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It turns out I liked being an escort, far more than I believed I would anyway. I even started taking the money, mainly because I was much too useful to let a little thing like regret obstruct of good sense. Then, if I had the common sense I wouldn't 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 ridiculous things that little girls do.
I hadn't been a little woman in a long time.
Deke didn't mind, he stated that was a great thing since he might actually charge more, particularly if the man I was going with selected me up at school. That benefit 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 invest, even after Deke took his cut. Selecting me up at school was worth an additional 200, which I believed was absurd, however you 'd be stunned how many men desired precisely that. Like it showed beyond a doubt that they were getting the genuine offer, an minor slut to fuck and suck . These were all older guys too, like my dad's age, or more frequently even older, in their 40's and 50's mainly. They had a great deal of cash to spend and it was the ideas that truly flushed my checking account. Deke gave me 30% and kept 70% for himself. He said that was generous because he was my manager, my agent, my security person, my advertising and transport all rolled into one. He bought my clothes and the stuff I need to work, like condoms and lube and scrap like that. He did all the work if you listened to him inform it, and all I did was lay there and get rich. It was more like acting than anything else because I had to in fact like these men for an hour or two. I had to act younger in some cases too, as a little woman perhaps eleven or twelve years old; but never ever older. I liked acting though and I think I had a genuine skill for it.
Mary Magdalene had actually been a whore. That's where I took my comfort and she 'd become my patron saint. I 'd felt truly guilty at first, but that had actually disappeared when I understood I wasn't hurting anyone. The men enjoyed me for a little bit, although a few of them loved me genuine and asked me if I 'd wed them, or a minimum of come back to their cities and cope 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 lonely because I knew it wasn't actually me they liked, mainly I felt a little safer that way. Like a man who loved me would not hurt me, you understand? I 'd had sex with like fifty people or something, many of them wanting me to call them Daddy while we did it. Some of them wanted to call me by a various name, their child's name, or a niece or the little woman next door possibly.
I could close my eyes and envision the man who was making love to me really was my father. I might talk to him, inform him I loved him, how he made me feel developed and special and enjoyed. I was falling in love, in grown-up love, and I could not help it.
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