OnlyFans Sugar Daddy

All characters are above the age of 18.

This story is fantasy, please practice safe sex!

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"Just a water," I answered the bartender with a self-pitying sigh. I was trying not to be a party-pooper but I seemed to be failing.

I was met with a quick nod and a slightly dismissive eye from the bartender: a mid-30s blonde with massive fake boobs popping out of a tiny tank top. She clearly was annoyed that she would be doing work without a tip.

As I sank into my barstool, the only one that had been empty, I felt the gaze of the man adjacent to me boring into my skull.

"What?!" I snapped at him, realizing almost immediately that I was coming off as far more of a bitch than I really meant to. But I was still in a shit mood and didn't feel like being ogled at.

The man quickly turned his gaze back to his amber-colored drink and tried to look absolutely anywhere but my direction.

He was older than most of the rest of the crowd in the bar, which I found odd. State College, Pennsylvania was a college town through-and-through, and on a Saturday night during the heart of the school year, I wasn't expecting to find anyone older than 22 out at the bar. Especially since this cramped, sticky bar we'd chosen was mainly popular with underclassmen on account of their relaxed fake ID policy.

Which was necessary for me, being a freshman. The fall of starting college had flown by into November. School had been a whirlwind, a blast, but painful in so many ways too. Being away from home was tough -- I'd grown up in Philly so I was pretty close but still... it wasn't the same.

The bartender returned with the water, and I settled more comfortably in my seat. The cool liquid calmed me down a little bit. I'd pre-gamed more than I thought, I came to realize. I needed to slow down and cool off.

A familiar head of jet black hair peaked through the crowd at me, and my roommate Shriya came into view. Her newest boy, Dean, was attached to her hip as they came back from the dance floor.

"Why are you sitting down?" Shriya asked teasingly. "It's dance time! We need to get a drink."

The duo squeezed up next to me at the bar and tried to catch the bartender's attention.

"You all can dance, go for it. I'm gonna stay here and drink water."

"What?!" Shriya reacted in protest, her brown eyes stuttering back and forth a bit with her own intoxication. "C'mon, we made it to the bar! We waited 20 minutes to get in! All of Dean's cute friends are already dancing!"

"C'mon Monica!" Dean encouraged. I'd just met this boy tonight and the only real things I knew about him were that he had an off-campus house, a bunch of loud roommates, and owned a lot of very, very nasty tasting tequila. All that to say, I didn't feel that compelled by him.

"My feet really hurt, and I need to sit still for a little bit," I explained myself. Both of those things were true, but the main reason was that I just couldn't bring myself to be in a jumpy, dancy, lively mood right now.

"C'mon," Shriya urged, less convincingly this time.

"No, I'm good. I promise."

Shriya looked at me with pleading eyes but seemed to sense that I was being serious.

"You're sure?" she confirmed, and I nodded.

"Please, you guys have so much fun. I'll stay right here. Maybe I'll join you soon once I get some water in me and feel a bit better."

"Okay," Shriya accepted with a supportive smile. She could be a little bit high-energy and intense for me on occasion, but she was definitely my best and closest friend at school so far. She'd had my back whenever I needed it, and I was glad to have her as a roommate.

The bartender finally arrived to take Dean and Shriya's orders, and she handed their two cans back quickly.

"Alright then, we're gonna go dance and find Dean's friends!" Shriya announced. "But come find us soon when you're feeling better! Or text if you need help or if you want to head home or anything."

I smiled in acknowledgment, and Shriya gave me a partial hug. Dean held her other hand though, and after our brief embrace, he ushered her away towards the lit-up dance area on the other side of the bar. A twisting, jumping throng of bodies thrashed around to the Rihanna remix playing, and almost immediately Shriya disappeared from my sight.

A relief settled over me, knowing that they were having fun and I could stay here on my own without spoiling anyone's night. I turned back to my water and half-watched the hockey highlights that were playing on the massive TV behind the bar.

Within a few minutes, the water and solitude were already making me feel a bit better. My feet still hurt though, and I looked down at the ruined yellow high-top sneakers that had started it.

How I was gonna pay to replace them, I had no idea yet. I'd prolly just have to shoot some more content, but it was still frustrating.

When I came to college, or really the summer before, I knew I would need to have a job or some source of income to cover my day-to-day expenses. Every cent that my mom could spare went to my meal plan, which wasn't covered by my financial aid, but that left nothing for essentials, whether that be toothpaste, snacks, or drinks at bars. Between 17 credit hours, sorority rush, research, and the general whirlwind of freshman year, I knew there would be no way I would have time for a traditional job. What's a sexy, newly-18 year old girl to do?

So I started an OnlyFans. It wasn't huge or anything, but by the fall it was starting to gain a little bit of traction. And making me actual money. Still relatively lean, I had to be frugal, but it was enough to help me skirt on by for now.

Unfortunately, having to replace my favorite pair of shoes hadn't been factored into my tight budget.

Being a kid on scholarship sounds great until you realize everyone else around you isn't one. My mom worked as custodial staff for a public high school in Philly, and my not-present dad had ended up in Nevada a while back after a couple stints in jail for drugs a decade ago. Basically, I didn't come from much, and there was no way my family or I could've afforded to put me through college at all. So of course, the opportunity to get an education, to give my own future kids a potentially better life, all of that, of course I was overwhelmingly grateful to have gotten a scholarship and been able to come to Penn State.

But at the same time, it sometimes sucked actually existing in that environment. Hearing the ridiculous places across the world where my friends traveled to over Fall Break, watching other students spend most of class time online shopping, seeing my floor mates paying for laundry services instead of fighting the broken washers from fucking 1850 in the dorm basement like I had to.

It just was demoralizing sometimes. Especially being black, and pretty much all the snobby rich kids being white.

But I knew I couldn't control that. I could only control my own attitude. In spite of the pained feet, the shoes with the sole torn and gaping, and the unease the tequila had brought my stomach, I was determined to bring a better, more positive vibe to the room for the rest of the night.

A loud clink of glass on the bar startled me, and I saw the man next to me set down his now-empty drink. The one I had kinda snapped at earlier. I scanned over him again as slyly as I could manage while he flagged the bartender down to order a second.

Lowkey he was kinda cute, in a DILFy way. He was a little older than I first realized, but not necessarily in a bad way -- I put him at prolly mid-50s, and he had a nice salt-n-peppa look to his short hair and trimmed beard. His tanned skin was a little worn, but still looked soft and friendly. Square glasses framed his nose nicely, and his cheeks were rosy. He looked well-put-together, expensive watch, could tell the dress shirt was nice. He clearly had money. A school parent probably.

At the bar on his own though? A little strange. But whatever, I was trying to be nice, so I wasn't judging. And I really had been kinda a bitch to him earlier. I realized I prolly should apologize.

"Hey," I tapped his shoulder lightly before I could even have a second thought. Now he was turning toward me, so now I was committed. "I'm sorry for snapping at you earlier. I was in a bad mood and needed to settle down a bit and I let that out on you. You didn't do anything wrong, you seem like a normal guy. I'm sorry."

My shoulders felt a little bit lighter as the words spilled off my tongue. It wouldn't change me from hell to heaven but at least I'd tried to do the good thing.

"That's a very mature apology," the man responded after a beat. "Don't worry about it at all, I hadn't meant to be staring at you or anything, I'm sorry. I can be awkward sometimes on accident."

"No you're good," I laughed at his sincere confession. "I can be too."

We both smiled, and after a second of silence where both of us waited to see if the other was done with the conversation, I turned back to my water.

Just then the man said something, but I lost it in the sweaty, stifling air.

"What?" I asked, my voice raised.

"I said I agree with you. That I wouldn't want to dance up there either," the man half-shouted back, gesturing over his shoulder to the packed dance floor as he did so. "I heard you talking with your friends a bit ago."

I nodded.

"Yeah, I have to be mentally prepared for it," I replied, and couldn't think of anything else to say.

A long silence sat in the air, and I felt the urge to break it. I didn't really need to keep talking to him, I supposed, but he had made the effort of starting a conversation at least.

"Are you here alone?" I asked the first thing that popped into my head.

"No, in theory at least," the man answered. "My son's in there dancing with some of his fraternity brothers and a lady friend."

"And you're chilling at the bar?"

"Yes, I am," he smiled. "With you. Can I ask your name?"

His smile felt disarmingly cute. His blue eyes felt like they bore every bit as much emotion as his lips.

"Monica," I revealed, somehow feeling like it was a secret I had let him in on.

"Monica," he repeated. "That's lovely. I'm Paul."

He extended a hand, and I shook it somewhat awkwardly.

"You said your son goes here?"

"Yeah, I'm just visiting for the weekend," Paul explained. "My son Bradley is a junior here. We live in northern Jersey, so it's a super quick flight."

"Oh yeah that's easy. Where in Jersey?"

"Summit," he answered. "I commute in to the City for work, used to be every day, now only a few days a week. And my parents lived there too, it's a great town."

"I've never been, I've spent a lot of time in South Jersey though."

"Oh?"

"Yeah I grew up in Philly, lived there my whole life. I had an aunt in Camden so we'd go over there all the time."

"Oh nice," Paul nodded. "I've been to Philly a good amount, nice city."

I nodded in response, and a silence fell over us briefly again.

"So you said you lived in Philly your whole life until coming here? How long ago was that?"

"Uhh, about three months ago," I revealed, now knowing that I was divulging a secret. According to my ID, I supposed to be a super-senior, or maybe a grad student.

"Oh wow," Paul chuckled and looked around to ensure the bartender wasn't close. "Freshman and you're 21 already? Did you do a few gap years?"

He laughed at his own joke, coaxing a smile out of me too.

"You shouldn't ask a woman her age," I tssked back. "But no, I'm 18."

"It's okay, I'm teasing. It might be hard to believe now, but I was once in college here too. I don't care, I know 75% of this bar is underage."

"You went here?" I caught.

Paul nodded, took a long sip of his drink, and started telling me about his college days. He'd graduated in 1990, so I was right, he was in his late-50s prolly, more than 15 years older than my mom. Evidently, a lot of campus still looked the same, but he talked for a while about the old buildings that had been torn down. He didn't know if the washers in my dorm had been replaced since he left.

Through the chaos of the bar, Paul kept spilling on the details of the rest of his life: his dad was an accountant, so when he came here he decided to do the same thing and ended up getting a job for some big-wig accounting firm (he told me the name three times but there was no way I was gonna remember it). Paul met his wife Maureen while working in the City -- she had been at the same company he was evidently. He stayed there for years and was now semi-retired, only working a few hours a week. It seemed like he fit the mold of most parents around here: way too much money and free time.

The son he was visiting, Bradley, was the youngest of his three kids, with two older sisters.

"And you were the only one to come visit him??" I teased.

"Beth's in law school in California right now, and Beatrice lives in England, so neither of them can really pop over for a weekend like I can these days," he explained. "But they were both here to move him in!"

"That makes sense. More freedom to take off every weekend is one of the perks of being mostly-retired, I guess!" I mused.

"Yeah, one of them. Mostly though it's a lot of free time with nothing to do and no one to spend it with. I actually miss work pretty often."

"What about Maureen?" I inquired. "Surely she likes it, way more time for you guys to just enjoy yourselves!"

Paul's smile faded away just a little, and he shook his head lightly as he sipped his drink. "Sorry, I didn't say.... She passed away about five years ago. Brain tumor that they caught too late."

My heart sank.

"Oh my god, I'm so sorry," I fumbled out. "I didn't mean to... of course.... Wow, I can't imagine going through something like that. Your family must be very strong."

Paul nodded, and placed his hand down on top of mine. I hadn't even realized that I'd reached out to touch his forearm.

"Thank you, it definitely wasn't easy. Death brings out the worst in all of us at times. But Mo gave everything she had to our family and left this world happy, without any regrets. We've all battled through it in our own ways."

Silence set in for another second. I became more acutely aware of the feeling of Paul's skin against mine, the heat of our hands meeting. I withdrew my hand.

"But enough about me, you're living a far more interesting portion of your life right now. Tell me your story," Paul directed. "You don't really seem like any other student I've met here before."

"Taking that as a compliment," I spun. "Truthfully, my life's really not that exciting. I was born in Scranton, but my Mom moved to Philly when I was like two. I grew up downtown, first in Strawberry Mansion, then closer to Temple."

Paul listened intently, his face stoic.

I found myself rambling about my childhood, my dad, the sports I played and interests I had, my favorite things about Philly, memories of the first Eagles Super Bowl. It just felt easy, safe to talk to Paul.

"My mom works for the school system, as custodial staff for one of the high schools," I found myself explaining my college choice. "She's done it as long as I've been alive, and she's proud of it. She always, always valued school and wanted me to get a good education so I'd have a better start in life than she did. Penn State had always been my top choice my whole time through high school, and I applied ED and got in!"

"You guys chose a good place then," Paul chimed in.

"Yeah, in-state and I was really lucky to get a scholarship here," I added. "I wouldn't have been able to go otherwise, but we're not paying anything and I get the chance to pursue my passion."

"Which is?" Paul asked.

"I want to be an optometrist one day," I told him confidently.

"Wow, that's awesome. I hope you get the chance to," he responded.

"Oh, I will. I've done a lot of things already in life to put myself in the position that I'm in, and I'm not gonna stop until I achieve what I want to."

"That's a good mindset to have. You're convincing me, I have no doubt that you'll do it."

"Exactly, and in 8 to 10 years you'll know just who to call for your eye appointments," I joked, drawing a laugh from Paul.

"I certainly will," he finished his chuckle. "So for a girl who seems so strong & determined in herself, what had you down earlier? Something was clearly up, because the Monica I'm talking to now has a way softer shell than the one who walked in."

I blushed a little, both embarrassed at the silliness of my story and embarrassed at revealing my financial status.

"It's a bit of a story..." I began.

"I have all night. You've got my undivided attention."

"Okay, well it's not that long of a story I guess. My roommate and best friend Shriya, the one who was over here earlier, she's kinda talking to this guy Dean, the other one who came over here, and he lives in a big house off-campus. We went over to his house to pregame and ended up doing tequila shots with him and his roommates, which seemed like a good idea at the time."

"It always does," Paul mused, like he was remembering times long ago for himself.

"Yeah, well, we started walking here from their place and we hit a big fence trying to cut through an alley behind their subdivision area," I recounted, speaking slower in a feeble attempt to delay revealing my blunder. "And a couple of the boys go over just fine, Shriya goes over, then I get boosted up."

I paused, knowing I'd committed already.

"As I was climbing up the fence, my top had ridden up a little bit high, and one of Dean's roommates was teasing me about it when I was sitting on top of the fence. So -- and I have to emphasize the role the tequila shots played here -- so I decided to flash him, and everyone else I guess, to be silly."

Paul smiled. "I'm sure that's the best response to teasing that boy's ever gotten in his life."

"Hopefully it was for him, because for me it was a disaster. Another group of people I hadn't seen had been walking in the other direction and one of them whistled at me, and as I spun towards them and jumped and tried to yank my top down all at the same time, I kinda fell off the top of the gate.... And totally ripped the sole of my shoe as I did."

My voice trailed off as my story unraveled further. I could feel the flush of embarrassment straining to rise within me, but at the same time, Paul's warm smile and welcoming eyes made me feel comfortable telling it now and laughing at myself. It was a pretty ridiculous tale, to be fair.

"That's definitely a crazy story," Paul summed up. "But don't be down about it at all. So what? Some people saw your boobs? You ripped a pair of shoes? There are far worse and less innocent sins. College is exactly when you're supposed to be having these experiences. If there's ever a time in your life to do silly things that you'll laugh about later, it's right now."

"Thank you," I responded. Paul's advice seemed genuine, and I trusted him. More importantly, it felt like he really cared about what he was saying, what he was telling me. "I was mostly upset coming in because my feet were still hurting, and we'd been waiting in a super long line to get in, and I'd started to feel dehydrated. And I wasn't, still not, looking forward to figuring out how to replace these shoes. But you're right that none of it is really that big of a deal."

Paul nodded. "All of those things are totally valid to feel. You got some water, you decompressed, you did exactly what you should've. And the shoes are replaceable, they're just things, nothing worth crying over. Do you work or have a way to pay for them?"

I was slightly dreading this topic being brought up. Only a very select number of people knew about my money-making hustle, and Shriya was the only one at school. Yet at the same time, I'd been the one who'd brought up the subject with Paul. He just... made me feel comfortable to tell him things I otherwise wouldn't. Like there would be no judgment, no ramifications. Just open ears.