Page 21 of Sugar Daddies

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.

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