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It turns out I liked being an escort, far more than I believed I would anyway. I even started taking the money, mostly since 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 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 silly things that little women do.
I hadn't been a little girl in a long time though.
I only worked three or 4 nights a week anyhow, since I needed to be home by 9 pm on school nights and ten o'clock on weekends. But Deke didn't mind, he said that was a good idea since he might actually charge more, especially if the person I was going with selected me up at school. That opportunity turned out to be worth a number of hundred dollars extra, although I didn't really like it. I was constantly scared someone would see me entering into a odd automobile, a different odd car whenever, and wonder what was going on.
Method too much for a ninth grader to invest, even after Deke took his cut. Choosing me up at school was worth an extra 200, which I believed was outrageous, however you 'd be stunned how lots of guys wanted precisely that. Like it proved beyond a doubt that they were getting the genuine offer, an underage whore to fuck and suck . These were all older guys too, like my daddy's age, or more frequently even older, in their 40's and 50's mostly. He stated that was generous because he was my supervisor, my representative, my security man, my advertising and transportation all rolled into one. He bought my clothing and the things I require to work, like condoms and lube and junk like that. It was more like acting than anything else because I had to really like these guys for an hour or two. I had to act younger often too, as a little lady perhaps eleven or twelve years old; but never older. I liked acting though and I think I had a real skill for it.
The men liked me for a little bit, although some of them enjoyed 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 lonesome because I knew it wasn't actually me they liked, mainly I felt a little safer that way. Like a guy who loved me would not injure me, you know? 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 different name, their child's name, or a niece or the little woman next door possibly.
I might close my eyes and envision the man who was making love to me really was my dad. I could talk with him, tell him I loved him, how he made me feel unique and grown-up and liked. And someplace, in some way along that trip, I 'd begun to think it. I 'd go house and see my real daddy and almost forget that it hadn't been him that I 'd fucked an hour or two before. But I was falling in love, in full-grown love, and I couldn't assist it. It was configured into me, maturing not as his daughter but as his better half. We 'd done whatever however practiced our relationship, I believed, and he needed to feel the same way. Didn't he?
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