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It turns out I liked being an escort, far more than I believed I would anyhow. I even started taking the money, primarily because I was much too practical to let a little thing like guilt get in the way of sound judgment. Then, if I had the typical sense I wouldn't 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 silly things that little women do.
I hadn't been a little lady in a long time though.
Deke didn't mind, he said that was a excellent thing due to the fact that he could in fact charge more, specifically if the guy 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 actually like it.
Way too much for a ninth grader to invest, even after Deke took his cut. Selecting me up at school was worth an additional 200, which I thought was ludicrous, however you 'd be stunned how lots of people wanted precisely that. Like it proved beyond a doubt that they were getting the real deal, an minor whore to fuck and draw . These were all older men too, like my father's age, or more frequently even older, in their 40's and 50's primarily. They had a great deal of money to invest and it was the pointers that really flushed my checking account. Deke gave me 30% and kept 70% for himself. He stated that was generous because he was my supervisor, my agent, my security guy, my advertising and transportation all rolled into one. He bought my clothes and the stuff I require to work, like prophylactics and lube and junk like that. He did all the work if you listened to him tell it, and all I did was lay there and get rich. It was more like acting than anything else given that I had to actually like these guys for an hour or 2. I had to act younger often too, as a little girl maybe eleven or twelve years old; but never ever older. I liked acting though and I believe I had a real talent for it.
The men enjoyed me for a little bit, although some of them loved 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 brief time we were together, that's all, and while part of me felt lonely because I understood it wasn't actually me they liked, primarily I felt a little more secure that method. Like a person who enjoyed me wouldn't harm me, you understand? 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 desired to call me by a various name, their daughter's name, or a niece or the little woman next door perhaps.
I could close my eyes and think of the man who was making love to me actually was my dad. I could speak with him, tell him I liked him, how he made me feel unique and full-grown and liked. And someplace, somehow along that flight, I 'd started to believe it. I 'd go home and see my real papa and nearly forget that it had not been him that I 'd fucked an hour or more before. I was falling in love, in grown-up love, and I could not assist it. It was programmed into me, growing up not as his daughter however as his wife. We 'd done everything however skilled our relationship, I believed, and he needed to feel the same way. Didn't he?
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