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It turns out I liked being an escort, a lot more than I thought I would anyhow. I even started taking the money, mainly because I was much too useful to let a little thing like regret get in the way of common sense. But 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 research, doing her nails, doing the little silly things that little girls do.
I had not been a little lady in a long time.
Deke didn't mind, he said that was a good thing due to the fact that he could really charge more, especially if the person I was going with selected me up at school. That advantage turned out to be worth a couple of hundred dollars additional, although I didn't really 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 extra 200, which I believed was ludicrous, however you 'd be stunned how many people wanted precisely that. Like it proved beyond a doubt that they were getting the genuine deal, an minor whore to draw and fuck . These were all older guys too, like my daddy's age, or more often even older, in their 40's and 50's mostly. He stated that was generous because he was my manager, my representative, my security man, my marketing and transportation all rolled into one. He purchased my clothes and the stuff I need to work, like prophylactics and lube and junk like that. It was more like acting than anything else since I had to actually like these people for an hour or 2. I had to act more youthful often too, as a little woman maybe eleven or twelve years old; however never older. I liked acting though and I believe I had a real talent for it.
Mary Magdalene had been a slut. That's where I took my convenience and she 'd become my tutelary saint. I 'd felt really guilty at first, however that had gone away when I recognized I wasn't injuring anyone. The men loved me for a little bit, although a few of them liked me genuine and asked me if I 'd marry them, or a minimum of return to their cities and deal with them. However they loved 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 would not injure me, you understand? 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 various name, their child's name, or a niece or the little girl next door perhaps.
I could close my eyes and imagine the man who was making love to me actually was my papa. I could speak with him, tell him I liked him, how he made me feel special and grown-up and liked. And somewhere, somehow along that flight, I 'd started to believe it. I 'd go home and see my real dad and almost forget that it hadn't been him that I 'd fucked an hour or more prior to. I was falling in love, in grown-up love, and I couldn't help it. It was set into me, maturing not as his child but as his other half. We 'd done whatever however skilled our relationship, I thought, and he had to feel the same way. Didn't he?
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