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It ends up I liked being an escort, much more than I thought I would anyhow. I even started taking the cash, mostly due to the fact that I was much too practical to let a little thing like guilt get in the way of sound judgment. Then, if I had the common sense I would not have been an escort either. I would have been just another fifteen-year-old catholic schoolgirl, doing her homework, doing her nails, doing the little silly things that little women do.
I hadn't been a little woman in a long time.
Deke didn't mind, he stated that was a great thing because he could in fact charge more, specifically if the guy I was going with chosen me up at school. That advantage turned out to be worth a couple of hundred dollars additional, although I didn't really like it.
Way too much for a ninth grader to invest, even after Deke took his cut. Choosing me up at school was worth an extra 200, which I believed was ludicrous, but you 'd be shocked how lots of men wanted precisely that. Like it showed beyond a doubt that they were getting the real offer, an minor slut to draw and fuck . These were all older guys too, like my dad's age, or more often even older, in their 40's and 50's primarily. They had a lot of cash to spend and it was the tips that really flushed my checking account. Deke offered me 30% and kept 70% for himself. He stated that was generous because he was my manager, my representative, my security person, my advertising and transportation all rolled into one. He purchased my clothing and the stuff I need to work, like prophylactics and lube and scrap like that. He did all the work if you listened to him inform it, and all I did was lay there and get rich. That wasn't real. It was more like acting than anything else considering that I needed to really like these guys for an hour or two. I needed to act younger in some cases too, as a little girl perhaps eleven or twelve years of ages; but never ever older. None of the men paying for me wanted a female, simply a girl, and knowing that I really was simply fifteen, that was the kicker for them. I liked acting though and I believe I had a genuine 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.
Mary Magdalene had actually been a slut. That's where I took my convenience and she 'd become my tutelary saint. I 'd felt truly guilty in the beginning, but that had disappeared when I recognized I wasn't harming anyone. The men liked 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 cope 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 lonely due to the fact that I knew it wasn't really me they liked, mainly I felt a little much safer that way. Like a guy who enjoyed me wouldn't injure me, you know? I 'd had sex with like fifty people or something, most of them wanting me to call them Daddy while we did it. Some of them wanted to call me by a various name, their daughter's name, or a niece or the little girl next door perhaps.
I could close my eyes and envision the man who was making love to me truly was my dad. I might talk with him, tell him I enjoyed him, how he made me feel special and developed and enjoyed. And somewhere, somehow along that ride, I 'd started to believe it. I 'd go home and see my genuine father and practically forget that it hadn't been him that I 'd fucked an hour or more prior to. I was falling in love, in grown-up love, and I could not assist it. It was set into me, growing up not as his child however as his spouse. We 'd done whatever but skilled our relationship, I thought, and he had to feel the same way. Didn't he?
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