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It turns out I liked being an escort, much more than I thought I would anyhow. I even began taking the money, mainly since I was much too useful to let a little thing like guilt get in the way of sound judgment. But then, if I had the good 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 girls do.
I hadn't been a little lady in a long period of time though.
I just worked three or 4 nights a week anyhow, since I had to be home by 9 pm on school nights and 10 o'clock on weekends. Deke didn't mind, he said that was a good thing since he might actually charge more, particularly if the guy I was going with selected me up at school. That advantage ended up being worth a couple of hundred dollars additional, although I didn't actually like it. I was constantly scared someone would see me entering a unusual cars and truck, a various weird automobile each time, and question what was going on.
I 'd been doing it for practically two months already, and I 'd lost track of the number of guys I 'd made love with. I didn't need to know, but it needed to be a lot. I 'd made a great deal of money too. Way too much for a ninth grader to spend, even after Deke took his cut. He charged 300 dollars an hour for me, or 500 dollars for 2. Selecting me up at school was worth an extra 200, which I thought was ridiculous, however you 'd be surprised the number of men desired exactly that. Like it showed beyond a doubt that they were getting the genuine deal, an minor whore to fuck and suck . These were all older guys too, like my daddy's age, or more often even older, in their 40's and 50's mainly. He said that was generous since he was my manager, my agent, my security person, my marketing and transportation all rolled into one. He purchased my clothing and the stuff I need to work, like condoms and lube and scrap like that. That wasn't true. It was more like acting than anything else because I had to in fact like these men for an hour or two. I needed to act more youthful sometimes too, as a little girl perhaps eleven or twelve years old; however never ever older. None of the men paying for me wanted a lady, simply a girl, and knowing that I truly was simply fifteen, that was the kicker for them. I liked acting though and I think I had a real skill for it. I had a talent for the sex stuff anyway, no doubt about that, and the more I did it the better I got.
The guys enjoyed me for a little bit, although some of them liked me for real 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 lonesome since I knew it wasn't truly me they liked, mostly I felt a little safer that method. Like a guy who loved me wouldn't hurt me, you understand? I 'd had sex with like fifty guys or something, most of them wanting me to call them Daddy while we did it. Some of them desired to call me by a different name, their child's name, or a niece or the little woman next door maybe.
I could close my eyes and think of the man who was making love to me actually was my papa. I might talk with him, inform him I loved him, how he made me feel special and full-grown and enjoyed. And somewhere, somehow along that trip, I 'd started to believe it. I 'd go house and see my genuine papa and nearly forget that it had not been him that I 'd fucked an hour or 2 before. But I was falling in love, in developed love, and I could not help it. It was configured into me, maturing not as his daughter but as his better half. 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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