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It ends up I liked being an escort, a lot more than I believed I would anyway. I even began taking the money, mostly since I was much too useful to let a little thing like guilt get in the way of good sense. Then, if I had the common sense I would not 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 ridiculous things that little ladies do.
I hadn't been a little girl in a long period of time though.
Deke didn't mind, he stated that was a great thing since he could really charge more, especially if the man I was going with chosen me up at school. That opportunity turned out to be worth a couple of hundred dollars extra, 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 outrageous, but you 'd be surprised how many people wanted exactly that. Like it proved beyond a doubt that they were getting the real deal, an underage whore to draw and fuck . These were all older guys too, like my father's age, or more frequently even older, in their 40's and 50's mostly. He said that was generous since he was my manager, my agent, my security guy, my marketing and transport all rolled into one. He purchased my clothes and the things I require to work, like condoms and lube and scrap like that. It was more like acting than anything else since I had to in fact like these men for an hour or 2. I had to act younger sometimes 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.
Mary Magdalene had been a slut. That's where I took my convenience and she 'd become my tutelary saint. I 'd felt actually guilty in the beginning, but that had gone away when I recognized I wasn't injuring anyone. The men enjoyed me for a little bit, although some of them enjoyed me genuine and asked me if I 'd wed them, or at least return to their cities and cope with them. 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 lonesome because I understood it wasn't truly me they liked, mostly I felt a little more secure that way. Like a person who enjoyed me would not injure me, you know? I loved my daddy. That had actually changed too and I don't know if one thing involved the other exactly, however I do not believe in coincidence either. I 'd had sex with like fifty people or something, most of them wanting me to call them Daddy while we did it. A few of them wanted to call me by a various name, their child's name, or a niece or the little woman next door perhaps. A lot of them didn't mind calling me Samantha either, and that bothered me at first, however then it didn't and I began liking it.
I could close my eyes and picture the male who was making love to me really was my dad. I might talk to him, inform him I liked him, how he made me feel grown-up and unique and loved. I was falling in love, in grown-up love, and I couldn't help it.
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