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It turns out I liked being an escort, much more than I believed I would anyway. I even began taking the cash, primarily due to the fact that I was much too useful to let a little thing like guilt get in the way of sound judgment. Then, if I had the typical 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 silly things that little ladies do.
I hadn't been a little woman in a long time.
I only worked 3 or 4 nights a week anyway, considering that I had to be home by 9 pm on school nights and 10 o'clock on weekends. However Deke didn't mind, he stated that was a advantage because he could in fact charge more, particularly if the guy I was choosing chosen me up at school. That benefit ended up being worth a couple of hundred dollars additional, although I didn't really like it. I was constantly afraid someone would see me getting into a unusual vehicle, a different strange cars and truck whenever, and wonder what was going on.
Way too much for a ninth grader to spend, even after Deke took his cut. Choosing me up at school was worth an extra 200, which I believed was ludicrous, but you 'd be stunned how lots of men desired exactly that. Like it showed beyond a doubt that they were getting the real deal, an minor whore to draw and fuck . These were all older men too, like my dad's age, or more frequently even older, in their 40's and 50's mostly. He stated that was generous since he was my manager, my agent, my security person, my marketing and transportation all rolled into one. He bought my clothing and the stuff I require to work, like prophylactics and lube and scrap like that. It was more like acting than anything else given that I had to actually like these men for an hour or 2. I had to act younger in some cases too, as a little woman maybe eleven or twelve years old; but never ever older. I liked acting though and I think I had a real talent for it.
Mary Magdalene had been a whore. That's where I took my comfort and she 'd become my patron saint. I 'd felt actually guilty at first, however that had gone away when I realized I wasn't harming anybody. The men enjoyed me for a bit, although a few of them enjoyed me for real and asked me if I 'd wed them, or at least return to their cities and deal 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 due to the fact that I understood it wasn't truly me they liked, mainly I felt a little safer that way. Like a person who liked me wouldn't harm me, you understand? I 'd had sex with like fifty men or something, many of them wanting me to call them Daddy while we did it. Some of them wanted to call me by a different name, their daughter's name, or a niece or the little lady next door possibly.
I might close my eyes and think of the man who was making love to me really was my papa. I could speak with him, inform him I enjoyed him, how he made me feel special and grown-up and loved. And somewhere, somehow along that flight, I 'd started to believe it. I 'd go house and see my real papa and practically forget that it hadn't been him that I 'd fucked an hour or two before. But I was falling in love, in grown-up love, and I couldn't assist it. It was programmed into me, maturing not as his child however as his other half. We 'd done everything but consummate our relationship, I thought, and he needed to feel the same way. Didn't he?
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