My sugar daddy asks me for weird favors

Each time, it’s a text from a different number, but it’s always the same three words: “are you busy?” I was surprised when I first got the text. My friends and I had started to joke that sugar daddy apps were a myth made up to get young women to create profiles, that there was no way the guys were real. But here I was, chatting to my third guy in two weeks, all with verified profiles that proved they had spent hundreds of dollars on their accounts. I’d started chatting to “Keith” first – an American guy who was over in the UK for business and wanted someone to keep him company. Or at least, that’s what his profile said. Each night, he wanted me to go to a specific restaurant in London (it was a chain, there were several dotted around the city), order a specific starter and main, and come home. Sometimes, he’d send me a message with a few questions, but not many. Just enough to make it feel like there was a real person behind the texts and not a scammer. The first night, I’d been skeptical – was I really about to get paid £400 to go to a restaurant and eat some (admittedly quite delicious) chicken? But two weeks later the money was still in my account, and a new text had just landed from “Pete”, who wanted me to go to a restaurant in another part of the city. I figured he was a friend of Keith’s – maybe they’d met in their offices and realised that this was a good way to treat women. The texts from Pete had been coming in for almost three months now, and in that time I’d met two more guys – both wanting me to go to restaurants in the same chain, eat the same two courses of food. It didn’t feel too weird – the guys never asked to meet up, and I’d started to feel like I was doing some sort of quality control. All of the restaurants served the same food and had the same decor, so it must have been a franchise, right? In which case, I was just making sure they were up to scratch. And with all the free food I’d been getting from this mysterious franchise, I’d even started to feel a little less guilty about the fact that I was still getting paid, even if I wasn’t actually seeing the guys. I’d still get texts from each of them, being asked questions about the restaurants – what the service had been like, whether the food had been hot, whether I’d noticed anyone else eating. Whoever it was, they must have had a lot on their mind, because they’d often send texts late at night – 10, 11, 12pm. Sometimes even later. I’d reply to each of them in turn, letting them know that I’d eaten alone. It was a little lonely – but I’d stopped bringing books or my phone to dinner. This was my job. In a way, it felt nice – I’d always liked eating alone, and now I could justify it. But I could never shake off the feeling that I was being watched. Sometimes, I’d catch a glimpse of a man – tall, with dark hair and blue eyes – out of the corner of my eye. But whenever I turned to look at him, he’d be gone. I’d felt it for the first time at the restaurant closest to my house. It was the first in the chain that I’d been to, and I’d stupidly assumed it was the only one. But over the past few months, I’d seen blue signs with white writing – the logo of the restaurant – popping up all over the city. I’d tried to find out more about the chain – who had set it up, where the money was coming from – but there was hardly any information out there. The only thing I’d been able to find was an address – a PO box somewhere in the countryside. I’d written them a letter, explaining that I’d been going to their restaurants, being paid for it, and that I’d love to learn more about their business model. A few weeks later, my phone had buzzed with a new text from a new number. “Are you busy?” This time, it wasn’t one of the guys from the app. “Hi,” I’d replied. “I’m not sure who this is – could you please tell me?” “I think you know who this is,” the reply had come. The conversation that followed was weird. They had answers to all of my questions – the restaurant chain had been set up over ten years ago, it was a franchise, the guys I was chatting to were the “founders” who had started it as a way to find “the perfect woman.” I’d assumed they meant a woman who would put up with a virtual relationship, but the voice on the other end of the line had laughed. “I mean women who eating alone, who are happy in their own company – women who don’t need to be babysat.” I’d laughed too – at that point, this felt like a funny story I’d be able to tell my grandkids. “Why aren’t you and the other founders answering these questions? Why won’t you meet up?” “I am one of the founders,” the voice replied. “And I’m not someone you want to meet.” I’d tried to ask more questions, but they’d cut the conservation short and ended the call. The texts had kept coming – the occasional question, the occasional suggestion. “Try a different restaurant – but not TODAY. Just for the future.” “Don’t read the news – it’s depressing.” “Have you cut your hair recently? Do you need money to go to the salon?” I’d stopped replying to most of the texts, but I’d kept going to the restaurants. It didn’t feel like I had a choice. I’d tried to ease my way out of it, explaining that I’d gotten a new job and didn’t have time to go to the restaurants as often as I had been. But each time I tried to pull away, I’d start getting more texts – asking how my day had been, what I’d eaten at lunch, if I’d managed to do any of the errands I’d said I needed to run. It was as if they knew everything I was doing – as if they were watching me, even when I was at home. I’d started to feel trapped and scared, like I had no choice but to do everything that they said. “Are you busy?” I looked at the text on my phone as my stomach dropped. I’d been on my way home from work, but I was going to have to take a detour. “Not at all. Where would you like me to eat tonight?” I replied. “Not eat. Strictly observe – you won’t be going inside. A restaurant near you.” I’d done observations before – standing outside the restaurants (there were eight of them by now) and reporting back on how many people were inside, who they had been with, and what they had been eating. But I hadn’t realised that one of the restaurants was near where I worked. I followed the GPS to the nearest one, my stomach twisting with worry. But when I got there, I couldn’t see it. I must have spend almost half an hour wandering the streets, following the GPS to the exact spot where the restaurant was supposed to be but not seeing anything. I’d been standing on the street for so long that I was starting to get embarrassed, and the texts from the mystery number were starting to flood in. “What do you see?” “Take a moe around the block, see if it’s there.” “Count how many people are out.” “How many of them are eating?” There were a few people on the street – some had food in their hands, but none of them were eating full meals. But I’d started to feel like I was being watched again – that feeling that someone was lurking around the corner, staring at me. I’d tried to shake it off before, but this time, I decided to investigate. I’d walked around the block a few times, slowly, trying to act nonchalant as I pulled out my phone and took a few selfies – not looking at the camera, but at whatever was behind me. I’d gotten back to my starting point – and seen him. A man. Tall, with blue eyes and dark hair. Exactly as I’d described him when I thought I’d imagined him. He was standing at the end of the street, trying to blend in with the other pedestrians. But it was definitely him. I’d only gotten a glimpse – he’d seen me looking, and he’d turned away – but as I looked more closely at the photo I’d taken, I was certain. That was the man. I’d been standing on the street for the rest of the night – partly because I’d been so freaked out, partly because that man had disappeared almost straight away. I’d waited, convinced that he’d come back – but he hadn’t. As the sun had started to rise, I’d finally gone home. But I hadn’t gotten any sleep. I’d kept looking at that photo – blowing it up, zooming in on his face. Did I know him? And what did he want? By the time the sun had risen, I was too anxious to be scared. I’d gotten dressed, grabbed my car keys, and set out to find answers. I’d started at the restaurant chain – the first restaurant, the one near my house that I’d first visited all those months ago. A few of the staff were familiar with me – they’d

My sugar daddy asks me for weird favors

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