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It turns out I liked being an escort, a lot more than I believed I would anyhow. I even started taking the money, mainly since I was much too practical to let a little thing like regret get in the way of sound judgment. But then, if I had the good sense I would not 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 silly things that little ladies do.
I had not been a little girl in a long time though.
Deke didn't mind, he stated that was a great thing since he might actually charge more, specifically if the person I was going with chosen me up at school. That opportunity turned out to be worth a couple of hundred dollars extra, although I didn't really like it.
Way too much for a ninth grader to spend, even after Deke took his cut. Picking me up at school was worth an extra 200, which I believed was ludicrous, however you 'd be shocked how lots of men wanted exactly that. Like it showed beyond a doubt that they were getting the real offer, an minor whore to fuck and suck . These were all older men too, like my father's age, or more often even older, in their 40's and 50's primarily. He stated that was generous since he was my manager, my representative, my security person, my advertising and transport all rolled into one. He bought my clothing and the stuff I require to work, like condoms and lube and scrap like that. It was more like acting than anything else since I had to really like these guys for an hour or 2. I had to act younger often too, as a little lady maybe eleven or twelve years old; but never older. I liked acting though and I believe I had a real talent for it.
The males loved me for a little bit, although some of them enjoyed me for genuine 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 truly me they liked, mostly I felt a little much safer that method. Like a man who enjoyed me would not hurt me, you understand? I 'd had sex with like fifty people 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 woman next door possibly.
I could close my eyes and picture the man who was making love to me actually was my papa. I might speak to him, inform him I enjoyed him, how he made me feel grown-up and unique and liked. And someplace, somehow along that flight, I 'd started to think it. I 'd go home and see my real father and nearly forget that it had not been him that I 'd fucked an hour or more before. However I was falling in love, in grown-up love, and I could not assist it. It was configured into me, growing up not as his child but as his other 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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