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It ends up I liked being an escort, far more than I thought I would anyway. I even began taking the money, primarily due to the fact that I was much too practical to let a little thing like guilt get in the way of common sense. But then, if I had the common 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 silly things that little girls do.
I hadn't been a little woman in a long time.
Deke didn't mind, he said that was a excellent thing because he might in fact charge more, particularly if the person I was going with chosen me up at school. That privilege turned out to be worth a couple of hundred dollars extra, although I didn't really like it.
I 'd been doing it for practically two months already, and I 'd lost track of how many men I 'd made love with. I didn't want to know, but it had to be a lot. I 'd made a great deal of cash too. Way too much for a ninth grader to spend, even after Deke took his cut. He charged 300 dollars an hour for me, or 500 dollars for two. Choosing me up at school was worth an extra 200, which I believed was ludicrous, but you 'd marvel the number of guys desired exactly that. Like it showed beyond a doubt that they were getting the real offer, an underage slut to fuck and draw . These were all older men too, like my daddy's age, or more typically even older, in their 40's and 50's mostly. He stated that was generous since he was my manager, my representative, my security guy, my marketing 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. But that wasn't real. It was more like acting than anything else given that I needed to actually like these people for an hour or 2. I needed to act younger in some cases too, as a little girl maybe eleven or twelve years of ages; but never older. None of the men spending for me wanted a woman, just a lady, and understanding that I really was simply fifteen, that was the kicker for them. I liked acting though and I believe I had a genuine skill for it. I had a skill for the sex things anyway, no doubt about that, and the more I did it the much better I got.
The guys loved me for a little bit, although some of them enjoyed me for genuine 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 short time we were together, that's all, and while part of me felt lonesome since I knew it wasn't truly me they liked, mostly I felt a little more secure that method. Like a guy who enjoyed me would not harm me, you know? I 'd had sex with like fifty people or something, many of them wanting me to call them Daddy while we did it. Some of them desired to call me by a different name, their daughter'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 daddy. I might talk with him, tell him I enjoyed him, how he made me feel unique and full-grown and enjoyed. And somewhere, somehow along that ride, I 'd begun to think it. I 'd go house and see my real dad and nearly forget that it hadn't been him that I 'd fucked an hour or more before. However I was falling in love, in full-grown 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 but consummate our relationship, I believed, and he needed to feel the same way. Didn't he?
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