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It ends up I liked being an escort, a lot more than I believed I would anyhow. I even began taking the money, mostly due to the fact that I was much too useful to let a little thing like regret obstruct of common sense. Then, if I had the typical sense I wouldn't 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 women do.
I had not been a little woman in a long time though.
Deke didn't mind, he said that was a good thing since 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 extra, although I didn't really like it.
I 'd been doing it for nearly two months currently, and I 'd misplaced the number of men I 'd had sex with. I didn't wish to know, but it needed to be a lot. I 'd made a lot of money too. Way excessive for a ninth grader to invest, 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 additional 200, which I believed was ludicrous, but you 'd be surprised the number of men desired exactly that. Like it showed beyond a doubt that they were getting the real deal, an underage whore to fuck and draw . These were all older men too, like my father's age, or more frequently even older, in their 40's and 50's mainly. He said that was generous because he was my manager, my agent, my security guy, my advertising and transportation all rolled into one. He bought my clothing and the stuff I need to work, like prophylactics and lube and scrap like that. That wasn't real. It was more like acting than anything else since I needed to really like these guys for an hour or two. I needed to act more youthful sometimes too, as a little woman possibly eleven or twelve years old; but never ever older. None of the men paying for me wanted a female, simply a girl, and understanding that I truly was just 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.
The males loved me for a little bit, although some of them loved 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 brief time we were together, that's all, and while part of me felt lonely since I understood it wasn't actually me they liked, primarily I felt a little more secure that way. Like a person who enjoyed me wouldn't harm me, you know? I 'd had sex with like fifty people or something, many of them desiring me to call them Daddy while we did it. Some of them wanted to call me by a different name, their child's name, or a niece or the little girl next door maybe.
I might close my eyes and think of the man who was making love to me really was my dad. I could talk with him, tell him I loved him, how he made me feel special and full-grown and enjoyed. And somewhere, somehow along that flight, I 'd begun to think it. I 'd go house and see my genuine papa and nearly forget that it hadn't been him that I 'd fucked an hour or 2 prior to. I was falling in love, in developed love, and I could not assist it. It was set into me, maturing not as his daughter however as his wife. We 'd done whatever however skilled our relationship, I thought, and he had to feel the same way. Didn't he?
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