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It ends up I liked being an escort, a lot more than I believed I would anyway. I even began taking the cash, mostly since I was much too useful to let a little thing like regret get in the way of sound judgment. Then, if I had the common sense I wouldn't have been an escort either. I would have been just another fifteen-year-old catholic schoolgirl, doing her homework, doing her nails, doing the little ridiculous things that little ladies do.
I had not been a little woman in a long time.
Deke didn't mind, he said that was a great thing due to the fact that he could in fact charge more, especially if the man I was going with picked 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. Selecting me up at school was worth an extra 200, which I believed was absurd, however you 'd be stunned how many guys wanted exactly that. Like it showed beyond a doubt that they were getting the genuine deal, an underage whore to draw and fuck . These were all older people too, like my papa's age, or more typically even older, in their 40's and 50's mostly. He said that was generous because he was my supervisor, my representative, my security person, my marketing and transport all rolled into one. He purchased my clothing and the stuff I need to work, like condoms and lube and junk like that. That wasn't true. It was more like acting than anything else since I needed to actually like these guys for an hour or two. I needed to act more youthful often too, as a little lady possibly eleven or twelve years of ages; however never older. None of the men paying for me desired a lady, just a lady, and understanding that I really was simply fifteen, that was the kicker for them. I liked acting though and I believe I had a genuine talent for it. I had a skill for the sex things anyhow, no doubt about that, and the more I did it the much better I got.
Mary Magdalene had actually been a whore. That's where I took my comfort and she 'd become my patron saint. I 'd felt truly guilty in the beginning, but that had disappeared when I understood I wasn't hurting anyone. The men enjoyed me for a bit, although some of them liked me genuine and asked me if I 'd marry them, or at least come back to their cities and deal with them. But 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 safer that way. Like a man who liked me wouldn't hurt me, you know? I 'd had sex with like fifty guys 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 child's name, or a niece or the little woman next door maybe.
I might close my eyes and think of the man who was making love to me really was my father. I might talk to him, tell him I liked him, how he made me feel full-grown and special and enjoyed. And somewhere, in some way along that flight, I 'd begun to think it. I 'd go house and see my genuine dad and practically forget that it had not been him that I 'd fucked an hour or 2 prior to. However I was falling in love, in developed love, and I could not help it. It was configured into me, maturing not as his daughter but as his better half. We 'd done everything however consummate our relationship, I thought, and he needed to feel the same way. Didn't he?
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