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It turns out I liked being an escort, much more than I believed I would anyway. I even started taking the cash, mainly since I was much too practical to let a little thing like guilt obstruct of good sense. But then, if I had the good sense I wouldn't have actually 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 girls do.
I hadn't been a little girl in a very long time though.
I only worked 3 or four nights a week anyway, considering that I needed to be home by 9 pm on school nights and 10 o'clock on weekends. Deke didn't mind, he said that was a good thing since he might in fact charge more, especially if the person I was going with picked me up at school. That benefit turned out to be worth a number of hundred dollars extra, although I didn't truly like it. I was constantly scared somebody would see me getting into a unusual car, a various weird car each time, and wonder what was going on.
Method too much for a ninth grader to invest, even after Deke took his cut. Selecting me up at school was worth an extra 200, which I believed was outrageous, but you 'd be shocked how lots of guys desired exactly that. Like it showed beyond a doubt that they were getting the real deal, an minor slut to suck and fuck . These were all older people too, like my papa's age, or more often even older, in their 40's and 50's mainly. He stated that was generous since he was my manager, my representative, my security man, my marketing and transport all rolled into one. He bought my clothing and the stuff I need to work, like condoms and lube and junk like that. It was more like acting than anything else given that I had to actually like these men for an hour or two. I had to act more youthful in some cases too, as a little girl possibly eleven or twelve years old; but never older. I liked acting though and I believe I had a real talent for it.
The guys 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 because I understood it wasn't really me they liked, mainly I felt a little more secure that way. Like a guy who liked me would not harm me, you know? I 'd had sex with like fifty people or something, most of them desiring me to call them Daddy while we did it. Some of them desired to call me by a various name, their daughter's name, or a niece or the little woman next door perhaps.
I could close my eyes and picture the man who was making love to me truly was my papa. I might talk to him, inform him I loved him, how he made me feel grown-up and special and loved. And someplace, somehow along that flight, I 'd started to think it. I 'd go home and see my real dad and nearly forget that it had not been him that I 'd fucked an hour or 2 prior to. I was falling in love, in grown-up love, and I couldn't assist it. It was configured into me, growing up not as his daughter however as his spouse. We 'd done everything but practiced our relationship, I believed, and he had to feel the same way. Didn't he?
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