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It turns out I liked being an escort, far more than I thought I would anyhow. I even began taking the cash, mainly 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 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 ridiculous things that little girls do.
I had not been a little lady in a very long time though.
Deke didn't mind, he stated that was a great thing since he could in fact charge more, especially if the man I was going with chosen me up at school. That advantage turned out to be worth a couple of hundred dollars extra, although I didn't really like it.
I 'd been doing it for nearly 2 months already, and I 'd lost track of how many guys I 'd had sex with. I didn't would like to know, but it had to be a lot. I 'd made a great deal of money too. Way too much for a ninth grader to spend, even after Deke took his cut. He charged 300 dollars an hour for me, or 500 dollars for 2. Selecting me up at school deserved an additional 200, which I thought was ridiculous, but you 'd be surprised how many people wanted exactly 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 father's age, or more often even older, in their 40's and 50's mostly. He said that was generous because he was my manager, my agent, my security person, my advertising and transportation all rolled into one. He bought my clothes and the things I need to work, like prophylactics and lube and scrap like that. It was more like acting than anything else considering that I had to really like these men for an hour or 2. I had to act more youthful sometimes too, as a little woman possibly eleven or twelve years old; but never ever older. I liked acting though and I think I had a genuine talent for it.
The males liked me for a little bit, although some of them enjoyed me for genuine 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 lonesome since I understood it wasn't really me they liked, mostly I felt a little more secure that way. Like a man who liked me wouldn't hurt me, you know? I 'd had sex with like fifty men or something, most of them wanting me to call them Daddy while we did it. Some of them wanted to call me by a various name, their child's name, or a niece or the little girl next door possibly.
I could close my eyes and imagine the male who was making love to me truly was my daddy. I might talk to him, inform him I enjoyed him, how he made me feel unique and full-grown and enjoyed. I was falling in love, in grown-up love, and I couldn't help it.
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