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It turns out I liked being an escort, a lot more than I thought I would anyway. I even began taking the cash, primarily since I was much too practical to let a little thing like regret get in the way of good sense. Then, if I had the typical sense I would not have actually 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 ladies do.
I had not been a little woman in a long time though.
Deke didn't mind, he said that was a good thing since he could really charge more, particularly if the person I was going with chosen me up at school. That benefit 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 invest, even after Deke took his cut. Choosing me up at school was worth an additional 200, which I believed was outrageous, however you 'd be stunned how many people desired precisely that. Like it proved beyond a doubt that they were getting the genuine deal, an minor slut to fuck and draw . These were all older men too, like my dad's age, or more often even older, in their 40's and 50's primarily. He stated that was generous because he was my supervisor, my agent, my security person, my advertising and transport all rolled into one. He bought my clothing and the stuff I need to work, like condoms and lube and scrap like that. That wasn't true. It was more like acting than anything else considering that I needed to really like these people for an hour or two. I needed to act younger in some cases too, as a little lady perhaps eleven or twelve years of ages; but never ever older. None of the men spending for me desired a female, just a girl, and knowing that I actually was simply fifteen, that was the kicker for them. I liked acting though and I believe I had a real skill for it. I had a skill for the sex stuff anyhow, no doubt about that, and the more I did it the better I got.
The guys loved 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 due to the fact that I understood it wasn't truly me they liked, primarily I felt a little safer that way. Like a man who loved me would not harm me, you know? I was in love with my dad. That had actually changed too and I do not know if one thing involved the other precisely, however I do not believe in coincidence either. I 'd made love with like fifty people or something, the majority 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 woman next door maybe. But a great deal of them didn't mind calling me Samantha either, which bothered me initially, however then it didn't and I began liking it.
I might close my eyes and imagine the man who was making love to me actually was my father. I could talk to him, tell him I enjoyed him, how he made me feel special and grown-up and liked. I was falling in love, in full-grown love, and I couldn't help it.
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