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It ends up I liked being an escort, a lot more than I thought I would anyhow. I even began taking the cash, primarily since I was much too useful to let a little thing like guilt obstruct of common sense. But then, if I had the common sense I would not have actually been an escort either. I would have been just another fifteen-year-old catholic schoolgirl, doing her research, doing her nails, doing the little silly things that little ladies do.
I hadn't been a little girl in a long time.
I only worked three or 4 nights a week anyway, because I had to be home by 9 pm on school nights and ten o'clock on weekends. Deke didn't mind, he said that was a great thing due to the fact that he might in fact charge more, specifically if the person I was going with picked me up at school. That privilege ended up being worth a couple of hundred dollars additional, although I didn't really like it. I was always scared somebody would see me getting into a weird car, a various strange vehicle each time, and wonder what was going on.
Way too much for a ninth grader to invest, even after Deke took his cut. Picking me up at school was worth an additional 200, which I believed was ludicrous, but you 'd be surprised how many people desired precisely that. Like it showed beyond a doubt that they were getting the genuine offer, an underage slut to fuck and suck . These were all older people too, like my dad's age, or more often even older, in their 40's and 50's mostly. They had a great deal of money to invest and it was the ideas that really flushed my bank account. Deke offered me 30% and kept 70% for himself. He said that was generous due to the fact that he was my supervisor, my representative, my security guy, my advertising and transportation all rolled into one. He bought my clothes and the stuff I need to work, like condoms and lube and scrap like that. He did all the work if you listened to him inform 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 younger in some cases 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 real talent for it.
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 come back to their cities and live with them. They were in love with who I pretended to be for that short time we were together, that's all, and while part of me felt lonesome due to the fact that I knew it wasn't actually me they liked, mainly I felt a little safer that way. Like a guy who liked me would not harm me, you understand? I 'd had sex with like fifty people or something, many of them wanting me to call them Daddy while we did it. Some of them wanted to call me by a various name, their child's name, or a niece or the little woman next door maybe.
I might close my eyes and picture the man who was making love to me really was my dad. I might speak to him, tell him I enjoyed him, how he made me feel grown-up and unique and enjoyed. And someplace, in some way along that trip, I 'd begun to believe it. I 'd go house and see my real father and almost forget that it hadn't been him that I 'd fucked an hour or more before. But I was falling in love, in developed love, and I could not help it. It was set into me, maturing not as his daughter but as his better half. We 'd done everything however consummate our relationship, I thought, and he had to feel the same way. Didn't he?
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