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It turns out I liked being an escort, a lot more than I thought I would anyway. I even started taking the money, mainly because I was much too useful to let a little thing like guilt get in the way of good sense. But then, if I had the good sense I would not have been an escort either. I would have been just another fifteen-year-old catholic schoolgirl, doing her homework, doing her nails, doing the little silly things that little girls do.
I hadn't been a little woman in a long time.
I only worked three or four nights a week anyway, given that I needed to be home by 9 pm on school nights and 10 o'clock on weekends. But Deke didn't mind, he stated that was a good thing since he could in fact charge more, particularly if the man I was choosing picked me up at school. That opportunity ended up being worth a couple of hundred dollars additional, although I didn't actually like it. I was constantly afraid somebody would see me entering a strange car, a various odd cars and truck every time, and question what was going on.
Way too much for a ninth grader to invest, even after Deke took his cut. Selecting me up at school was worth an extra 200, which I thought was absurd, but you 'd be surprised how lots of people desired precisely that. Like it proved beyond a doubt that they were getting the real offer, an minor whore to draw and fuck . These were all older guys too, like my papa's age, or more often even older, in their 40's and 50's primarily. He said that was generous because he was my supervisor, my representative, my security man, my marketing and transport all rolled into one. He bought my clothes and the stuff I require to work, like prophylactics and lube and junk like that. It was more like acting than anything else because I had to in fact like these people for an hour or two. I had to act more youthful often too, as a little lady possibly eleven or twelve years old; but never ever older. I liked acting though and I believe I had a genuine skill for it.
The men loved me for a little bit, although some of them enjoyed me for genuine and asked me if I 'd wed them, or at least come back to their cities and live with them. They were in love with who I pretended to be for that brief time we were together, that's all, and while part of me felt lonely since I knew it wasn't truly me they liked, primarily I felt a little more secure that way. Like a person who enjoyed me would not harm me, you know? I was in love with my dad. That had changed too and I don't understand if something related to the other exactly, but I do not believe in coincidence either. I 'd made love with like fifty people or something, the majority of them desiring me to call them Daddy while we did it. A few of them wanted to call me by a different name, their daughter's name, or a niece or the little girl next door maybe. But a lot of them didn't mind calling me Samantha either, which bothered me initially, but then it didn't and I began liking it.
I could close my eyes and imagine the guy who was making love to me really was my dad. I could talk to him, tell him I liked him, how he made me feel unique and full-grown and loved. I was falling in love, in grown-up love, and I couldn't assist it.
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