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It ends up I liked being an escort, much more than I believed I would anyway. I even started taking the cash, primarily due to the fact that I was much too useful to let a little thing like guilt get in the way of common sense. Then, if I had the typical sense I would not have been an escort either. I would have been simply 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 stated that was a good thing since he could in fact charge more, especially if the person I was going with selected me up at school. That advantage turned out to be worth a couple of hundred dollars extra, although I didn't truly like it.
Method too much for a ninth grader to spend, even after Deke took his cut. Choosing me up at school was worth an extra 200, which I thought was ludicrous, however you 'd be surprised how many men desired precisely that. Like it proved beyond a doubt that they were getting the real deal, an underage whore to fuck and suck . These were all older people too, like my papa's age, or more often even older, in their 40's and 50's mainly. He stated that was generous since he was my manager, my agent, my security man, my advertising and transportation all rolled into one. He purchased my clothes and the things I need to work, like prophylactics and lube and junk like that. That wasn't real. It was more like acting than anything else considering that I needed to in fact like these guys for an hour or 2. I had to act more youthful sometimes too, as a little lady possibly eleven or twelve years of ages; but never ever older. None of the men paying for me desired a woman, simply a woman, and knowing that I actually was just fifteen, that was the kicker for them. I liked acting though and I think I had a genuine skill 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 convenience and she 'd become my tutelary saint. I 'd felt actually guilty in the beginning, but that had gone away when I recognized I wasn't harming anybody. The men liked me for a bit, although some of them loved me for real and asked me if I 'd marry them, or at least return 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 since I understood it wasn't really me they liked, primarily I felt a little more secure that way. Like a person who enjoyed me wouldn't injure 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 girl next door maybe.
I could close my eyes and imagine the man who was making love to me really was my dad. I could speak with him, inform him I loved him, how he made me feel special and grown-up and liked. And someplace, somehow along that flight, I 'd started to think it. I 'd go home and see my real dad and almost forget that it had not been him that I 'd fucked an hour or two before. But I was falling in love, in developed love, and I could not help it. It was set into me, growing up not as his child however as his better half. We 'd done everything but skilled our relationship, I believed, and he had to feel the same way. Didn't he?
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