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It ends up I liked being an escort, a lot more than I believed I would anyway. I even started taking the money, primarily since I was much too practical to let a little thing like guilt obstruct of common sense. But then, if I had the good sense I would not have actually been an escort either. I would have been just another fifteen-year-old catholic schoolgirl, doing her homework, doing her nails, doing the little silly things that little ladies do.
I had not been a little woman in a long time.
I only worked 3 or four nights a week anyhow, because I needed to be house by 9 pm on school nights and ten o'clock on weekends. Deke didn't mind, he said that was a good thing because he could actually charge more, specifically if the person I was going with selected me up at school. That advantage ended up being worth a couple of hundred dollars additional, although I didn't actually like it. I was always afraid somebody would see me entering into a strange car, a various odd automobile every time, and wonder what was going on.
I 'd been doing it for practically 2 months currently, and I 'd misplaced the number of people I 'd made love with. I didn't need to know, but it needed to be a lot. I 'd made a great deal of cash too. Way excessive for a ninth grader to spend, 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 thought was absurd, but you 'd be surprised how many men wanted exactly that. Like it proved beyond a doubt that they were getting the real offer, an minor slut to suck and fuck . These were all older guys too, like my papa's age, or more often even older, in their 40's and 50's mostly. They had a lot of cash to invest and it was the ideas that truly flushed my checking account. Deke offered me 30% and kept 70% for himself. He said that was generous since he was my manager, my representative, my security guy, my advertising and transport all rolled into one. He bought my clothes and the stuff I need to work, like condoms and lube and junk 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 given that I had to really like these guys for an hour or 2. I had to act younger often too, as a little woman possibly eleven or twelve years old; but never older. I liked acting though and I believe I had a real talent for it.
Mary Magdalene had actually been a slut. That's where I took my comfort and she 'd become my tutelary saint. I 'd felt truly guilty at first, however that had actually disappeared when I recognized I wasn't injuring anyone. The men enjoyed me for a bit, although a few of them enjoyed me genuine and asked me if I 'd marry them, or at least return to their cities and deal 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 lonesome due to the fact that I knew it wasn't really me they liked, mostly I felt a little much safer that way. Like a man who loved me would not hurt me, you know? I 'd had sex with like fifty guys or something, many of them desiring 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 lady next door perhaps.
I could close my eyes and envision the man who was making love to me actually was my daddy. I could talk to him, tell him I liked him, how he made me feel grown-up and special and loved. And someplace, somehow along that trip, I 'd begun to believe it. I 'd go home and see my real father and practically forget that it had not been him that I 'd fucked an hour or two prior to. But I was falling in love, in grown-up love, and I couldn't assist it. It was programmed into me, growing up not as his daughter but as his better half. We 'd done everything however skilled our relationship, I believed, and he needed to feel the same way. Didn't he?
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