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It turns out I liked being an escort, much more than I thought I would anyway. I even started taking the money, mostly due to the fact that I was much too practical to let a little thing like guilt get in the way of good sense. But then, if I had the sound judgment I would not 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 women do.
I had not been a little girl in a long time.
Deke didn't mind, he stated that was a excellent thing because he might in fact charge more, specifically if the person I was going with chosen me up at school. That benefit turned out to be worth a couple of hundred dollars extra, although I didn't truly like it.
Method too much for a ninth grader to spend, even after Deke took his cut. Selecting me up at school was worth an additional 200, which I thought was ludicrous, however you 'd be surprised how numerous people desired exactly that. Like it showed beyond a doubt that they were getting the genuine deal, an minor whore to suck and fuck . These were all older people too, like my daddy'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 representative, my security guy, my marketing and transport all rolled into one. He bought my clothing and the things I require to work, like condoms and lube and scrap like that. It was more like acting than anything else considering that I had to actually like these people for an hour or two. I had to act more youthful often too, as a little woman maybe eleven or twelve years old; however never older. I liked acting though and I think I had a real talent for it.
The males enjoyed me for a little bit, although some of them enjoyed 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 understood it wasn't really me they liked, mostly I felt a little safer that method. Like a guy who enjoyed me wouldn't hurt 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 lady next door possibly.
I could close my eyes and imagine the man who was making love to me truly was my dad. I could talk to him, inform him I liked him, how he made me feel special and grown-up and enjoyed. And someplace, somehow along that trip, I 'd started to believe it. I 'd go house and see my genuine papa and nearly 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 could not assist it. It was set into me, maturing not as his child but as his partner. We 'd done whatever but practiced our relationship, I believed, and he needed to feel the same way. Didn't he?
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