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It ends up I liked being an escort, far more than I believed I would anyway. I even began taking the cash, mainly since I was much too useful to let a little thing like regret obstruct of good sense. However then, if I had the common sense I would not have actually been an escort either. I would have been simply another fifteen-year-old catholic schoolgirl, doing her research, doing her nails, doing the little ridiculous things that little women do.
I had not been a little woman in a long time.
Deke didn't mind, he stated that was a good thing because he could really charge more, specifically if the guy I was going with picked me up at school. That advantage turned out to be worth a couple of hundred dollars extra, although I didn't actually like it.
I 'd been doing it for practically 2 months already, and I 'd lost track of how many guys I 'd had sex with. I didn't need to know, however it needed to be a lot. I 'd made a great deal of cash too. Way too much for a ninth grader to spend, even after Deke took his cut. He charged 300 dollars an hour for me, or 500 dollars for 2. Choosing me up at school was worth an extra 200, which I thought was ludicrous, but you 'd be surprised the number of guys wanted exactly that. Like it proved beyond a doubt that they were getting the real deal, an minor slut to fuck and draw . These were all older men too, like my papa's age, or more often even older, in their 40's and 50's primarily. He said that was generous because he was my manager, my representative, my security man, my advertising and transport all rolled into one. He purchased my clothes and the stuff I need to work, like prophylactics and lube and scrap like that. It was more like acting than anything else given that I had to in fact like these people for an hour or 2. I had to act younger often too, as a little lady perhaps eleven or twelve years old; however never ever older. I liked acting though and I believe I had a real talent for it.
Mary Magdalene had actually been a whore. That's where I took my convenience and she 'd become my tutelary saint. I 'd felt really guilty in the beginning, but that had disappeared when I recognized I wasn't hurting anyone. The men loved me for a little bit, although a few of them enjoyed me for real and asked me if I 'd wed them, or at least return to their cities and live 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 lonely because I knew it wasn't actually me they liked, mostly I felt a little more secure that way. Like a person who enjoyed me wouldn't hurt 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 wanted to call me by a different name, their child's name, or a niece or the little lady next door possibly.
I might close my eyes and picture the man who was making love to me really was my father. I might talk with him, inform him I loved him, how he made me feel developed and special and loved. And somewhere, somehow along that ride, I 'd begun to think it. I 'd go house 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 couldn't assist it. It was set into me, maturing not as his daughter but as his wife. We 'd done everything but practiced our relationship, I thought, and he had to feel the same way. Didn't he?
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