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It ends up I liked being an escort, a lot more than I believed I would anyway. I even started taking the cash, mostly because I was much too practical to let a little thing like guilt obstruct of good sense. But then, if I had the good sense I wouldn't 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 silly things that little women do.
I had not been a little lady in a long period of time though.
Deke didn't mind, he said that was a good thing because he could really charge more, especially if the guy I was going with picked me up at school. That benefit 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 spend, even after Deke took his cut. Selecting me up at school was worth an extra 200, which I believed was outrageous, however you 'd be stunned how many guys desired exactly that. Like it showed beyond a doubt that they were getting the genuine deal, an minor whore to draw and fuck . These were all older men too, like my dad's age, or more typically even older, in their 40's and 50's mainly. He stated that was generous due to the fact that he was my supervisor, my agent, my security guy, my advertising and transportation all rolled into one. He purchased my clothing and the things I need to work, like prophylactics and lube and scrap like that. That wasn't real. It was more like acting than anything else because I had to in fact like these people for an hour or two. I needed to act more youthful in some cases too, as a little lady maybe eleven or twelve years old; however never ever older. None of the men spending for me wanted a woman, just a woman, and understanding that I really was simply fifteen, that was the kicker for them. I liked acting though and I think I had a genuine talent for it. I had a skill for the sex stuff anyway, no doubt about that, and the more I did it the much better I got.
The guys loved 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 really me they liked, primarily I felt a little more secure that method. Like a man who liked me would not hurt me, you know? I 'd had sex with like fifty guys or something, many of them wanting me to call them Daddy while we did it. Some of them wanted to call me by a various name, their child's name, or a niece or the little woman next door maybe.
I might close my eyes and envision the man who was making love to me actually was my father. I might talk to him, inform him I liked him, how he made me feel unique and full-grown and liked. And somewhere, in some way along that flight, I 'd started to believe it. I 'd go home and see my genuine dad and practically 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 help it. It was configured into me, maturing not as his child but as his partner. We 'd done everything but consummate our relationship, I thought, and he needed to feel the same way. Didn't he?
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