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It turns out I liked being an escort, far more than I believed I would anyway. I even started taking the cash, mainly due to the fact that I was much too practical to let a little thing like regret obstruct of common sense. Then, if I had the common sense I would not have 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 had not been a little girl in a long time though.
Deke didn't mind, he said that was a good thing since he could really charge more, especially if the man I was going with selected me up at school. That advantage turned out to be worth a couple of hundred dollars additional, although I didn't truly like it.
Way too much for a ninth grader to spend, even after Deke took his cut. Choosing me up at school was worth an additional 200, which I thought was outrageous, but you 'd be shocked how many men wanted exactly that. Like it showed beyond a doubt that they were getting the genuine offer, an minor slut to fuck and suck . These were all older guys too, like my daddy's age, or more often even older, in their 40's and 50's primarily. He stated that was generous due to the fact that he was my manager, my agent, my security guy, my advertising and transportation all rolled into one. He purchased my clothes and the things I need to work, like prophylactics and lube and scrap like that. It was more like acting than anything else considering that I had to really like these guys for an hour or two. I had to act more youthful in some cases too, as a little lady maybe eleven or twelve years old; however never ever older. I liked acting though and I think I had a genuine talent for it.
Mary Magdalene had actually been a slut. That's where I took my comfort and she 'd become my tutelary saint. I 'd felt actually guilty at first, but that had gone away when I realized I wasn't harming anyone. The men enjoyed me for a little bit, although some of them liked me for real and asked me if I 'd marry them, or a minimum of return to their cities and cope with them. However 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 because I understood it wasn't actually me they liked, primarily I felt a little more secure that way. Like a man who loved me wouldn't hurt me, you know? I 'd had sex with like fifty people or something, many of them desiring 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 woman next door possibly.
I might close my eyes and imagine the man who was making love to me really was my daddy. I might speak with him, tell him I enjoyed him, how he made me feel unique and grown-up and loved. And someplace, somehow along that flight, I 'd begun to think it. I 'd go home and see my genuine papa and almost forget that it had not been him that I 'd fucked an hour or 2 prior to. However I was falling in love, in grown-up love, and I could not help it. It was programmed into me, maturing not as his child however as his spouse. We 'd done whatever but consummate our relationship, I thought, and he had to feel the same way. Didn't he?
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