fed me good the moment we stepped into Disney World.

  I beg of him to buy me food, and he did it out of the kindness of his heart, or at least that’s what I think. I can never read him; his face doesn’t reveal his thoughts in ways that help me distinguish him being Mr. Stephan, the businessman or Mr. Stephan, the Daddy.

  “Slow down, little princess,” Mr. Stephan said while halting my hand in mid-bite.

  I blink as my thoughts come back to me. I look down to the almost finished turkey, and I’m shocked that my appetite expands that fast.

  He questions with a slight humorous chuckle, “Does Max starve you?”

  I blush and lick the smoky juices off my lips, “No, he feeds me well.”

  I start to finish the meat off the bone and toss the trash in the bag. My hand swings to the left where the trashcan is beside me for convenience.

  Mr. Stephan hands me a napkin to wipe the grease off my fingers. It’s a wet wipe, and it cleans the juices quickly. I’m not going to ask where he got the wet wipe. He doesn’t look like he had anything in his pockets other than his car keys and his wallet that has the infamous black card.

  Let’s not forget a wad of cash that I saw when he paid for the VIP tickets. I swear the person that handed us the wrist band had his eyes wide and greedy for the cash inside.

  I was a little tempted to count them to see exactly how much it was.

  It’s weird that Mr. Stephan has a VIP pass, but he doesn’t use it as I do. It’s just on his wrist as decoration with his gold watch on his other hand, and it’s an intricate Rolex that shows his status without him bragging about his wealth.

  It’s a subtle sign that lets people admire him but generates the fear of going up to him. Given his presence, I hazard a guess that many thinks that he will sue those who tread into his space if Mr. Stephan doesn’t use physical strength to brush people off.

  Daddy would have never let me go off on my own, but Mr. Stephan is different. He lets me ride roller coasters by myself, and he would meet me by the exit with his smile. I can’t get enough of the rides, and with the VIP pass, I can breeze past people and experience the next adrenaline rush.

  To ensure that I’m not weaving through people in such crowded places, Mr. Stephan always has my hand in his for safety reasons, and I would have wandered off if he didn’t hold onto me.

  I get distracted by the princesses twirling in their puffy dresses and mascots taking photos with families. I have the innocent and childish sensations; the little girl in me craves to be in a fairy tale that is tailored to me.

  I have it at home, but this is on a whole new level of whimsical.

  The bustling voices and laughter echoing with my heart steal what little attention span I have left from being overly exposed to so many things at once.

  It’s okay though, Mr. Stephan will take good care of me, so the danger isn’t on my most prioritized concern.

  What I’m more concerned about is the number of rides that I need to finish, and I’m not even halfway through exploring Disney World yet. The theme park is too big with miles and miles of exquisiteness, not to mention the food that is waiting for me to scoff down.

  “Don’t eat too much, you’ll get a stomach ache,” Mr. Stephan kindly reminds me of my sensitive gut.

  I have had an experience where I would eat more than I usually do in one sitting, and I need more stomach acid to break down the food, but I don’t so it over-produces. When the food is gone, it leaves the acid at an unhealthy amount in my gut, so I get the need to throw up with no chance of doing so.

  It just wouldn’t come out no matter how long I stayed in the bathroom, hovering over the toilet and cursing myself for being gluttonous.

  I never learn my lesson because it happened again and again.

  “I think I’m okay, Mr. Stephan.”

  There is no reply from him, so I look over, and it’s such a bad idea. The pair of gorgeous, brown eyes darken significantly with a lick of anxiety coiling in my belly. He’s not pleased, and I quickly rectify my mistake. I’m a stammering mess as I spit out an apology.

  “I’m sorry, Daddy,” I murmur, “But, I have to eat.”

  “I’m not stopping you,” he smiles as he tucks a piece of hair behind my ear.

  The sun is hot as it runs waves of heat down my skin. I made sure to slather on sunscreen all over me. I wouldn’t appreciate being a toasted marshmallow. I’m a tender muffin that needs extra care.

  Tanning requires me burning and peeling, possibly leaving me mentally scarred for the rest of my life. Maybe I’ll turn into a roasted orange by the time I’m cooking under the sun; I can be the star’s distant cousin who is terrified of the big and bad flaming ball.

  “I just want you to pace yourself,” he wipes my greasy lips with an extra wet wipe that I now know comes from the turkey leg vendor.

  I saw it from the corner of my eyes when he ripped open one packet of it.

  There isn’t any fragrance or any irritation on my lips, so I assume they are made specifically for children to prevent their immune system from catching something and blaming the theme park.

  “I can’t,” I bounce with a ball of energy, “There’s still so much I have to eat.”

  “You can’t try everything in one day,” Mr. Stephan clicks his tongue at me, and my bottom lip juts in a pout.

  “We can come back tomorrow,” I nod determinedly.

  I will camp outside the theme park just so I can be the first one in and start off where I didn’t explore yet. It sounds like a good plan in my head without shelter and food or drinks, but that wouldn’t stop me from sitting on the ground until morning.

  “I thought you want to go home to Max,” he comments while leaning over me to throw away the wet napkin.

  I catch his scent and inhale deeply while absentmindedly saying, “I want to go home with you too.”

  He chuckles and presses a kiss to my cheek. It’s then I realize what I said and duck my head in embarrassment.

  “Yes, we’ll go home together,” he agrees with a laugh.

  It’s the angel again. My mind tricks me into thinking that he’s always been an angel and that the reason I thought he was the devil is that he’s taking in the influence Daddy has and morphing it into his own.

  “It’s almost five, and the firework starts at eight, you can only have three more snacks.” Mr. Stephan lays down his rule, and I very reluctantly agree after one solid minute of debating the advantages and disadvantages in my head while he muses at my funny expressions.

  “Four?” I show him four fingers with my eyes open wide and begging.

  He’s nice and accommodating. He doesn’t treat me badly, and there is so much that he allows me to do that Daddy would frown upon.

  I know that Daddy is protective of me because he thinks that I’m too innocent and naïve that I’ll get kidnapped for being too kindhearted. Mr. Stephan balances him out by giving me time and space to expe
rience the magic of being a big girl while simultaneously being his little princess.

  I like the compromise.

  “Three,” Mr. Stephan says as he doesn’t budge on my pleading expression.

  My pout falls. It was worth the try to know what limit he has set for me and where his boundary of being a dominant man lies.

  “Okay, three,” I push one finger down to show him the rest of the fingers.

  It’s better than nothing, though I had to try my luck to be sure that I get the best deal. It’s not every day that I can be here. I know that firework happens every night at Disney World, but I can’t be here every day.

  This is my chance to take in every little thing even if it kills me.

  I think I can get one more try out of this, “Daddy doesn’t let me eat junk food…”

  “I’m aware,” he says as we stand up. We interlace our fingers together with eased practice.

  “Max is only worried; you don’t react well to changes.”

  We walk towards the next destination on my list of things I want to do before I leave today. People brush past me and run in front as they laugh with their friends.

  Girls my age should have friends to come to Disney World with, but I’m here with a man more than double my age, and I frankly love the time spent with him.

  “My tummy is fine,” I argue weakly.

  “For now,” he remarks back, “You’ll regret it soon.”

  I whine softly, “Daddy is really strict on what I can eat. Please let me—”

  “No,” his answer ends the discussion from proceeding any further.

  I huff grumpily before my eyes brighten at my next ride. I squeal happily while dragging Mr. Stephan to the entrance where they check passes.

  It’s not the time to sulk when I’m about to experience another round of heightened adrenaline that’ll keep my giddy for hours.

  I show the employee my wristband, and she scans it with a hand machine before I dart off into the expedited line while waving back to Mr. Stephan. He returns my wave with less enthusiasm than me, but that tells me that he’s going to be at the exit waiting for me when I get off.

  Everyone has a FastPass for the expedited line, but mine is a red band around my wrist.

  I never noticed why other people have different passes than I do, and it’s only when I’m behind a FastPass person did I know what the difference is.

  This red band is paid with extra money to be the first person for any entertainment in the theme park. Mr. Stephan paid who knows how much to get it, and I’m bumped to the first person in line while the other FastPass people wait behind me.

  The rollercoaster ride comes as people begin to filter out and go to another platform to retrieve their stuff. I’m escorted by an employee to a seat of my choice.

  I boldly choose the front, but I don’t choose the seat because I don’t want to separate a couple or a group of friends who want to sit by each other.

  Every time I take the front seat, I instantly regret it when the anticipation grows with the distance from the ground as the cart bumps the ride up the track.

  A group of girls beside me giggles and talk among themselves, and I got a brief moment of loneliness as no one is there to hold my hand. I tried to get Mr. Stephan to come on rides with me, but he says he’s not fond of fast rides even though his car has enough power to go into a car race.

  He drives as if he is in a race.

  It’s another thing he has in common with Daddy, just when I thought they were made from two different fabrics.

  The ride is fast and scary, but I expect nothing from a rollercoaster this high in the sky. I heard the wind and screams from the girls along with my voice, my hair smacking into my face and the funny flips in my tummy when the ride took me in loops and spins.

  I’m dizzy when I leave the platform, and I don’t remember finding my way back to Mr. Stephan. it’s only when I have my arms around him to stabilize my vision do I know that he is a wall of muscles.

  I mean, I always knew, but it’s different when I feel it.

  Time flies on with the sun slowly making its way towards the horizontal edge that Mr. Stephan guides me to a mysterious place that no civilian can go into. Only the elitist of the elites can go inside where there is a bunch of rich folks sitting and standing around with their expensive cup of whatever in their hands.

  Before we went in, I had to get the rest of my snacks. I’m not too hyped up on adrenaline to forget about my food; those are my precious babies that belong in my belly.

  I charmed my way into getting a carbonated sugary drink.

  It had a type of fruit punch vibe to it, but it’s got more varieties of fruits and color. It was half liquid and half shaved-ice; the combination cools off my sweaty body tremendously, and I noticed that I was tired from all the running around.

  I didn’t think much of it at first because I didn’t know, but the adrenaline kept me entertained with more desire to get the hype that my body was addicted to.

  “Where are we?” I ask as we step into an elevator with an elevator operator.

  Mr. Stephan simply smiles, keeping the mystery shrouded in those dark eyes as he leans down to kiss me. Our lips melt together, and I sigh contently as he licks my bottom lip. I open my mouth, and he curls his tongue with mine once to put me on edge for wanting more.

  I scrunch my nose at him; he’s a bad man. A very, very bad man for teasing me.

  Thank goodness the operator doesn’t blink an eye, and I wonder if it happens more often than I think that it’s no big deal anymore.

  I don’t feel an ounce of shame; a sense of accomplishment fills me because I’m getting used to Mr. Stephan, and he’s already in my heart alongside Daddy.

  I can’t tell if it’s bad or not, probably not since Daddy doesn’t mind and he encourages it too.

  When we step out, it’s the roof of a building, and I can see the lights from the theme park light up as if there are a million fireflies under us.

  The summer breeze brushes my hair back, and I rock on my feet as we wait for the firework.

  Mr. Stephan curls one arm over my waist; his hand lays heavily on my hip as he provides warmth from his body. I lean into him and hum softly as the time ticks down; more people stand below us as they wait to see the firework.

  “Thank you for today, Daddy,” I whisper to him.

  His chest vibrates, purring a gentle chuckle as he lifts my chin to kiss me as the firework explodes behind me.

  “You’re welcome, little princess,” he smiles sweetly, and my heart is getting achy from the overload of sensations.

  “Anything you want, I will give it to you,” he says with such determination in his eyes that I see no lies in his brown hues.

  He is the devil, the endless depth of the ocean and the sharp edges of thorns in his eyes silently singes away the façade of an angel.

  It doesn’t matter.

  I’m in love.

  Chapter Seven

  Pepper

  I don’t remember turning on the heat so high. In fact, I don’t remember one time I turn the heat on during the summer.

  That is crazy people’s behavior.

  I must be crazy then because I’m under heavy blankets and good-smelling pillows that are stones under my head. Though, I can’t deny that it’s quite comfortable to snuggle deeper into the familiar warmth that I have loved since day one.

  My head is foggy, and my body is sore.

  Yesterday’s date with Mr. Stephan comes back with some vivid scenes and some blacked out fragments. I remember the whole day, but after the fireworks, I’m totally lost as to how I got back home.

  I had a lot of fun with him; he isn’t like what I thought he would be since technically, I had no idea what he did for work. All I know is that he is rich and well-connected with people who also have power and money, and he is neither hiding nor flaunting his status on the internet like some of the younger entrepreneurs are.

  It’s honestly awkward to have some
form of connection with them through age, and I never want to be associated with them for looking down on people who don’t make as much as they do.

  I know some of the younger rich people work hard to get what they earned, but it’s those who use negativity to fuel their image on the internet that rubs me the wrong way. I don’t like how they make money, but I really don’t care either since it doesn’t concern me.

  They have their life, and I have mine.

  Wait, what was I thinking about again?

  My disoriented brain rewinds slower than a snail as I nuzzle into the stiff pillow. I need to remember to change it before I give myself a neck cramp.

  The most I can remember about yesterday before the complete blankness is the flashes of me being in a car with street lights flickering as we sped speed down a street. Considering the speed, I assume it’s the freeway, and it only makes sense that Mr. Stephan took me home as he is the one that took me on a date.

  Thinking of it as a date stirs me awake a little bit more.

  I admitted that I loved him last night, but he doesn’t know that, and I prefer to keep it in my heart for a while longer. I’m not quite sure where all three of us stand in this, dare I say, relationship.

  Polyamory is not a conventional thing in society, and nearly everyone is disapproving of it.

  Would they get all kinds of judgment from people they work with and their families too? I don’t want to be the catalyst that breaks these two men apart; I can see their friendship runs deeper than family roots.

  They are brothers from another mother is the saying, and I can see why they are friends with brotherly ties to each other. Daddy and Mr. Stephan are molded from the same mold and structured in nitty crafting.

  The amount of similarity and differences are uncanny in a way that I get scared that they are actual brothers.

  I shudder at the thought of their childhood. I got this gut feeling that they are rebellious children who wreaked mayhem in the neighborhood if they lived near each other. I wouldn’t even blink an eye if they have juvenile records longer than my hair, but I’ll let them tell me if they want.