Thoughts, chemically amplified

I want female friends with whom I can bathe. It would be glorious and we'd grow together there, in the tub.

I want a paternal man who financially creates the womb for me. There, I might write or paint or get back into woodwork. I want to find a male humanoid who would facilitate all of my whims, swathing me in muslin where I can be dysfunctional, chemically explorative and produce beautiful children who might benefit from all of this.
Or maybe, I'd teach children. Think Sheba Hart in Notes On A Scandal.
Do I have to become a concept for a man of means to indulge? Am I opposed to being that?
Think housewife, but with painful luxury. Id' be infantile and erotic because I'd maintain nubility in my perspex cage of 'sustainable anorexia'. I'd be kept and nurtured and simultaneously a venus, borne from some middle aged mother of pearl.