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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, mainly due to the fact that I was much too practical to let a little thing like guilt obstruct of common sense. However then, if I had the good sense I would not 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 ridiculous things that little girls do.
I had not been a little woman in a long time.
Deke didn't mind, he said that was a great thing since he could really charge more, specifically if the man I was going with selected me up at school. That advantage turned out to be worth a couple of hundred dollars extra, although I didn't really like it.
Method 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 ludicrous, but you 'd be surprised how lots of people wanted precisely that. Like it showed beyond a doubt that they were getting the real deal, an underage slut to suck and fuck . These were all older guys too, like my dad's age, or more often even older, in their 40's and 50's primarily. They had a great deal of money to spend and it was the tips that really flushed my bank account. Deke offered me 30% and kept 70% for himself. He said that was generous since he was my manager, my representative, my security person, my marketing and transport all rolled into one. He purchased my clothing and the stuff I require to work, like condoms and lube and scrap 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 people for an hour or 2. I had to act younger often too, as a little lady possibly eleven or twelve years old; but never older. I liked acting though and I think I had a real talent for it.
The men loved 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 truly me they liked, mainly I felt a little more secure that way. Like a guy who loved me wouldn't injure me, you know? 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 desired to call me by a different name, their daughter's name, or a niece or the little lady next door perhaps.
I could close my eyes and think of the man who was making love to me truly was my papa. I could talk with him, tell him I liked him, how he made me feel grown-up and unique and enjoyed. And someplace, somehow along that flight, I 'd begun to believe it. I 'd go home and see my genuine dad and practically forget that it had not been him that I 'd fucked an hour or two prior to. But I was falling in love, in developed love, and I couldn't assist it. It was programmed into me, maturing not as his daughter but as his partner. We 'd done whatever but practiced our relationship, I believed, and he needed to feel the same way. Didn't he?
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