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It turns out I liked being an escort, far more than I believed I would anyhow. I even began taking the money, mostly since I was much too useful to let a little thing like regret get in the way of sound judgment. But then, if I had the sound judgment 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 women do.
I hadn't been a little girl in a very long time though.
Deke didn't mind, he said that was a great thing since he might in fact charge more, particularly if the man I was going with picked me up at school. That privilege turned out to be worth a couple of hundred dollars extra, although I didn't truly like it.
Way too much for a ninth grader to spend, even after Deke took his cut. Selecting me up at school was worth an extra 200, which I thought was outrageous, but you 'd be stunned how many people wanted precisely that. Like it showed beyond a doubt that they were getting the real deal, an minor whore to fuck and suck . These were all older people too, like my daddy's age, or more typically even older, in their 40's and 50's primarily. He stated that was generous due to the fact that he was my supervisor, my representative, my security person, my advertising and transport all rolled into one. He purchased my clothing and the things I need to work, like condoms and lube and junk like that. That wasn't true. It was more like acting than anything else considering that I needed to really like these people for an hour or two. I had to act younger often too, as a little woman possibly eleven or twelve years old; but never ever older. None of the men spending for me wanted a woman, simply a woman, and knowing that I really was simply fifteen, that was the kicker for them. I liked acting though and I believe I had a real talent for it. I had a talent for the sex things anyhow, no doubt about that, and the more I did it the better I got.
Mary Magdalene had been a slut. That's where I took my comfort and she 'd become my patron saint. I 'd felt actually guilty initially, but that had disappeared when I understood I wasn't injuring anyone. The men liked me for a bit, although some of them loved me for real and asked me if I 'd marry them, or a minimum of come back to their cities and live 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 lonesome due to the fact that I understood it wasn't really me they liked, primarily I felt a little safer that way. Like a guy who enjoyed me would not injure me, you understand? I 'd had sex with like fifty men 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 lady next door maybe.
I might close my eyes and picture the man who was making love to me actually was my papa. I might talk with him, inform him I liked him, how he made me feel full-grown and unique and loved. And somewhere, in some way along that flight, I 'd begun to think it. I 'd go house and see my genuine papa and practically forget that it hadn't been him that I 'd fucked an hour or 2 prior to. I was falling in love, in full-grown love, and I couldn't assist it. It was set into me, maturing not as his child however as his better half. We 'd done whatever however practiced our relationship, I thought, and he needed to feel the same way. Didn't he?
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