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It ends up I liked being an escort, far more than I believed I would anyway. I even started taking the cash, mostly due to the fact that I was much too useful to let a little thing like guilt obstruct of good sense. However then, if I had the sound judgment 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 silly things that little ladies do.
I had not been a little girl in a long time though.
I only worked 3 or four nights a week anyway, considering that I had to be house by 9 pm on school nights and ten o'clock on weekends. Deke didn't mind, he stated that was a good thing since he might really charge more, especially if the guy I was going with selected me up at school. That advantage ended up being worth a couple of hundred dollars additional, although I didn't actually like it. I was constantly afraid someone would see me entering into a strange automobile, a different unusual automobile whenever, and wonder what was going on.
Way too much for a ninth grader to spend, even after Deke took his cut. Selecting me up at school was worth an extra 200, which I believed was absurd, but you 'd be shocked how lots of guys desired precisely that. Like it proved beyond a doubt that they were getting the real deal, an underage whore to draw and fuck . These were all older guys too, like my father'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 agent, my security person, my marketing and transportation all rolled into one. He purchased my clothing and the stuff I need to work, like condoms and lube and junk like that. It was more like acting than anything else since I had to actually like these men for an hour or two. I had to act more youthful often too, as a little lady perhaps eleven or twelve years old; but never ever older. I liked acting though and I think I had a genuine skill for it.
The men enjoyed me for a little bit, although some of them liked 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 lonely due to the fact that I understood it wasn't really me they liked, mainly I felt a little safer that method. Like a man who loved me wouldn't hurt me, you understand? I 'd had sex with like fifty people or something, many of them wanting 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 lady next door perhaps.
I might close my eyes and picture the man who was making love to me actually was my dad. I might talk to him, inform him I enjoyed him, how he made me feel unique and grown-up and enjoyed. I was falling in love, in developed love, and I couldn't assist it.
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