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It turns out I liked being an escort, a lot more than I believed I would anyway. I even began taking the cash, mainly since I was much too useful to let a little thing like guilt obstruct of sound judgment. Then, if I had the common sense I would not have actually been an escort either. I would have been simply another fifteen-year-old catholic schoolgirl, doing her homework, doing her nails, doing the little silly things that little girls do.
I had not been a little woman in a long time.
Deke didn't mind, he said that was a good thing because he might actually charge more, especially if the person I was going with chosen me up at school. That benefit turned out to be worth a couple of hundred dollars additional, although I didn't really 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 additional 200, which I thought was outrageous, but you 'd be stunned how many men desired exactly that. Like it showed beyond a doubt that they were getting the genuine deal, an underage slut to fuck and suck . These were all older people too, like my father's age, or more often even older, in their 40's and 50's mostly. They had a great deal of cash to spend and it was the ideas that truly flushed my savings account. Deke offered me 30% and kept 70% for himself. He said that was generous due to the fact that he was my manager, my agent, my security person, my marketing and transportation 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 really like these people for an hour or two. I had to act younger in some cases too, as a little lady possibly eleven or twelve years old; however never ever older. I liked acting though and I think I had a genuine talent for it.
The males loved me for a little bit, although some of them loved me for genuine 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 lonesome because I understood it wasn't really me they liked, mostly I felt a little safer that way. Like a person who loved me would not harm me, you know? I 'd had sex with like fifty men 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 girl next door perhaps.
I could close my eyes and imagine the guy who was making love to me truly was my father. I might talk to him, tell him I liked him, how he made me feel developed and special and loved. I was falling in love, in developed love, and I could not help it.
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