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It ends up I liked being an escort, a lot more than I believed I would anyhow. I even began taking the cash, mostly since I was much too practical to let a little thing like regret get in the way of good sense. But 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 homework, doing her nails, doing the little ridiculous things that little women do.
I had not been a little lady in a long time.
Deke didn't mind, he stated that was a great thing because he might actually 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 really 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 believed was ridiculous, but you 'd be surprised how many guys desired precisely that. Like it showed beyond a doubt that they were getting the genuine offer, an underage slut to suck and fuck . These were all older people too, like my daddy's age, or more often even older, in their 40's and 50's mainly. They had a great deal of cash to invest and it was the tips that truly flushed my savings account. Deke provided me 30% and kept 70% for himself. He said that was generous since he was my manager, my agent, my security man, my marketing and transport all rolled into one. He bought my clothes and the stuff I need to work, like condoms 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 because I had to in fact like these men for an hour or two. I had to act younger sometimes too, as a little lady perhaps eleven or twelve years old; but never ever older. I liked acting though and I believe I had a real talent for it.
The guys loved 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 short 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 more secure that way. Like a man who enjoyed me would not hurt me, you know? I loved my father. That had changed too and I don't know if something involved the other exactly, but I do not believe in coincidence either. I 'd made love with like fifty guys or something, the majority of them desiring me to call them Daddy while we did it. Some of them wished to call me by a various name, their child's name, or a niece or the little girl next door maybe. However a lot of them didn't mind calling me Samantha either, and that bothered me initially, but then it didn't and I began liking it.
I could close my eyes and picture the man who was making love to me truly was my daddy. I could speak to him, tell him I loved him, how he made me feel grown-up and special and enjoyed. And someplace, somehow along that trip, I 'd started to think it. I 'd go home and see my real father and nearly forget that it hadn't been him that I 'd fucked an hour or 2 prior to. But I was falling in love, in full-grown love, and I couldn't help it. It was programmed into me, maturing not as his child but as his partner. 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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