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It turns out I liked being an escort, far more than I believed I would anyhow. I even started taking the money, mostly because I was much too practical to let a little thing like regret get in the way of sound judgment. But then, if I had the sound judgment I wouldn't 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 silly things that little women do.
I had not been a little girl in a long time.
Deke didn't mind, he said that was a good thing because he could in fact charge more, particularly if the man I was going with picked me up at school. That privilege turned out to be worth a couple of hundred dollars extra, 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 absurd, however you 'd be stunned how many people wanted precisely that. Like it proved beyond a doubt that they were getting the real deal, an underage slut to fuck and draw . These were all older guys too, like my papa's age, or regularly even older, in their 40's and 50's mostly. They had a great deal of money to spend and it was the ideas that actually flushed my bank account. Deke provided me 30% and kept 70% for himself. He stated that was generous because he was my supervisor, my representative, my security guy, my advertising and transport all rolled into one. He purchased my clothes and the stuff I require to work, like prophylactics and lube and scrap 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 since I had to in fact like these people for an hour or 2. I had to act younger in some cases too, as a little woman maybe eleven or twelve years old; but never older. I liked acting though and I believe I had a real skill for it.
The males liked me for a little bit, although some of them liked me for genuine 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 short time we were together, that's all, and while part of me felt lonesome since I understood it wasn't actually me they liked, primarily I felt a little safer that way. Like a man who enjoyed me would not harm me, you understand? 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 desired to call me by a different name, their daughter's name, or a niece or the little girl next door perhaps.
I could close my eyes and think of the man who was making love to me truly was my dad. I could speak to him, tell him I liked him, how he made me feel special and full-grown and enjoyed. And somewhere, somehow along that trip, I 'd begun to think it. I 'd go home and see my genuine dad and nearly forget that it had not been him that I 'd fucked an hour or two before. I was falling in love, in full-grown love, and I couldn't assist it. It was configured into me, growing up not as his child but as his other half. We 'd done everything but practiced our relationship, I believed, and he had to feel the same way. Didn't he?
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