The Day I Learned I was a Sugar Baby!

The screeching coming from outside the dressing room, was absolutely ridiculous. A woman was screaming for someone to come out of the dressing room, and like other customers changing their clothes I stuck my head out to see, and at that moment I realized I was the focus of her rage and attention.

How could this be happening, I was in the Bal Harbour Saks Fifth Avenue dressing room, this was an upscale establishment, and I hadn't done anything to anyone. I went back inside to put my clothes back on, when she banged on the door, I opened the door to the woman standing there with tears in her eyes. What was happening, was she having some type of psychotic break, I had never seen this woman in my life.

My breast now in my hands, the woman standing in front of me with no regard for me, my privacy or the face that I was in my underwear. I was in shock and when she began to unload insults on me, I was even more caught off guard.

"We are married, you whore, who the hell are you?" The woman asked and I looked at her like she was absolutely crazy. I grabbed my shirt from the chair and began to yell out to the sales associate.

"Stacey, what's going on here"? I asked and she came into the dressing room area. I had been staying in Miami for the past week with my boyfriend, it was a usual thing, I would shop on his card if I needed anything. Unbeknownst to me the desperate housewife had done a little research and hopped on a flight from New York to meet us down in Miami after a friend called her.

"Where are you staying, why are you using my husband's account?" The woman asked and my eyes got extremely wide. I looked her over, she was dressed rather plainly but she was very beautiful, she was just dipped in bland. Her nails were clear, her brows were unkept, and her shoes, were comfortable. After explaining to her I had no idea, what she was talking about she said my boyfriend's name and my heart dropped, but I continued to walk pass her, grabbing my things. As I tried to get away from her, she berated me, viciously calling me 'home wrecker, slut, whore, and cheap. I quickly grabbed my phone to secure an uber and it met me at the valet doors, while she continued to scream.

"I'll meet you at the hotel you whore!" She yelled and I laughed that time as I got into my platinum uber. I called my boyfriend and he answered automatically. After I told him what had occurred in the Bal Harbour Saks dressing room, he was quiet for a moment. While he was quiet, I couldn't help but think to myself why he is so calm, why is he quiet, what have I gotten myself into. Is he married, am I the other woman, the mistress, after loving this man for two years, and believing I was the only one? Three months ago, we started looking for apartments together downtown Miami, how could this be.

Little did I know that while I was being verbally attacked in the shopping mall, he had the concierge move my things to another room in the hotel. I took the uber back to my hotel where I was given the keys to a new room, which was actually better than our first room, but I did notice it was only my things in the room. John gave me no explanation as to why his things were not in the room, he just told me to get ready for dinner and to dress casually, but how could I get ready for dinner without talking about what just happened- to me. Clearly, he was not going to address it, so i poured myself a glass of wine and got ready for my evening, with the cheater.

As I did my makeup, I played in my mind what I would say to him, hell I thought about what I should have said to her. How could she judge me if I was, in fact a mistress, how could I be? How could she not judge herself take accountability for her relationship; I had been with the man for two years spending at least four nights a week with him most times. Hey, I was innocent here, wasn't I? I didn't ask questions when he lavished me with expensive gifts, trips, and a Range Rover. I didn't ask questions when he got up at 5:30 in the morning to head home. If I would have asked questions, I would have known that he was married for 10 years and told his wife he was out of town for business on the nights that he stayed with me. I slid into my skintight peach colored midi dress, and gold Gianvito Rossi shoes. I began to pack my items for the night into my White Chanel Bag when my phone buzzed again. My uber was downstairs to take me to my reservations at Prime 112.

Once I was seated, I pulled out my phone, ordered a dirty martini, east coast oysters and I waited for me date to arrive. Thirty minutes, and a second martini later, I received a text alert from my bank. My Zelle account had been sent $10,000 dollars, and it would be available for use in 2-3 business days. Along with the text was a message that read, "attached is a fee for the early termination of our arrangement, in hopes of revisiting our relationship at a later date, as a show of good faith, I will continue to fund $5,000, for living expenses for 6 months. Be well my love." I read the text slowly at least eight times, as my waiter bought over my 12 oz medium filet mignon with another dirty martini. I texted him back to only see that I was blocked, not a word not a conversation, not an explanation.

And just like that, I found out I was a sugar baby.