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It turns out I liked being an escort, a lot more than I thought I would anyway. I even began 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. Then, if I had the common sense I wouldn't have actually been an escort either. I would have been simply another fifteen-year-old catholic schoolgirl, doing her homework, 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.
Deke didn't mind, he said that was a good thing because he could actually charge more, particularly if the person I was going with chosen me up at school. That advantage turned out to be worth a couple of hundred dollars additional, although I didn't truly like it.
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 absurd, but you 'd be stunned how lots of people wanted precisely that. Like it proved beyond a doubt that they were getting the real deal, an underage whore to suck and fuck . These were all older men too, like my dad's age, or more often even older, in their 40's and 50's mostly. He said that was generous because he was my manager, my agent, my security guy, my advertising and transportation all rolled into one. He purchased my clothes and the things I need to work, like prophylactics and lube and junk like that. But that wasn't real. It was more like acting than anything else since I needed to really like these people for an hour or two. I had to act more youthful in some cases too, as a little girl perhaps eleven or twelve years of ages; but never ever older. None of the men spending for me wanted a female, just a woman, and understanding that I actually was just fifteen, that was the kicker for them. I liked acting though and I think I had a genuine talent for it. I had a skill for the sex things anyway, no doubt about that, and the more I did it the much better I got.
Mary Magdalene had been a whore. That's where I took my convenience and she 'd become my patron saint. I 'd felt really guilty initially, but that had gone away when I realized I wasn't harming anybody. The men liked me for a bit, although a few of them liked me genuine and asked me if I 'd marry them, or at least come back to their cities and cope 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 lonely due to the fact that I understood it wasn't truly me they liked, mostly I felt a little much safer that way. Like a person who enjoyed me wouldn't injure me, you understand? I 'd had sex with like fifty men or something, many of them desiring 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 lady next door perhaps.
I could close my eyes and picture the man who was making love to me really was my daddy. I might speak with him, inform him I liked him, how he made me feel special and developed and enjoyed. And somewhere, in some way along that flight, I 'd begun to believe it. I 'd go home and see my real papa and almost forget that it hadn't been him that I 'd fucked an hour or two before. But I was falling in love, in grown-up love, and I could not help it. It was configured into me, maturing not as his daughter but as his other half. We 'd done whatever but skilled our relationship, I thought, and he needed to feel the same way. Didn't he?
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