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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, mainly since I was much too useful to let a little thing like guilt obstruct of common sense. Then, if I had the typical sense I would not have been an escort either. I would have been simply another fifteen-year-old catholic schoolgirl, doing her research, doing her nails, doing the little ridiculous things that little ladies do.
I hadn't been a little girl in a long time.
Deke didn't mind, he said that was a good thing due to the fact that he could really 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 really like it.
I 'd been doing it for practically two months already, and I 'd lost track of the number of men I 'd made love with. I didn't want to know, but it had to be a lot. I 'd made a great deal of money too. Method excessive for a ninth grader to spend, even after Deke took his cut. He charged 300 dollars an hour for me, or 500 dollars for two. Choosing me up at school deserved an extra 200, which I believed was ridiculous, but you 'd marvel how many men wanted precisely that. Like it proved beyond a doubt that they were getting the real deal, an underage whore to suck and fuck . These were all older guys too, like my papa's age, or more often even older, in their 40's and 50's mainly. He stated that was generous because he was my supervisor, my representative, my security person, my marketing and transportation all rolled into one. He purchased my clothing and the stuff I need to work, like prophylactics and lube and junk like that. It was more like acting than anything else since I had to in fact like these people for an hour or 2. I had to act younger often too, as a little lady maybe eleven or twelve years old; but never older. I liked acting though and I think I had a genuine skill for it.
The men liked 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 understood it wasn't actually me they liked, mostly I felt a little much safer that way. Like a guy who liked me wouldn't hurt me, you understand? I was in love with my dad. That had changed too and I don't understand if one thing had to do with the other precisely, however I do not believe in coincidence either. I 'd made love with like fifty guys or something, the majority of them desiring me to call them Daddy while we did it. A few of them wanted to call me by a different name, their daughter's name, or a niece or the little woman next door possibly. However a great deal of them didn't mind calling me Samantha either, and that troubled me at first, but then it didn't and I began liking it.
I might close my eyes and imagine the man who was making love to me really was my father. I could talk to him, tell him I loved him, how he made me feel unique and full-grown and liked. I was falling in love, in full-grown love, and I couldn't assist it.
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