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It turns out I liked being an escort, far more than I believed I would anyway. I even began taking the cash, mostly since I was much too practical to let a little thing like regret obstruct of good sense. Then, if I had the typical sense I wouldn't 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 had not been a little lady in a long period of time though.
Deke didn't mind, he said that was a good thing because he might actually charge more, specifically if the man I was going with selected me up at school. That benefit turned out to be worth a couple of hundred dollars additional, although I didn't actually like it.
I 'd been doing it for almost 2 months currently, and I 'd lost track of how many men I 'd had sex with. I didn't need to know, but it needed to be a lot. I 'd made a lot of cash too. Way excessive for a ninth grader to invest, even after Deke took his cut. He charged 300 dollars an hour for me, or 500 dollars for two. Picking me up at school deserved an additional 200, which I believed was outrageous, but you 'd be surprised the number of men desired exactly that. Like it showed beyond a doubt that they were getting the genuine offer, an underage whore to fuck and draw . These were all older guys too, like my dad's age, or more often even older, in their 40's and 50's primarily. He said that was generous due to the fact that he was my supervisor, my representative, my security guy, my marketing and transportation all rolled into one. He bought my clothes and the stuff I require to work, like condoms and lube and junk like that. It was more like acting than anything else considering that I had to really like these men for an hour or 2. I had to act younger sometimes too, as a little lady perhaps eleven or twelve years old; but never ever older. I liked acting though and I think I had a real talent for it.
The guys loved me for a little bit, although some of them liked 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 actually me they liked, mostly I felt a little much safer that way. Like a person who loved me wouldn't harm me, you know? I 'd had sex with like fifty men or something, most of them desiring me to call them Daddy while we did it. Some of them desired to call me by a different name, their child's name, or a niece or the little lady next door possibly.
I might close my eyes and picture the male who was making love to me actually was my father. I could talk to him, tell him I loved him, how he made me feel special and full-grown and enjoyed. I was falling in love, in grown-up love, and I could not help it.
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