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It ends up I liked being an escort, far more than I believed I would anyway. I even began taking the money, mainly since I was much too practical to let a little thing like guilt obstruct of common sense. Then, if I had the typical sense I would not have 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 hadn't been a little woman in a long time.
Deke didn't mind, he said that was a great thing since he could actually charge more, specifically if the person I was going with picked me up at school. That privilege turned out to be worth a couple of hundred dollars extra, although I didn't really like it.
Way too much for a ninth grader to spend, even after Deke took his cut. Selecting me up at school was worth an additional 200, which I believed was outrageous, but you 'd be shocked how lots of men desired precisely that. Like it proved beyond a doubt that they were getting the genuine offer, an underage whore to fuck and suck . These were all older men too, like my papa's age, or more often even older, in their 40's and 50's primarily. He said that was generous because he was my supervisor, my representative, my security person, my advertising and transportation all rolled into one. He purchased my clothing and the things I need to work, like prophylactics and lube and scrap like that. It was more like acting than anything else since I had to in fact like these men for an hour or 2. I had to act more youthful sometimes too, as a little girl maybe 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 liked 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 short time we were together, that's all, and while part of me felt lonely because I understood it wasn't really me they liked, mostly I felt a little safer that way. Like a guy who liked me would not injure me, you know? I was in love with my daddy. That had changed too and I do not understand if one thing pertained to the other exactly, however I do not believe in coincidence either. I 'd made love with like fifty men or something, the majority of them desiring me to call them Daddy while we did it. A few of them wished to call me by a different name, their child's name, or a niece or the little lady next door perhaps. A lot of them didn't mind calling me Samantha either, and that troubled me at first, but then it didn't and I began liking it.
I might close my eyes and envision the man who was making love to me really was my daddy. I could talk to him, inform him I loved him, how he made me feel developed and special and liked. I was falling in love, in grown-up love, and I couldn't assist it.
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