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It ends up I liked being an escort, much more than I believed I would anyhow. I even started taking the money, mostly since I was much too practical to let a little thing like guilt get in the way of good sense. 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 homework, doing her nails, doing the little ridiculous things that little ladies do.
I had not been a little girl in a long time.
I just worked three or 4 nights a week anyway, because I needed to be house by 9 pm on school nights and ten o'clock on weekends. However Deke didn't mind, he said that was a advantage since he might actually charge more, particularly if the man I was going with selected me up at school. That opportunity turned out to be worth a number of hundred dollars extra, although I didn't actually like it. I was always scared somebody would see me getting into a unusual cars and truck, a different weird automobile whenever, and wonder what was going on.
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, however you 'd be shocked how lots of guys wanted precisely that. Like it proved beyond a doubt that they were getting the real deal, an underage slut to fuck and draw . These were all older guys too, like my papa's age, or more typically even older, in their 40's and 50's primarily. He said that was generous because he was my manager, my agent, my security guy, my advertising and transportation all rolled into one. He purchased my clothes and the things I need 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 people for an hour or 2. 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 genuine skill for it.
The males loved me for a little bit, although some of them liked 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 because I knew it wasn't really me they liked, mostly I felt a little more secure that way. Like a man who enjoyed me wouldn't hurt me, you know? I loved my papa. That had actually changed too and I do not know if one thing involved the other exactly, but I don't believe in coincidence either. I 'd had sex with like fifty people or something, most of them desiring 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 girl next door maybe. A lot of them didn't mind calling me Samantha either, and that troubled me at first, however then it didn't and I began liking it.
I might close my eyes and think of the man who was making love to me really was my daddy. I could talk to him, tell him I loved him, how he made me feel grown-up and special and enjoyed. I was falling in love, in developed love, and I could not assist it.
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