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It ends up I liked being an escort, far more than I believed I would anyhow. I even started taking the money, mostly because 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 sound judgment 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 silly things that little girls do. I had not been a little girl in a long period of time though. I only worked 3 or 4 nights a week anyhow, because I needed to be home by 9 pm on school nights and 10 o'clock on weekends. Deke didn't mind, he said that was a great thing because he could really charge more, especially if the man I was going with selected me up at school. That opportunity turned out to be worth a couple of hundred dollars additional, although I didn't truly like it. I was constantly scared somebody would see me entering a unusual car, a different odd vehicle each time, and wonder what was going on.

Method too much for a ninth grader to spend, even after Deke took his cut. Selecting me up at school was worth an additional 200, which I thought was absurd, but you 'd be shocked how lots of people desired precisely that. Like it showed beyond a doubt that they were getting the genuine deal, an minor slut to fuck and draw . These were all older guys too, like my father's age, or regularly 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 really flushed my savings account. Deke gave me 30% and kept 70% for himself. He stated that was generous due to the fact that he was my manager, my representative, my security guy, my advertising and transport all rolled into one. He bought my clothing and the stuff I need to work, like prophylactics and lube and scrap like that. He did all the work if you listened to him tell it, and all I did was lay there and get rich. It was more like acting than anything else since I had to in fact like these guys for an hour or 2. I had to act more youthful in some cases too, as a little lady maybe eleven or twelve years old; but never ever older. I liked acting though and I think I had a genuine skill for it.

The males liked me for a little bit, although some of them loved 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 lonely because I understood it wasn't really me they liked, primarily I felt a little safer that way. Like a person who liked me wouldn't harm me, you know? I loved my papa. That had changed too and I do not know if one thing related to the other exactly, but I don't believe in coincidence either. I 'd made love with like fifty people or something, most of them wanting me to call them Daddy while we did it. A few of them wished to call me by a various name, their daughter's name, or a niece or the little girl next door possibly. A lot of them didn't mind calling me Samantha either, and that bothered me at first, however then it didn't and I began liking it.

I could close my eyes and imagine the man who was making love to me actually was my father. I could speak to him, tell him I loved him, how he made me feel special and grown-up and enjoyed. And somewhere, in some way along that trip, I 'd begun to believe it. I 'd go home and see my real father and nearly forget that it hadn't been him that I 'd fucked an hour or two before. I was falling in love, in developed love, and I couldn't help it. It was programmed into me, growing up not as his child but as his partner. 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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