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It ends up I liked being an escort, much more than I believed I would anyway. I even started taking the cash, mostly since I was much too practical to let a little thing like regret obstruct of good sense. But then, if I had the sound judgment I wouldn't have been an escort either. I would have been simply another fifteen-year-old catholic schoolgirl, doing her research, doing her nails, doing the little silly things that little girls do.
I hadn't been a little lady in a long time.
Deke didn't mind, he said that was a good thing since he might 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 almost 2 months already, and I 'd lost track of the number of men I 'd made love with. I didn't would like to know, but it needed to be a lot. I 'd made a great deal of money too. Way excessive for a ninth grader to invest, even after Deke took his cut. He charged 300 dollars an hour for me, or 500 dollars for 2. Picking me up at school was worth an additional 200, which I believed was outrageous, however you 'd marvel the number of people wanted exactly that. Like it proved beyond a doubt that they were getting the real offer, an minor slut to fuck and suck . These were all older guys too, like my papa's age, or more often even older, in their 40's and 50's primarily. He stated that was generous due to the fact that he was my manager, my agent, my security person, my advertising 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. It was more like acting than anything else because I had to really like these guys for an hour or 2. I had to act more youthful sometimes too, as a little woman maybe eleven or twelve years old; however never older. I liked acting though and I think I had a real talent for it.
Mary Magdalene had been a whore. That's where I took my comfort and she 'd become my tutelary saint. I 'd felt really guilty initially, however that had actually disappeared when I realized I wasn't hurting anyone. The men liked me for a little bit, although some of them enjoyed me for real and asked me if I 'd wed them, or at least come back to their cities and live with them. But 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 understood it wasn't truly me they liked, primarily I felt a little more secure that way. Like a man who enjoyed me wouldn't hurt me, you understand? I 'd had sex with like fifty people or something, most of them desiring me to call them Daddy while we did it. Some of them desired to call me by a various name, their daughter's name, or a niece or the little girl next door maybe.
I might close my eyes and envision the man who was making love to me truly was my dad. I might talk with him, inform him I enjoyed him, how he made me feel special and full-grown and loved. And somewhere, in some way along that trip, I 'd begun to think it. I 'd go house and see my real papa and practically forget that it hadn't been him that I 'd fucked an hour or two before. I was falling in love, in grown-up love, and I could not help it. It was configured into me, maturing not as his child but as his better half. We 'd done everything however consummate our relationship, I thought, and he needed to feel the same way. Didn't he?
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