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It ends up I liked being an escort, far more than I thought I would anyhow. I even began taking the cash, primarily due to the fact that I was much too practical to let a little thing like guilt get in the way of good sense. However then, if I had the common sense I would not 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 women do.
I hadn't been a little lady in a long time.
I only worked 3 or 4 nights a week anyway, because I had to be home by 9 pm on school nights and ten o'clock on weekends. Deke didn't mind, he stated that was a great thing due to the fact that he could really charge more, particularly if the man I was going with selected me up at school. That benefit ended up being worth a number of hundred dollars extra, although I didn't really like it. I was constantly scared somebody would see me getting into a odd car, a different strange cars and truck every time, and question what was going on.
Way too much for a ninth grader to invest, even after Deke took his cut. Selecting me up at school was worth an additional 200, which I thought was absurd, but you 'd be shocked how lots of people desired exactly that. Like it showed 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 father's age, or more often even older, in their 40's and 50's mainly. He stated that was generous due to the fact that he was my manager, my representative, my security guy, my advertising and transportation all rolled into one. He bought my clothes and the things I need to work, like prophylactics and lube and junk like that. It was more like acting than anything else given that I had to actually like these people for an hour or two. I had to act younger sometimes too, as a little lady perhaps eleven or twelve years old; however never older. I liked acting though and I think I had a real skill for it.
Mary Magdalene had been a whore. That's where I took my comfort and she 'd become my patron saint. I 'd felt actually guilty initially, but that had gone away when I understood I wasn't hurting anybody. The men loved me for a little bit, although a few of them loved me for real and asked me if I 'd wed them, or at least come back 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 knew it wasn't really me they liked, mostly I felt a little much safer that way. Like a man who enjoyed me wouldn't injure me, you understand? I 'd had sex with like fifty men 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 girl next door perhaps.
I might close my eyes and imagine the man who was making love to me truly was my dad. I could talk with him, tell him I loved him, how he made me feel unique and full-grown and liked. And someplace, in some way along that ride, I 'd started to think it. I 'd go house and see my genuine dad and almost forget that it had not been him that I 'd fucked an hour or 2 before. I was falling in love, in developed love, and I couldn't assist it. It was set into me, maturing not as his child however as his better half. We 'd done whatever but practiced our relationship, I believed, and he had to feel the same way. Didn't he?
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