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It turns out I liked being an escort, far more than I believed I would anyhow. I even began taking the money, primarily since 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 wouldn't have been an escort either. I would have been simply another fifteen-year-old catholic schoolgirl, doing her homework, doing her nails, doing the little ridiculous things that little women do.
I had not been a little lady in a very long time though.
Deke didn't mind, he said that was a excellent thing because he could really 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.
Way too much for a ninth grader to spend, even after Deke took his cut. Picking me up at school was worth an extra 200, which I thought was ludicrous, however you 'd be stunned how lots of people desired exactly that. Like it showed beyond a doubt that they were getting the genuine offer, an underage whore to fuck and suck . These were all older guys too, like my dad's age, or more often even older, in their 40's and 50's mostly. They had a lot of cash to spend and it was the ideas that truly flushed my checking account. Deke gave me 30% and kept 70% for himself. He stated that was generous due to the fact that he was my supervisor, my representative, my security person, my advertising and transportation all rolled into one. He purchased 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 2. I had to act more youthful often too, as a little lady perhaps eleven or twelve years old; but never ever older. I liked acting though and I believe I had a genuine skill for it.
The males enjoyed me for a little bit, although some of them loved me for real 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 knew it wasn't actually me they liked, primarily I felt a little much safer that way. Like a guy who loved me wouldn't injure me, you know? I 'd had sex with like fifty guys or something, most of them wanting me to call them Daddy while we did it. Some of them desired to call me by a various name, their child's name, or a niece or the little girl next door possibly.
I might close my eyes and envision the guy who was making love to me truly was my father. I could talk to him, inform him I enjoyed him, how he made me feel unique and grown-up and enjoyed. I was falling in love, in full-grown love, and I couldn't assist it.
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