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It turns out I liked being an escort, a lot more than I believed I would anyhow. I even started taking the cash, primarily because I was much too useful to let a little thing like regret obstruct of common sense. Then, if I had the typical sense I would not have been an escort either. I would have been just another fifteen-year-old catholic schoolgirl, doing her homework, doing her nails, doing the little silly things that little ladies do.
I hadn't been a little woman in a long period of time though.
I just worked three or four nights a week anyway, given that I needed to be house by 9 pm on school nights and 10 o'clock on weekends. Deke didn't mind, he stated that was a great thing since he might in fact charge more, specifically if the man I was going with picked me up at school. That benefit ended up being worth a number of hundred dollars extra, although I didn't truly like it. I was always afraid somebody would see me entering into a odd cars and truck, a various odd cars and truck each time, and wonder what was going on.
Way too much for a ninth grader to invest, even after Deke took his cut. Selecting me up at school was worth an additional 200, which I thought was ridiculous, but you 'd be surprised how lots of guys wanted precisely that. Like it showed beyond a doubt that they were getting the genuine deal, an minor whore to draw and fuck . These were all older people too, like my daddy's age, or more often even older, in their 40's and 50's primarily. They had a lot of money to spend and it was the ideas that truly flushed my bank account. Deke provided me 30% and kept 70% for himself. He said that was generous because he was my manager, my agent, my security person, my advertising and transportation all rolled into one. He purchased my clothing and the stuff I need to work, like condoms 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. That wasn't real. It was more like acting than anything else because I needed to actually like these guys for an hour or two. I needed to act more youthful often too, as a little girl possibly eleven or twelve years of ages; but never older. None of the men paying for me wanted a lady, just a girl, and understanding that I actually was simply fifteen, that was the kicker for them. I liked acting though and I think I had a real talent for it. I had a skill for the sex stuff anyway, no doubt about that, and the more I did it the better I got.
Mary Magdalene had actually been a whore. That's where I took my comfort and she 'd become my tutelary saint. I 'd felt really guilty initially, but that had disappeared when I realized I wasn't hurting anybody. The men loved me for a bit, although some of them enjoyed 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 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 more secure that method. Like a man who loved me would not harm me, you understand? I 'd had sex with like fifty men or something, most of them wanting me to call them Daddy while we did it. Some of them wanted to call me by a various name, their child's name, or a niece or the little woman next door maybe.
I could close my eyes and picture the man who was making love to me truly was my papa. I might speak to him, inform him I enjoyed him, how he made me feel special and developed and liked. And somewhere, somehow along that trip, I 'd begun to believe it. I 'd go home and see my genuine dad and almost forget that it hadn't been him that I 'd fucked an hour or 2 before. I was falling in love, in developed love, and I couldn't help it. It was configured into me, growing up not as his daughter however as his spouse. We 'd done everything but practiced our relationship, I believed, and he needed to feel the same way. Didn't he?
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