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It ends up I liked being an escort, a lot more than I thought I would anyhow. I even started taking the money, mainly because I was much too practical to let a little thing like regret get in the way of good sense. Then, if I had the common sense I wouldn't 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 ridiculous things that little women do.
I hadn't been a little lady in a long time though.
Deke didn't mind, he stated that was a good thing since he could actually charge more, specifically if the man I was going with chosen me up at school. That privilege turned out to be worth a couple of hundred dollars extra, although I didn't really like it.
Way too much for a ninth grader to spend, even after Deke took his cut. Picking me up at school was worth an extra 200, which I thought was ludicrous, but you 'd be surprised how lots of men wanted exactly that. Like it showed beyond a doubt that they were getting the real offer, an minor whore to suck and fuck . These were all older men too, like my daddy's age, or regularly even older, in their 40's and 50's mainly. They had a great deal of cash to spend and it was the ideas that truly flushed my checking account. Deke offered me 30% and kept 70% for himself. He stated that was generous since he was my manager, my representative, my security guy, my marketing and transport all rolled into one. He purchased my clothing and the stuff I need to work, like prophylactics and lube and junk like that. He did all the work if you listened to him tell it, and all I did was lay there and get rich. It was more like acting than anything else since I had to actually like these men for an hour or 2. I had to act more youthful often too, as a little woman possibly eleven or twelve years old; but never older. I liked acting though and I believe I had a genuine skill for it.
Mary Magdalene had actually been a whore. That's where I took my comfort and she 'd become my tutelary saint. I 'd felt really guilty in the beginning, but that had disappeared when I recognized I wasn't hurting anybody. The men liked me for a little bit, although some of them loved me for real and asked me if I 'd wed them, or at least return to their cities and live with them. However they loved who I pretended to be for that short time we were together, that's all, and while part of me felt lonely because I understood it wasn't actually me they liked, mainly I felt a little safer that way. Like a man who liked me wouldn't harm me, you know? I 'd had sex with like fifty people or something, most of them wanting me to call them Daddy while we did it. Some of them desired to call me by a various name, their child's name, or a niece or the little girl next door possibly.
I might close my eyes and picture the man who was making love to me really was my daddy. I might speak with him, tell him I liked him, how he made me feel unique and grown-up and enjoyed. And somewhere, in some way along that ride, I 'd begun to think it. I 'd go house and see my real father and nearly forget that it hadn't been him that I 'd fucked an hour or two prior to. I was falling in love, in grown-up love, and I could not assist it. It was programmed into me, growing up not as his child but as his partner. We 'd done everything but consummate our relationship, I thought, and he had to feel the same way. Didn't he?
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