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It ends up I liked being an escort, a lot more than I believed I would anyhow. I even started taking the cash, primarily since I was much too useful to let a little thing like regret get in the way of good sense. However then, if I had the sound judgment 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 silly things that little girls do.
I had not been a little girl in a long time.
Deke didn't mind, he stated that was a good thing because he might actually charge more, specifically if the guy I was going with picked me up at school. That advantage turned out to be worth a couple of hundred dollars additional, although I didn't really like it.
I 'd been doing it for nearly two months currently, and I 'd lost track of how many men I 'd made love with. I didn't want to know, but it needed to be a lot. I 'd made a great deal of cash too. Way too much for a ninth grader to spend, even after Deke took his cut. He charged 300 dollars an hour for me, or 500 dollars for 2. Choosing me up at school deserved an extra 200, which I thought 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 real deal, an underage whore 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 mainly. He stated that was generous since he was my manager, my representative, my security person, my advertising and transportation all rolled into one. He purchased my clothes and the stuff I need to work, like prophylactics and lube and scrap like that. It was more like acting than anything else because I had to in fact like these guys for an hour or two. I had to act younger sometimes too, as a little girl maybe eleven or twelve years old; however never older. I liked acting though and I believe I had a real talent for it.
The guys enjoyed me for a little bit, although some of them loved me for genuine 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 lonesome since I knew it wasn't actually me they liked, primarily I felt a little much safer that way. Like a man who enjoyed me would not hurt me, you understand? I 'd had sex with like fifty guys or something, many of them wanting 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 lady next door possibly.
I could close my eyes and envision the man who was making love to me actually was my papa. I could talk to him, inform him I loved him, how he made me feel special and developed and enjoyed. I was falling in love, in full-grown love, and I couldn't assist it.
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