The Sugar Baby Diaries: From a Fairytale Sugar Prince, to a Literal Sh*tface

At POPSUGAR Australia, we acknowledge diverse gender identities and strive to use gender-inclusive language in our content. Given the nature of this topic and the interviews conducted, this article may contain some gendered language.

“I went on dates for free, so why couldn’t I do it for some extra money? … right!?”

Alana Heart set out on the journey of becoming a sugar baby at age 20. She was young and naïve, but had a sense of adventure and excitement. She knew there were people — men — out there, living the life that she wanted.

As a broke university student living on pasta and cheap coffee, anything looked better than the stress of how she could stretch her last $20; especially as a beautiful woman. Pretty privilege is real, and she intended to milk it.

But nothing could’ve prepared her for that one night in Sydney.

“He’d flown me down to take me out for the weekend,” Heart tells POPSUGAR Australia. “He was young and hot, this rich kid from Sydney, who was really well dressed. He was just my type, actually.”

Think of a typical footy boy who you might come across on a dating app. That was this guy. Let’s call him Alex. He’s a footy guy with money. You’d probably see him in a polo of some description, or something pinstriped; with chinos and definitely RM Williams. He’s boyish and handsome. The boy you might’ve had a crush on in high school.

Not only was he her type, but he was paying her $700 just to go to dinner. $700! For a dinner date with a super hot and rich young dude. Heart was so in. She got dressed up in a pretty printed two-piece and jet-set over to Sydney to meet Alex.

Like many of the men Heart met, she’d met Alex online; on a specific dating app for these types of “arrangements”.

“His profile was vague. It said something like: I work for myself and enjoy the finer things in life. Looking for someone to share that with me. It was pretty stock standard.”

But the dinner was anything but.

“I was pretty smitten,” she admits.

She’d put on her sugar baby character, the overtly confident, sassy and witty version of herself without a single insecurity. That night, she was Alana Heart, the sugar baby, the dream girlfriend, the arm candy, the conversationalist.

“He took me to this overpriced restaurant down one of the Sydney CBD laneways. It was one of those places where the cheapest bottle of wine is, like, $200. He was cute and preppy and I remember thinking ‘wow, you’re so normal’ when I first sat down. I felt lucky. Like, this guy was going to pay me $700 to just show face at dinner?”

She soon learnt that he was pretty out of touch with reality. But she wasn’t that surprised. Surely it’s just different to be brought up that rich?

“He talked about being too lazy to do his washing. Having designer clothes strewn across his house and, instead of washing them, wrapping them up in a garbage bag, throwing them out, and buying new clothes. I couldn’t relate. He also complained — yes, complained! — about needing somewhere to store his belongings while someone else furnished a house he had bought for $4 million. He had to stay in a hotel while he waiting for it to be ready. I mean, it was wild.”

And, while she was slightly disappointed by his ignorance, she was still attracted to him.

So, when Alex asked her if she wanted to come to a party with a bunch of his friends, she couldn’t resist. More preppy, rich private school boys? All in one place? It sounded like some kind of heaven, filled with a comic amount of privileged ignorance and hopefully some expensive booze.

He’d already transferred her the $700 when she sat down at dinner, so she could just relax and have fun. Plus, this night was already feeling more like a genuine date than her other experiences with sugar daddies so far.

After dinner, they took a fancy car to a converted warehouse. Alex introduced her to everyone as his “friend” and no one batted an eyelid. “In hindsight, he probably does it all the time with different women,” she reflects.

The party was great. Imagine a hot guy who you went on a date with and took you to a casual rave/dance party in a converted warehouse with all of his friends. And you got along with them all. You’d be thinking it’s a pretty successful date.

“I was just mingling with everyone. His friends were really nice and I’m not one to stand by someone’s side at a party, I love to meet new people. I think he liked it, the fact that I broke away from him and just danced and chatted with his friends. Throughout the night, we floated in and out of seeing each other, sneaking in a couple of kisses along the way. I was literally just like, his girlfriend for the night. It felt so normal. I was loving it.”

Plus, she was meeting one wealthy, influential person after another. The sugar baby’s dream.

“Hey, my baby, come to the bathroom. I have some fun.”

Alex had popped out of nowhere, grabbed her by the waist and spoke softly into her ear. She assumed that “fun” meant something sexy or a party favour that would keep her vibin’ for a few more hours. She didn’t need much convincing.

“That’s when the tidal wave of shit happened,” she says. “Literal shit.”

“I was fixing my hair in the bathroom mirror. You know that kind of fun drunk you get where you just feel super hot? Yeah, that was me. I was fiddling with my hair and face, obsessed with this entire evening, so much so that I barely noticed him sit down on the toilet behind me. When I did notice, I didn’t think much of it. My ex used to pee sitting down, so it didn’t seem that weird. Plus, I’m the kind of person that finds it endearing when people feel that they can pee in front of you.”

But what Alex did next was not endearing.

He sat down on the toilet, pants down, and pooped on the toilet lid. Once he was done, he picked it up, walked over to Heart, kissed her, and smeared it on her exposed chest.

“Do you like it when Daddy sh*ts on you? Do you like being my little piece of sh*t?”

No. No. No. No. I’m not a toilet. Those were the words going through Heart’s mind, as she scrambled to find a response, let alone compute that she had literal poo smeared all over her chest.

He opened the door and walked out of the bathroom with a flourish, as though everything was totally normal.

As soon as he left, she closed and locked the door behind him. She ran to the toilet, lifted the lid and wiped off as much as she could with toilet paper. She was panicked. All she could smell was poo. Then, she took off her crop and put it straight in the bin. Now what?

“I’m really short, so I had to like, get into the counter that the sink was on and sort of twist into the sink to wash my cleavage,” she explains. “I was so paranoid that I was going to smell like poo for like, eternity, or that I was going to miss a spot like under my boob or something.”

When she was sure she’d tackled most of it, she called an Uber. She rushed out of the bathroom, in her skirt on the bottom and only a lace bra on the top, and jumped in. As she drove away from all the preppy boys and the one that she’d briefly had a crush on, who had paid her to go on a date and smeared poo on her chest, her position as a sugar baby became somewhat clearer.

“He’d paid for that experience,” she says. “It wasn’t about the dinner, or the date, or the party. It was about that one moment, in the bathroom. It was less than 2 minutes of pleasure for him, but it’s not like you can just do that with someone on a regular date.”

On the ride back to her hotel, she blocked Alex’s number. She also blocked his profile on the site. It wasn’t that she was yucking his yum, it just wasn’t for her.

Back to the drawing board, she thought. You can read more sugar baby stories from Alana Heart here. Shop her coffee table cook, “Sugar, Tales From a Sugar Baby” here.

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