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It turns out I liked being an escort, a lot more than I thought I would anyhow. I even started taking the money, mainly because I was much too practical to let a little thing like regret obstruct of sound judgment. 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 ladies do.
I hadn't been a little lady in a very long time though.
I only worked three or 4 nights a week anyway, considering that I had to be house by 9 pm on school nights and 10 o'clock on weekends. Deke didn't mind, he said that was a great thing because he might really charge more, specifically if the person I was going with picked me up at school. That opportunity ended up being worth a number of hundred dollars extra, although I didn't really like it. I was always scared someone would see me entering a strange car, a different strange automobile every time, and wonder what was going on.
Way too much for a ninth grader to spend, even after Deke took his cut. Choosing me up at school was worth an additional 200, which I thought was ludicrous, but you 'd be shocked how numerous men wanted exactly that. Like it proved beyond a doubt that they were getting the genuine offer, an underage slut to fuck and draw . These were all older guys too, like my daddy's age, or more typically even older, in their 40's and 50's mostly. He said that was generous because he was my supervisor, my agent, my security person, my advertising and transportation all rolled into one. He bought my clothing and the things I need to work, like condoms and lube and junk like that. It was more like acting than anything else since I had to actually like these people 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 genuine talent for it.
Mary Magdalene had actually been a slut. That's where I took my comfort and she 'd become my patron saint. I 'd felt truly guilty in the beginning, but that had disappeared when I recognized I wasn't harming anyone. The men liked me for a bit, although a few of them liked me for real and asked me if I 'd marry them, or a minimum of return to their cities and deal with them. But they loved who I pretended to be for that short time we were together, that's all, and while part of me felt lonely since I understood it wasn't actually me they liked, mainly I felt a little safer that way. Like a person who liked me would not harm me, you know? I loved my dad. That had altered too and I do not know if one thing pertained to the other precisely, however I don't believe in coincidence either. I 'd had sex with like fifty men or something, the majority of them wanting me to call them Daddy while we did it. Some of them wished to call me by a different name, their daughter's name, or a niece or the little girl next door perhaps. However a great deal of them didn't mind calling me Samantha either, and that bothered me initially, however then it didn't and I began liking it.
I could close my eyes and picture the man who was making love to me truly was my father. I could talk to him, inform him I enjoyed him, how he made me feel unique and full-grown and enjoyed. And somewhere, somehow along that ride, I 'd started to think it. I 'd go home and see my real father and nearly forget that it hadn't been him that I 'd fucked an hour or 2 before. But I was falling in love, in full-grown love, and I couldn't help it. It was programmed into me, growing up not as his child but as his better half. 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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