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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 money, mostly since I was much too practical to let a little thing like regret obstruct of sound judgment. Then, if I had the typical sense I wouldn't have actually been an escort either. I would have been simply another fifteen-year-old catholic schoolgirl, doing her research, doing her nails, doing the little ridiculous things that little women do.
I had not been a little lady in a long time.
Deke didn't mind, he said that was a good thing because he could really charge more, particularly if the guy I was going with picked me up at school. That opportunity turned out to be worth a couple of hundred dollars extra, although I didn't truly like it.
I 'd been doing it for nearly two months currently, and I 'd lost track of the number of guys I 'd made love with. I didn't need to know, however it needed to be a lot. I 'd made a lot of money too. Way excessive for a ninth grader to invest, even after Deke took his cut. He charged 300 dollars an hour for me, or 500 dollars for two. Selecting me up at school deserved an extra 200, which I thought was outrageous, however you 'd marvel the number of men wanted precisely that. Like it showed beyond a doubt that they were getting the genuine offer, an minor whore to fuck and draw . These were all older guys 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 bought my clothing and the stuff I require to work, like condoms and lube and scrap like that. That wasn't real. It was more like acting than anything else since I needed to actually like these guys for an hour or more. I had to act younger sometimes too, as a little girl maybe eleven or twelve years of ages; but never older. None of the men paying for me wanted a woman, simply a lady, and knowing that I really 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 talent for the sex stuff anyway, no doubt about that, and the more I did it the better I got.
The guys loved me for a little bit, although some of them loved me for real 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 since I knew it wasn't really me they liked, mostly I felt a little more secure that method. Like a man who liked me wouldn't harm me, you know? I 'd had sex with like fifty guys or something, most of them desiring me to call them Daddy while we did it. Some of them wanted to call me by a different name, their daughter's name, or a niece or the little woman next door maybe.
I could close my eyes and imagine the man who was making love to me truly was my father. I might speak to him, inform him I liked him, how he made me feel full-grown and special and liked. And someplace, somehow along that ride, I 'd started to think it. I 'd go house and see my genuine papa and almost forget that it hadn't been him that I 'd fucked an hour or two prior to. I was falling in love, in grown-up love, and I couldn't assist it. It was configured into me, growing up not as his daughter however as his partner. 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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