'I'm rich. You're hot.' The cold mathematics of sugar daddy dating



less Sugar dating is on the rise. Sugar daddy sites started popping up on the Internet about a decade ago, but the top three sites in the Bay Area have reported a dramatic acceleration over the last three or four years of Tech Boom 2.0. Sugar dating is on the rise. Sugar daddy sites started popping up on the Internet about a decade ago, but the top three sites in the Bay Area have reported a dramatic acceleration over the last three or four ... more Photo: Cat London, Getty Images Photo: Cat London, Getty Images Image 1 of / 68 Caption Close 'I'm rich. You're hot.' The cold mathematics of sugar daddy dating 1 / 68 Back to Gallery

This story was originally published in the November 2014 issue of San Francisco magazine.

Like many men who fall short of Jude Law handsome, Bruce Boston struggles on OkCupid. It probably doesn't help that his profile describes him as a "somewhat socially awkward introvert," his teeth as "crooked," and his tastes as kinky and nonmonogamous. In real life, too, the 44-year-old data analyst would have a hard time competing with the other guys at this midweek house party in the Mission: clean-cut tech bros who are grilling peaches and shiitake mushrooms in the backyard and wandering into the kitchen to get more Pacifico, their deep laughs booming. They're the alpha-male types who get right-swiped on Tinder. Yet Boston, sitting on the couch in the living room and nursing a ginger ale, has an advantage over most of his younger, svelter counterparts. As a senior theorist at Nest, the smart thermostat company bought by Google for $3.2 billion earlier this year, he has an income in the low six figures and rising—and he's willing to spend a good chunk of it buying dates. Boston is one of a growing number of 21st-century sugar daddies: well-off men who unabashedly pay for female companionship, friendship, and sex. And he's probably getting more of the latter than most of the other men here.

Three years ago, Boston seemed an unlikely sugar daddy. A married Mormon with three sons, he had a Cupertino condo, an Apple paycheck, and a vanilla sex life. But then he started seeing a therapist about issues that had been tugging at him for years: his self-identification as a sapiosexual, or someone who is sexually attracted to intellect, and as a polyamorist, drawn to having more than one romantic and/or sexual relationship. On the sly, he googled "married dating," and the search results opened Door B.

Boston was intrigued by SeekingArrangement, a website where so-called sugar daddies can connect with "sugar babies" looking to be pampered and paid on an ongoing basis, and WhatsYourPrice, where men bid on first dates with women who can accept the bid or demand more. The site's blunt pitch to women: "Get Paid to Date." The more subtle appeal to men: SeekingArrangement claims to have more than 40,000 female Bay Area members, compared with just 12,000 men. WhatsYourPrice boasts a similarly favorable ratio.

Boston began soliciting dates with women aged 31 to 63, stating in his profile that he was married. "Winks" from women showing their interest in his profile—some of them alarmingly attractive in a blow-dried Laguna Beach way—started rolling in at the rate of three to four a week. And so Boston became a dating machine, landing rendezvous with about 30 women so far. The leggy brunette in hot-pink stilettos. The busty artist. The therapist. The real estate agent. The UC Berkeley student.

Boston makes a $40 bid for an initial coffee date or dinner to vet a woman for compatibility. His date may then design a fantasy night out—for which he handles all expenses. He also compensates the date for her time if she asks, matching what he calculates as her overtime wages, sometimes $25 to $50 an hour. The woman can choose—and Boston emphasizes in his profile that he respects her choice—either "good clean fun," like hand-holding and small kisses, or "friends with benefits."

Beyond the costs of the dates, Boston has helped with other expenses: an Ikea bed, a transmission, a Tiffany bracelet. "Some people spend money on cars or a vacation," Boston says. "I prefer to spend it on people I have a crush on."

Boston views his munificence as a sort of philanthropy, a horny twist on Salesforce CEO Marc Benioff's call for tech workers to give back to the region's less fortunate. He prefers to pay for things that contribute to his dates' careers, like tuition, or that "help them get from a bad place to a good place," like taking someone who's feeling glum out for Valentine's Day.

Boston's new lifestyle has had consequences. His wife divorced him (she dismissed his claim of being polyamorous as just an excuse for cheating), he says that he was excommunicated from the Cupertino Mormon church, and he's living in a trailer. But he evinces no regrets when he talks about his new life: booking as many as three dates a week and nurturing three to four ongoing liaisons, including one with a dominatrix from Oakland to whom he pays $1,000 for four dates monthly. He even seems excited about a date who pickpocketed him. "She was amazing! You get to see a part of life you never get to see! How would I ever get to date a person like that? You think they work at my business? They don't work at Google."

At happy hour, Boston's coworkers pump him for details: How is going out with a sugar baby different from hiring an escort? He answers that he hires escorts, too, but that sugar babies are more like real dates. He doesn't care if his peers judge him—he is transparent (Bruce Boston is his real name), awash in women, and, frankly, effervescent about it. Sugaring, he says, has changed his life.

Is sugar dating just a genteel form of prostitution, the latest incarnation of an age-old pay-to-play tradition? Or is it a form of erotic efficiency, a cut-to-the-chase innovation in a supercharged culture with no time for the dance of courtship? "When I look at OkCupid, it takes 20 emails, five minutes each, to get a response," one tech industry sugar daddy tells me. "That's too long. My time is more valuable than that."

Whatever it is, sugar dating is on the rise. The sheer amount of money coursing through the region is largely responsible: Sugar daddy sites started popping up on the Internet about a decade ago, but the top three sites in the Bay Area have reported a dramatic acceleration over the last three or four years of Tech Boom 2.0. SugarDaddyForMe.com claims that its membership in San Francisco is growing 50 percent faster than in any other metropolitan area, with the sugar daddies skewing heavily toward tech. On SeekingArrangement, the top three self-reported job categories are entrepreneur (20 percent), high-ranking executive (18 percent), and software engineer (16 percent). Two of the sites claim Bay Area memberships of more than 100,000 members, though only a fraction of those profiles are visible; the sites say that they don't want to overwhelm users with choices and that members often choose to be invisible. (The membership numbers are self-reported and impossible to verify.)

The sugar daddy universe at its most lurid made headlines in July, months after married Google X executive Forrest Hayes died on his yacht of a heroin overdose allegedly injected by Alix Tichelman, a woman he'd hooked up with on SeekingArrangement. After Tichelman was arrested for manslaughter, her attorneys told reporters that she was receiving good money from Hayes and had every reason to want to keep him alive.

The Tichelman story cast a tabloid-esque, tawdry light on paid dating. And in the progressive Bay Area, with its feminist, antipatriarchal ideals, the sugar daddy phenomenon seems weirdly out of step, a march backward toward a class-stratified sexual world reminiscent of 19th-century France or Gay (18)90s San Francisco, when well-off married gentlemen installed their mistresses in swanky apartments. Yet some (a few sugar babies among them) argue that the sites are harbingers of a clear-eyed future in which women take control of their romantic, or at least their financial, lives. Given the Bay Area's growing income disparity—one that often divides along gender lines—and the increasing cost of living here, sugar dating can be seen as a pragmatic move for women. If you're already dating online, adding a financial filter doesn't seem like such a big deal.

Despite that, there's something intrinsically creepy about sugar dating. It seems to turn the most basic of human needs—the desire for companionship—into a calculation in which men use money to buy intimacy, and women sell their time (and potential access to their bodies) to the highest bidder. But interviews with men and women who post profiles on sugar sites reveal individuals who are far more complex than the stereotypes suggest.

Online profiles of sugar daddies reveal a spectrum of the stressed, the bored, the insecure, the sexually voracious, and the commitment-averse. There's the 53-year-old Silicon Valley guy who says that he could find a girlfriend on his own, but that "not many women would accept the fact I'm focused on my career at the moment." There's MasterRaj, a 35-year-old beefcake from Palo Alto who rakes in more than $300,000 and claims to be "sexually dominant in the bedroom." And there's the 34-year-old "business-tech geek" looking for "a relationship that turns on and off with the flip of a switch."

Some sugar daddies are looking for under-the-table liaisons that require discretion: People can choose "married but looking" as their relationship status on SeekingArrangement. Others are looking for ongoing sex or just young arm candy. One married man on the site told me that sugar dating wards against relationship "scope creep"—that is, getting too serious. Others like the clarity around the monetary needs of the woman. ("I don't view the whole trophy wife thing as significantly different," one sugar daddy told me.)

Chris, a video game designer, is definitely not an exploitative john; in fact, if anyone's being exploited, he seems to be the one. I meet him in a cheap SoMa coffee shop—he's a hip-looking guy with black nerd glasses and stylized black hair swooping about his temples, scribbling monster cartoons in a black notebook. Like many sugar daddies, the 33-year-old is a decidedly non-alpha male. Speaking in sporadic and sometimes not-quite-linear bursts, he admits that he has never had a girlfriend. He says that he decided to engage in practice relationships with sugar babies in hopes of someday graduating to nonpaid courtships with women. (Chris's name, like many others in this story, was changed to avoid stigma and Google searches. Now is also a good time to disclose that many of the websites mentioned here, eager to promote themselves, offered their members upgraded memberships, and in one case $500, in exchange for being interviewed.)

In retrospect, Chris says, he should have seen the warning signs about 23-year-old Sarah. There was her SugarDaddyForMe profile, which read, "I like shiny things like gems and diamonds." And there was the fact that she stood him up on New Year's Eve. But when she texted one Sunday that she needed a ride to her job at a jewelry shop, Chris obliged, and he "was blown away by how beautiful and exotic she was." Sarah stared at him intently during the ride—in what he considered to be an "interesting but kind of creepy" attempt at seduction. Getting out of the car, she said she was having an "existential crisis" at work and needed a $3,000 Bottega Veneta purse.

When Chris agreed to buy it, Sarah blew off going to work, and they went to the Bottega Veneta store near Union Square. He also treated Sarah to a high-end haircut and took her to dinner at Hamano Sushi in the Castro. "I felt we were on some kind of an adventure in the city, trying to help this young lady I befriended attain a certain level of class, so she can become the person she wants to be," Chris wrote me in an email. "I felt like we were a couple as she held my arm and gave this falling-in-love look in her eyes to me. I've never had that happen to me, so it was quite an eye opener." The two returned to Sarah's Noe Valley apartment, Chris hoping that he might be about to get lucky. But at the door, Sarah claimed to be worried that someone named Craig would find out. As Chris walked away despondently, Sarah blurted out a parting "I love you!" Chris never saw her again.

Many sugar daddies are not exactly Casanovas. "Let's be honest, a lot of those guys are kind of nerdy and didn't do too well with the ladies until they got a little bit of wealth," says Gautam Sharma, SugarDaddyForMe's founder. San Francisco sex therapists Celeste Hirschman and Danielle Harel say that men on the sites often have lagging self-esteem. Harel says, "I have a client who doesn't believe he can find a date otherwise. He's doing it so he doesn't need to deal with being rejected." Hirschman adds that many sugar daddies are resigned to the fact that women are attracted to them partly because of their wealth. "These men know that women will choose them because they're able providers."

But the simple knowledge that money—not looks or charm or chemistry— is the factor that secures a date doesn't mean that some men aren't hoping for more emotional nourishment. In fact, there are cases when sugar daddy arrangements end up being just as fulfilling as typical dating relationships.

A 56-year-old South Bay computer engineer from South America, whose screen name is Captain Harlock, joined SugarDaddyForMe while in a sexless marriage. (He is now separated.) Captain Harlock, who prefers women over 35, describes the money-driven motivations of some of the younger women on the site as "sordid." He says that when one woman who had advertised herself as 35 confessed on their first date that she was actually 10 years older, he "was so relieved—she couldn't understand why." They started an 18-month liaison during which he paid her $1,600 to $2,000 a month, usually in the form of checks to PG&E, Verizon, and San Jose State, where she was earning a nursing degree. They became quite close and eventually did have sex. "I helped her because we liked each other, and not the other way around," Captain Harlock says. "It's hard after a certain point to know what is a sugar daddy and a sugar baby." He likes the clarity of the financial expectations on SugarDaddyForMe, noting that on OkCupid, where he also dates, women can be just as money-motivated but are less up-front about it.

Captain Harlock's observation has merit: Studies have shown that people who use mainstream dating websites make their decisions based largely on the very criteria that sugar sites make explicit. Paul Oyer, a Stanford economics professor and the author of Everything I Ever Needed to Know About Economics I Learned from Online Dating, says, "All your preconceptions and stereotypes about gender roles play out shockingly well in the online dating world. On average, women are looking for men who make more money, and men are looking for women who are more attractive."

Brandon Wade created a successful business based on this harsh truth. Wade, who launched SeekingArrangement, is an MIT-educated tech nerd. An immigrant from Singapore (his real name is Lead Wey), he was an IT guy in his late 30s when he decided to leverage his wealth to better his odds in online dating—and cash in on helping other nerds do the same. "I see the wallet as bait, just like the muscles," he says over the phone.

SeekingArrangement wasn't the first online sugar daddy site, but it has by far the most traffic, ranking in the top 2,100 websites in the country. It claims to have 3.6 million members worldwide. Wade's sugar empire has expanded to include WhatsYourPrice, MissTravel (for dates on vacations), and the Carrot Dating app ("Bribe Your Way to a Date!"). The sites make money off a lopsided payment structure: On SeekingArrangement, sugar daddies (and mamas) must pay monthly membership fees ranging from $50 to $209, while sugar babies may join for free. On WhatsYourPrice, the company charges a nominal fee on successful bids.

Wade spins the practice on Dr. Phil and CNN and in the New York Times as a way for women who are "tired of dating a loser and settling for the status quo" to date up. He frames his customers not as cynical gold diggers or exploitative johns with deep pockets, but as freethinkers who know what they want. "We have changed the perception of sugar daddy and sugar baby dating," Wade boasts. "I think we're affecting pop culture."

Whether or not that's true, Wade is clearly riding a business that's headed in a more lucrative direction. Bay Area sugar daddies are getting younger and richer. The average age of a sugar daddy on SeekingArrangement has dropped three years, to 43, in the last five years, and his average annual income has risen to $408,063, from $326,000 five years ago. (The latter bucks the trend for the rest of the country, where the average sugar daddy salary has dropped.) These income figures explain why on SeekingArrangement, the average man reported spending $3,505 per month on his sugar babies, up from $2,200 five years ago. That adds up to more than $42,000 a year, a sum plenty of Bay Area women can't afford to pass up.

Sugar babies turn out to be just as mixed a bag as sugar daddies. Yes, there are Versace–bedecked gold diggers and out-and-out prostitutes (though they can't admit this because the sites will kick them off). But a deep dive into sugar baby profiles reveals less a parade of Jezebels than a taxonomy of Bay Area female archetypes. There's the 25-year-old recent development economics grad, a vintage-clothes lover who would look at home on Valencia Street. There's the 20-year-old queer Oaklander with the sides of her head shaved and a penchant for environmental justice movements. (The sites host substantial numbers of gay sugar mamas and daddies, too.) There's the 25-year-old personal assistant who posts a Kardashian-style selfie of her rear, writing, "Yes, that is my ass, and yes, it is close to perfect," but then adds a Northern California twist: "If you are looking for a fun girl who can go to a gala one night and fly-fishing the next afternoon, look no further."

Then there is the startup entrepreneur I talked to over the phone: a former porn cam girl who goes by the name Ruby, holds a technical graduate degree from Berkeley, and is raking in $2,500 a month from a married tech exec. She's also involved in sex arrangements with two other tech guys, earning $1,000 to $2,000 per session. (She claims that one is a household name in the tech world.) The money allows her to forgo a day job in favor of the startup lifestyle—she's living with several brogrammer housemates and developing a sex-related tech company of her own. The sugar money isn't enough to replace substantial seed funding, she admits, but "it's sure as hell more fun." In exchange for about eight hours of dates and emails each week, the sugar bucks cover her $1,400 rent and a grass-fed meat and organic produce delivery service—a San Francisco sugar baby perk if there ever was one.

On the face of it, a sugar daddy–sugar baby relationship is a feminist's worst nightmare. Yet the power dynamics in sugar relationships are anything but defined. Ruby says that she's the one pulling the strings: She's free to spend her days working on her company, and she even had to distance one sugar daddy who was falling in love with her. Then there's the fact that some women say that they never have sex with the men who pay them.

Lexi is an athletic, blond 34-year-old elder-care worker in Sacramento who first got on SugarDaddyForMe after a friend's sugar daddy paid for her breast implants. Though Lexi would like to find a potential partner on the site, she hasn't met anyone yet whom she considers a match. In the meantime, she has received a $250 Visa gift card from a man she met just once for dinner and $350 to sit next to a married man as he won $11,000 at blackjack at Thunder Valley Casino Resort. A bigger payoff has come from a 34-year-old San Jose server engineer with whom she has been chatting online, by text, and by phone since February—he's sent her $3,000 via Paypal. She wonders if he might be someone with potential for a real relationship, but he refuses to send her a photo of himself and always claims that he's too busy to meet her. "He sounds cute [over the phone]," she says, "but he could be a cute-sounding ogre."

Other men have propositioned Lexi for sex—her profile pic, showing her in a sheer, black, ruffled skirt adorned with pink bows, does have the feel of a rather wholesome adult ad—but so far, she has refused to do anything more than hold hands. She turned down the gambler's offer of an additional $200 if she would sleep with him. "They're just dangling the carrot, seeing how far they can go," she says. "But it's a relationship. It's not like, I'll spend two hours with you [having sex] and you'll give me $200. A lot of the guys, that's what they're used to. For me, this is about the ideal of being pampered."

For Naomi Tripi, a 41-year-old single mother with an autistic son, charging $100 per date on WhatsYourPrice isn't about being pampered—it's simply a way to offset the cost of dating: the $15-an-hour babysitter, the bridge toll from Oakland, gas, city parking, and the time away from her own fledgling business. Tripi isn't intent on finding "the one," but she genuinely likes to date, and the fee allows her to give a chance to men she might otherwise have dismissed. "If someone gives me $100," she says, "I can be relaxed and not hold people up to the judgment of 'Are you worth my time?'" She can also plumb dates who happen to be entrepreneurs for feedback on her card-game business. The only awkward part, she says, comes at the date's conclusion, when some of the men can't figure out a graceful way to hand her the cash.

For women like Lexi and Naomi, outings with sugar daddies are potentially genuine dates, opportunities to get to know men with whom they might develop a real relationship. Yet other women see it as nothing but a hustle.

Monique, as we'll call her, takes a drag off a Newport Light in the kitchen of an Antioch ranch house with a broken-down car in the driveway. This tract of houses is a down-on-its-luck mirror image of the manicured cul-de-sacs of Silicon Valley. In Monique's case, though, sugar websites have provided a conduit for cash from the paychecks in the Valley to her federally subsidized Section 8 rent check here. ("Who wouldn't want a sugar daddy right now?" asks Monique's roommate, sauntering into the kitchen in pajama pants and a head scarf. She adds, "I like the fat ones—you don't have to do much.")

Monique has a pretty baby face. The Chinese characters for "love" and "money" are tattooed on her arm, and she wields a certain brand of candid charm. "I've never had a job," she says emphatically. Now 28, she posted a SugarDaddyForMe profile at age 20, at first using it as a thinly veiled escort ad. She says that sugar babies and sugar daddies who claim that they're not engaged in a form of prostitution are lying to themselves. "I just play my part, and I play my role. I'm a people person, I always have been. That's what made me a good con artist for a lot of years." About that: Monique says that she served jail time for credit card cash advance fraud with bank tellers, breezily telling me to look her up in a "crime stoppers" story (it checks out). As the final proof that she holds her sugar daddies at a bit of an emotional distance, she refuses to kiss them. "I kiss my kids," she says.

None of that makes it onto Monique's SugarDaddyForMe profile, where she describes herself as an exotic bombshell and a 23-year-old full-time "struggling student" ("That was my favorite line: I'm going to school," she tells me), concluding with "What can I say? I'm just your all-American girl."

Yet Monique eventually found that there was a subtle difference between sugaring and her con work. "When you're a con artist, you have no emotional connection to them at all." Late last year, a 56-year-old divorced computer technician who lived in the Avenues responded to Monique's profile. On their second date, he took her to Fisherman's Grotto for cioppino, and they rode a ferry across the bay. He wore sweater vests, "just like Mister Rogers," Monique says. There was an undeniable racial factor to the coupling: Monique is black, and he wanted to find out more about urban black life. She took him to the now-closed Club Six in SoMa, where her friends suspected that he was a cop. (He wasn't.) "He was cool and friendly—he just had old-people humor," she says.

To calculate her monthly allowance from the engineer, Monique totaled all her bills, including private school tuition for her two sons, and "added $1,000 on to it," she says, chuckling. The engineer paid up the first week of every month and bought her a Louis Vuitton purse. "He was always telling me, you need to learn how to save money," she says. "I don't care about none of that. I'm trying to be young and have fun." She recalls having sex with him about four times. Only six months into the arrangement, she was back in jail, having been arrested on a warrant for a DUI case, and has since lost track of the engineer. "I kind of miss him," she says, pausing. "Yeah, I do."

Siouxsie Q, a San Francisco sex worker who writes a sex column for SF Weekly and hosts the podcast The WhoreCast, agrees that sugar babies are not much different from escorts who advertise "the girlfriend experience": kissing (many prostitutes refuse to kiss their johns), going out on dates before having sex, and, usually, seeing a client on a continuing basis. What about the sugar babies who say that they don't have sex at all? "That's awesome," Siouxsie Q says. "If you can do that hustle, do that hustle."

Jolene Parton, an East Bay sex worker, blasted sugaring on the escort site Slixa. "All of my interaction with SeekingArrangement has been nearly indistinguishable from my experience as a sex worker and, most of the time, less pleasant. There's certainly nothing wrong with exchanging escorting services for money.... But tangling it up in a false promise of 'real-life dating' is both deceitful and hurtful to paying customers."

Nonetheless, many sugar relationships aren't just a hustle, and some do lead to love. Wade asserts that SeekingArrangement has spawned "thousands" of marriages, a claim impossible to verify. (He also denies that there's any real distinction between sugar relationships and marriage: "Marriage is an arrangement," he says.) Among the dozen women I talked to, a divorced woman named Viv has used sugar sites most like an upwardly mobilizing OkCupid—and has actually met a potentially serious partner. A 28-year-old who's studying biochemistry at Sacramento State, she had moral qualms about sugar sites but wanted access to "someone who's established, instead of the type of guy I meet, who is doing nothing and going nowhere"—the kind of man who could help pay for her physician's assistant master's program in the future.

So, in April, Viv posted a selfie in a minidress on SugarDaddyForMe. She went on dates with an engineer and a Samsung server specialist in Silicon Valley, but was most intrigued by an intelligent, 38-year-old hospital administrator from San Diego. They were soon texting several times a day, and he bought her an iPad and Bebe stilettos. In August, he flew her to San Diego for a weeklong rendezvous in a hotel suite, where, between trips to SeaWorld and the beach, they decided to become exclusive. Viv deleted her profile, met his family, and began calling him her boyfriend. On the phone, she sounds upbeat about the relationship. "I'm going to see where it goes with this guy."

On an August Friday night, Boston walks into Ippuku, a swanky Japanese restaurant in downtown Berkeley. He's sweating profusely from a sexual rendezvous minutes before at the Berkeley Hot Tubs. In what must seem like quite the score to onlookers, he's accompanied by Cequinne, a self-described "short Asian with big tits and a pretty face"—all true. Tonight her ample breasts are going bra-free, lending her turtleneck PG-13 flair.

The 30-year-old South Bay native and polyamory convert uses the name Cequinne in her merchandising business and on her costume play website, where she posts photos of herself in corsets and tutus, or sometimes just nude. She joined WhatsYourPrice in February, first out of curiosity and then in hope of an ongoing paid relationship. Now she's looking for a mentor for her nascent hangover-prevention business (it involves gummy bears). She has created a system to evaluate dates: She brings value to a man through her beauty, her conversational skills, and her nurturing nature. A date's profile must interest her. If it's not compelling, he can pay her more ($100 to $200) to make it worth her time. She decides if she wants to hook up with him only after she meets him, a decision that she claims has nothing to do with the money.

After Cequinne accepted Boston's $50 offer for a first date last February (he raised his normal $40 bid because he liked her profile so much), they hit it off, and they've been going out as often as three times a week ever since. "Most of the time we just eat and talk and have sex," Cequinne says. Boston advises her about her business, which she hopes will someday bring her "blang blang cash moneys," as she says on her profile, and financial freedom. She offers Boston a nonjudgmental sounding board for matters of the poly-heart.

At Ippuku, the two sit on mats atop a raised wooden platform, sharing the easy but electric banter of a happy new couple—though that's where the normal conventions end. "I had an interesting date on Monday," Boston announces, meaning with someone else. Cequinne describes her visit that week with a boyfriend in Toronto whom she met on OkCupid and talks about doing a nude 5K in Vancouver. Boston goes into his divorce proceedings and describes a new woman from SeekingArrangement. Toward the end of dinner, Cequinne leans her back into Boston's chest.

When the $120 check arrives, Boston pulls out his credit card.

"I need to tell both of you this," Cequinne says. "I would have gone out on a date with Bruce for free."

Boston looks at Cequinne lovingly and beams.

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