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It ends up I liked being an escort, much more than I believed I would anyhow. I even began taking the money, primarily since I was much too practical to let a little thing like guilt get in the way of common sense. However then, if I had the good sense I would not have been an escort either. I would have been just 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.
Deke didn't mind, he said that was a great thing because he might really charge more, particularly if the man I was going with picked me up at school. That opportunity turned out to be worth a couple of hundred dollars additional, although I didn't actually like it.
Method too much for a ninth grader to spend, even after Deke took his cut. Picking me up at school was worth an extra 200, which I thought was absurd, however you 'd be surprised how numerous people wanted exactly that. Like it showed beyond a doubt that they were getting the genuine offer, an underage whore to suck and fuck . These were all older people too, like my papa's age, or more often even older, in their 40's and 50's mostly. They had a great deal of money to invest and it was the tips that actually flushed my checking account. Deke offered me 30% and kept 70% for himself. He said that was generous since he was my manager, my representative, my security person, my marketing and transport all rolled into one. He purchased my clothing and the stuff I need to work, like condoms and lube and junk like that. He did all the work if you listened to him inform it, and all I did was lay there and get rich. It was more like acting than anything else given that I had to actually like these men for an hour or 2. I had to act more youthful often too, as a little lady perhaps eleven or twelve years old; but never older. I liked acting though and I believe I had a real skill for it.
Mary Magdalene had actually been a slut. That's where I took my convenience and she 'd become my patron saint. I 'd felt really guilty in the beginning, but that had actually disappeared when I realized I wasn't hurting anybody. The men enjoyed me for a little bit, although a few of them liked me genuine and asked me if I 'd marry them, or a minimum of return to their cities and deal with them. However they loved who I pretended to be for that short time we were together, that's all, and while part of me felt lonely because I understood it wasn't really me they liked, mostly I felt a little safer that way. Like a man who enjoyed me wouldn't hurt me, you know? I 'd had sex with like fifty men 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 lady next door perhaps.
I might close my eyes and picture the man who was making love to me truly was my daddy. I might talk to him, tell him I liked him, how he made me feel special and full-grown and enjoyed. And someplace, somehow along that ride, I 'd begun to believe it. I 'd go house and see my real daddy and almost forget that it hadn't been him that I 'd fucked an hour or more prior to. I was falling in love, in developed love, and I couldn't help it. It was configured into me, maturing not as his daughter but as his other half. 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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