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It turns out I liked being an escort, far more than I believed I would anyway. I even began taking the cash, primarily due to the fact that I was much too useful to let a little thing like guilt obstruct of common sense. Then, if I had the common sense I would not have actually 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 women do.
I had not been a little woman in a long time though.
Deke didn't mind, he said that was a good thing since he could in fact charge more, particularly if the person I was going with selected me up at school. That opportunity turned out to be worth a couple of hundred dollars additional, although I didn't really like it.
Method too much for a ninth grader to invest, even after Deke took his cut. Selecting me up at school was worth an extra 200, which I thought was ridiculous, but you 'd be stunned how lots of guys desired precisely that. Like it proved beyond a doubt that they were getting the genuine offer, an minor whore to draw and fuck . These were all older men too, like my father's age, or regularly even older, in their 40's and 50's mostly. They had a lot of money to spend and it was the tips that actually flushed my bank account. Deke offered me 30% and kept 70% for himself. He said that was generous because he was my manager, my agent, my security guy, my advertising and transport all rolled into one. He bought my clothes and the stuff I require to work, like condoms and lube and junk like that. He did all the work if you listened to him tell it, and all I did was lay there and get rich. It was more like acting than anything else considering that I had to really like these people for an hour or two. I had to act younger sometimes too, as a little woman perhaps eleven or twelve years old; however never ever older. I liked acting though and I believe I had a genuine skill for it.
The men enjoyed me for a little bit, although some of them enjoyed me for genuine and asked me if I 'd marry 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 short 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 guy who loved me wouldn't harm me, you understand? I 'd had sex with like fifty men or something, many of them wanting 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 lady next door perhaps.
I could close my eyes and envision the man who was making love to me actually was my dad. I might speak to him, inform him I enjoyed him, how he made me feel special and developed and loved. And somewhere, somehow along that flight, I 'd begun to believe it. I 'd go house and see my genuine papa and practically forget that it had not been him that I 'd fucked an hour or 2 prior to. However I was falling in love, in full-grown love, and I couldn't assist it. It was set into me, growing up not as his daughter however as his other half. We 'd done everything however consummate our relationship, I thought, and he needed to feel the same way. Didn't he?
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