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It ends up I liked being an escort, a lot more than I thought I would anyhow. I even began taking the cash, mostly because I was much too practical to let a little thing like regret obstruct of sound judgment. But then, if I had the common sense I wouldn't have actually 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 girls do.
I hadn't been a little girl in a long time though.
I only worked 3 or 4 nights a week anyhow, given that I had to be home by 9 pm on school nights and 10 o'clock on weekends. However Deke didn't mind, he stated that was a good idea since he might really charge more, particularly if the person I was opting for picked me up at school. That privilege turned out to be worth a number of hundred dollars extra, although I didn't actually like it. I was always afraid somebody would see me entering a odd car, a various strange cars and truck each time, and question what was going on.
Method too much for a ninth grader to spend, even after Deke took his cut. Picking me up at school was worth an additional 200, which I thought was ludicrous, but you 'd be shocked how numerous people wanted exactly that. Like it proved beyond a doubt that they were getting the genuine offer, an underage slut to draw and fuck . These were all older guys too, like my papa's age, or more frequently even older, in their 40's and 50's mostly. He said that was generous because he was my manager, my representative, my security person, my marketing and transportation all rolled into one. He bought my clothing and the stuff I need to work, like prophylactics and lube and junk like that. That wasn't real. It was more like acting than anything else given that I had to really like these men for an hour or more. I had to act younger in some cases too, as a little girl perhaps eleven or twelve years old; but never older. None of the men paying for me desired a female, just a woman, and knowing that I truly was just fifteen, that was the kicker for them. I liked acting though and I believe I had a real skill for it. I had a skill for the sex stuff anyway, no doubt about that, and the more I did it the much better I got.
Mary Magdalene had actually been a whore. That's where I took my convenience and she 'd become my tutelary saint. I 'd felt really guilty at first, but that had disappeared when I understood I wasn't injuring anybody. The men liked me for a little bit, although a few of them loved me for real and asked me if I 'd marry them, or a minimum of return to their cities and cope 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 because I knew it wasn't really me they liked, primarily I felt a little much safer that way. Like a guy who loved me would not injure me, you know? I 'd had sex with like fifty guys or something, many of them wanting me to call them Daddy while we did it. Some of them desired to call me by a various name, their child's name, or a niece or the little lady next door perhaps.
I might close my eyes and envision the man who was making love to me actually was my dad. I could speak with him, inform him I loved him, how he made me feel full-grown and unique and enjoyed. And somewhere, in some way along that flight, I 'd begun to believe it. I 'd go home and see my real daddy and almost forget that it had not been him that I 'd fucked an hour or more before. But I was falling in love, in grown-up love, and I couldn't assist it. It was programmed into me, growing up not as his daughter but as his better half. We 'd done whatever however consummate our relationship, I thought, and he had to feel the same way. Didn't he?
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