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It turns out I liked being an escort, far more than I believed I would anyway. I even began taking the cash, mostly since I was much too useful to let a little thing like regret get in the way of good sense. Then, if I had the common sense I would not 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 ridiculous things that little girls do.
I had not been a little lady in a long time.
I only worked three or 4 nights a week anyhow, since I needed to be home by 9 pm on school nights and 10 o'clock on weekends. Deke didn't mind, he stated that was a excellent thing due to the fact that he could actually charge more, particularly if the guy I was going with chosen me up at school. That advantage turned out to be worth a couple of hundred dollars extra, although I didn't truly like it. I was constantly scared somebody would see me entering a unusual car, a different strange vehicle every time, and question what was going on.
Way too much for a ninth grader to invest, even after Deke took his cut. Picking me up at school was worth an additional 200, which I thought was outrageous, but you 'd be stunned how many guys desired precisely that. Like it proved beyond a doubt that they were getting the genuine deal, an minor whore to fuck and draw . These were all older men too, like my father's age, or more typically even older, in their 40's and 50's mainly. He stated that was generous since he was my supervisor, my representative, my security person, my marketing and transportation all rolled into one. He bought my clothes and the stuff I require to work, like condoms and lube and scrap like that. It was more like acting than anything else because I had to really like these guys for an hour or two. I had to act more youthful sometimes too, as a little lady maybe eleven or twelve years old; however never older. I liked acting though and I think I had a real skill for it.
The men loved 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 knew it wasn't actually me they liked, mainly I felt a little safer that method. Like a guy who loved me wouldn't harm me, you understand? I 'd had sex with like fifty men or something, many 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 might close my eyes and picture the male who was making love to me actually was my daddy. I could talk to him, tell him I loved him, how he made me feel special and full-grown and liked. I was falling in love, in developed love, and I could not help it.
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