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It ends up I liked being an escort, much more than I thought I would anyhow. I even started taking the money, primarily because I was much too practical to let a little thing like regret get in the way of good sense. However then, if I had the sound judgment I wouldn't have actually been an escort either. I would have been just another fifteen-year-old catholic schoolgirl, doing her homework, doing her nails, doing the little silly things that little girls do.
I had not been a little girl in a long time.
Deke didn't mind, he said that was a good thing since he could in fact charge more, especially if the person I was going with picked me up at school. That benefit turned out to be worth a couple of hundred dollars additional, although I didn't actually like it.
I 'd been doing it for practically two months currently, and I 'd lost track of how many men I 'd made love with. I didn't want to know, but it needed to be a lot. I 'd made a lot of money too. Way excessive for a ninth grader to spend, even after Deke took his cut. He charged 300 dollars an hour for me, or 500 dollars for 2. Choosing me up at school was worth an extra 200, which I believed was outrageous, but you 'd be surprised the number of people desired exactly that. Like it showed beyond a doubt that they were getting the real offer, an minor slut to fuck and suck . These were all older men too, like my father's age, or more often even older, in their 40's and 50's mostly. He said that was generous since he was my supervisor, my agent, my security man, my marketing and transport all rolled into one. He purchased my clothes and the stuff I require to work, like condoms and lube and scrap like that. It was more like acting than anything else considering that I had to in fact like these people for an hour or 2. I had to act younger in some cases too, as a little girl perhaps eleven or twelve years old; but never older. I liked acting though and I believe I had a real skill for it.
The men liked me for a little bit, although some of them loved 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 lonesome due to the fact that I understood it wasn't actually me they liked, mainly I felt a little safer that way. Like a person who loved me wouldn't hurt me, you understand? I loved my dad. That had altered too and I don't know if something had to do with the other precisely, but I do not believe in coincidence either. I 'd had sex with like fifty men or something, most of them desiring 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 woman next door perhaps. But a great deal of them didn't mind calling me Samantha either, and that troubled me at first, however then it didn't and I began liking it.
I could close my eyes and envision the man who was making love to me actually was my father. I might talk with him, tell him I enjoyed him, how he made me feel full-grown and special and liked. And someplace, in some way along that trip, I 'd begun to believe it. I 'd go house and see my genuine father and almost forget that it hadn't been him that I 'd fucked an hour or more before. But I was falling in love, in full-grown love, and I could not assist it. It was programmed into me, growing up not as his daughter however as his other half. We 'd done everything but skilled our relationship, I thought, and he had to feel the same way. Didn't he?
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