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It ends up I liked being an escort, much more than I believed I would anyhow. I even started taking the cash, mainly since I was much too useful to let a little thing like regret obstruct of good sense. Then, if I had the typical sense I would not have been an escort either. I would have been just another fifteen-year-old catholic schoolgirl, doing her homework, doing her nails, doing the little ridiculous things that little women do.
I hadn't been a little woman in a very long time though.
Deke didn't mind, he said that was a good thing due to the fact that he could in fact charge more, especially if the guy I was going with selected me up at school. That advantage turned out to be worth a couple of hundred dollars additional, although I didn't really like it.
Way too much for a ninth grader to invest, even after Deke took his cut. Choosing me up at school was worth an extra 200, which I believed was ludicrous, however you 'd be surprised how many guys wanted exactly that. Like it proved beyond a doubt that they were getting the real offer, an minor whore to draw and fuck . 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 since he was my manager, my agent, my security man, my advertising and transportation all rolled into one. He purchased my clothes and the things I require to work, like condoms and lube and junk like that. That wasn't real. It was more like acting than anything else given that I needed to really like these people for an hour or 2. I needed to act younger sometimes too, as a little girl possibly eleven or twelve years of ages; but never older. None of the men paying for me desired a lady, simply a woman, and knowing that I really was just fifteen, that was the kicker for them. I liked acting though and I think I had a real skill for it. I had a talent for the sex things anyhow, no doubt about that, and the more I did it the better I got.
Mary Magdalene had been a slut. That's where I took my convenience and she 'd become my patron saint. I 'd felt actually guilty in the beginning, however that had disappeared when I recognized I wasn't harming anybody. The men liked me for a little bit, although some of them enjoyed me genuine and asked me if I 'd wed them, or at least come back to their cities and live with them. However 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 actually me they liked, mostly I felt a little much safer that way. Like a guy who enjoyed me wouldn't injure me, you know? I 'd had sex with like fifty men or something, most of them wanting me to call them Daddy while we did it. Some of them desired to call me by a various name, their child's name, or a niece or the little girl next door perhaps.
I might close my eyes and picture the man who was making love to me truly was my dad. I could talk with him, inform him I liked him, how he made me feel grown-up and unique and enjoyed. And somewhere, in some way along that trip, I 'd begun to believe it. I 'd go house and see my genuine father and nearly forget that it hadn't been him that I 'd fucked an hour or more prior to. 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 wife. We 'd done whatever but practiced our relationship, I thought, and he needed to feel the same way. Didn't he?
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