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It turns out I liked being an escort, much more than I thought I would anyway. I even started taking the money, 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 research, doing her nails, doing the little silly things that little ladies do.
I had not been a little woman in a very long time though.
I only worked three or 4 nights a week anyhow, since I had to be house by 9 pm on school nights and ten o'clock on weekends. However Deke didn't mind, he stated that was a good idea because he might in fact charge more, especially if the guy I was choosing picked me up at school. That opportunity ended up being worth a couple of hundred dollars extra, although I didn't really like it. I was constantly afraid somebody would see me getting into a odd car, a different unusual car whenever, and question 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 additional 200, which I believed was ludicrous, but you 'd be surprised how numerous people wanted precisely that. Like it proved beyond a doubt that they were getting the real deal, an minor whore to fuck and draw . These were all older guys too, like my dad's age, or more typically even older, in their 40's and 50's mostly. He stated that was generous because he was my manager, my agent, my security guy, my marketing and transportation all rolled into one. He bought 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 because I had to in fact like these people for an hour or 2. I had to act younger sometimes too, as a little lady possibly eleven or twelve years old; however 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 genuine and asked me if I 'd wed 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 brief time we were together, that's all, and while part of me felt lonely because I knew it wasn't really me they liked, primarily I felt a little safer that method. Like a guy who enjoyed me wouldn't injure me, you understand? I 'd had sex with like fifty people or something, most of them wanting me to call them Daddy while we did it. Some of them wanted to call me by a various name, their daughter's name, or a niece or the little girl next door perhaps.
I might close my eyes and picture the male who was making love to me actually was my father. I might talk to him, inform him I liked him, how he made me feel special and developed and enjoyed. I was falling in love, in developed love, and I could not assist it.
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