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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 money, mainly because I was much too useful to let a little thing like guilt obstruct of sound judgment. Then, if I had the common sense I would not have been an escort either. I would have been simply another fifteen-year-old catholic schoolgirl, doing her research, doing her nails, doing the little silly things that little ladies do.
I had not been a little lady in a very long time though.
Deke didn't mind, he said that was a good thing since he could in fact charge more, specifically if the guy I was going with chosen me up at school. That opportunity turned out to be worth a couple of hundred dollars additional, although I didn't really like it.
Way too much for a ninth grader to invest, even after Deke took his cut. Choosing me up at school was worth an extra 200, which I believed was ridiculous, but you 'd be shocked how numerous guys wanted precisely that. Like it showed beyond a doubt that they were getting the real deal, an underage slut to fuck and draw . These were all older men too, like my father's age, or regularly even older, in their 40's and 50's primarily. They had a great deal of cash to invest and it was the ideas that really flushed my savings account. Deke offered me 30% and kept 70% for himself. He said that was generous since he was my manager, my agent, my security person, my advertising and transportation all rolled into one. He bought my clothes and the stuff I need to work, like prophylactics 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 considering that I had to in fact like these people for an hour or two. I had to act more youthful in some cases too, as a little girl perhaps eleven or twelve years old; but never ever older. I liked acting though and I think I had a real skill for it.
The guys liked me for a little bit, although some of them loved me for genuine and asked me if I 'd marry 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 lonely because I knew it wasn't really me they liked, mainly I felt a little safer that method. Like a guy who enjoyed me wouldn't harm me, you know? I was in love with my daddy. That had changed too and I do not understand if one thing had to do with the other exactly, but I do not believe in coincidence either. I 'd had sex with like fifty people or something, the majority of them wanting me to call them Daddy while we did it. A few of them wanted to call me by a various name, their daughter's name, or a niece or the little girl next door possibly. However a great deal of them didn't mind calling me Samantha either, and that troubled me initially, but then it didn't and I began liking it.
I might close my eyes and imagine the guy who was making love to me really was my daddy. I could talk to him, inform him I enjoyed him, how he made me feel grown-up and unique and loved. I was falling in love, in grown-up love, and I couldn't help it.
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