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It ends up I liked being an escort, far more than I thought I would anyhow. I even started taking the money, mostly since I was much too practical to let a little thing like regret obstruct of common sense. But then, if I had the good sense I would not 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 ridiculous things that little women do.
I hadn't been a little lady in a long period of time though.
Deke didn't mind, he stated that was a good thing since he could really charge more, especially if the guy I was going with chosen me up at school. That advantage turned out to be worth a couple of hundred dollars additional, although I didn't actually like it.
Method too much for a ninth grader to invest, even after Deke took his cut. Picking me up at school was worth an extra 200, which I thought was absurd, but you 'd be surprised how lots of people wanted precisely that. Like it proved beyond a doubt that they were getting the real deal, an underage whore to fuck and suck . These were all older guys too, like my daddy's age, or more typically even older, in their 40's and 50's mostly. He said that was generous since 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 prophylactics and lube and scrap like that. That wasn't true. It was more like acting than anything else given that I needed to in fact like these men for an hour or two. I needed to act younger often too, as a little lady maybe eleven or twelve years of ages; but never ever older. None of the men spending for me wanted a woman, just a woman, and understanding that I actually was just fifteen, that was the kicker for them. I liked acting though and I believe I had a genuine skill for it. I had a skill for the sex things anyhow, no doubt about that, and the more I did it the better I got.
The men liked me for a little bit, although some of them enjoyed me for real 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 brief time we were together, that's all, and while part of me felt lonely since I understood it wasn't really me they liked, primarily I felt a little safer that method. Like a guy who liked me wouldn't hurt me, you know? I was in love with my father. That had changed too and I don't know if one thing involved the other specifically, but I don't believe in coincidence either. I 'd had sex with like fifty men or something, most of them desiring me to call them Daddy while we did it. A few of them wished to call me by a different name, their child's name, or a niece or the little woman next door maybe. A lot of them didn't mind calling me Samantha either, and that troubled me at initially, but then it didn't and I began liking it.
I might close my eyes and imagine the man who was making love to me truly was my papa. I might talk to him, tell him I liked him, how he made me feel unique and grown-up and enjoyed. I was falling in love, in grown-up love, and I couldn't assist it.
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