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It ends up I liked being an escort, a lot more than I believed I would anyhow. I even began taking the cash, primarily due to the fact that I was much too practical to let a little thing like guilt get in the way of common sense. Then, if I had the typical sense I wouldn't have 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 woman in a long time.
Deke didn't mind, he stated that was a good thing due to the fact that he might actually charge more, especially if the man I was going with selected me up at school. That advantage turned out to be worth a couple of hundred dollars extra, although I didn't actually like it.
Way too much for a ninth grader to spend, even after Deke took his cut. Picking me up at school was worth an extra 200, which I thought was ludicrous, however you 'd be stunned how many men wanted exactly that. Like it proved beyond a doubt that they were getting the real offer, an underage whore to fuck and suck . These were all older people too, like my dad's age, or more typically even older, in their 40's and 50's primarily. He said that was generous because he was my manager, my representative, my security person, my advertising and transportation all rolled into one. He purchased my clothes and the things I need to work, like condoms and lube and scrap like that. It was more like acting than anything else given that I had to really like these people for an hour or 2. I had to act more youthful sometimes too, as a little lady perhaps eleven or twelve years old; however never ever older. I liked acting though and I believe I had a genuine talent for it.
Mary Magdalene had actually been a slut. That's where I took my comfort and she 'd become my tutelary saint. I 'd felt truly guilty at first, however that had disappeared when I understood I wasn't harming anyone. The men loved me for a bit, although a few of them liked me for real and asked me if I 'd marry them, or at least come back to their cities and deal with them. But 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 due to the fact that I knew it wasn't actually me they liked, mainly I felt a little safer that way. Like a guy who enjoyed me would not hurt me, you understand? I loved my dad. That had actually altered too and I do not understand if one thing had to do with the other exactly, however I do not believe in coincidence either. I 'd made love with like fifty people or something, most of them wanting me to call them Daddy while we did it. Some of them wished to call me by a various name, their child's name, or a niece or the little girl next door maybe. However a lot of them didn't mind calling me Samantha either, which troubled me at first, but then it didn't and I started liking it.
I might close my eyes and picture the guy who was making love to me truly was my father. I might talk to him, tell him I loved him, how he made me feel full-grown and unique and loved. I was falling in love, in developed love, and I could not assist it.
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