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It turns out I liked being an escort, much more than I believed I would anyway. I even started taking the money, primarily because I was much too useful to let a little thing like regret get in the way of sound judgment. 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 research, doing her nails, doing the little ridiculous things that little ladies do.
I hadn't been a little girl in a long time.
Deke didn't mind, he said that was a great thing since he could actually charge more, specifically if the guy I was going with selected me up at school. That opportunity turned out to be worth a couple of hundred dollars extra, although I didn't actually like it.
Way too much for a ninth grader to invest, even after Deke took his cut. Selecting me up at school was worth an extra 200, which I believed was outrageous, but you 'd be stunned how many men desired exactly that. Like it showed beyond a doubt that they were getting the genuine offer, an underage whore to fuck and draw . These were all older guys too, like my papa's age, or more typically even older, in their 40's and 50's mostly. He said that was generous since he was my manager, my representative, my security guy, my advertising and transportation all rolled into one. He purchased my clothing and the things I need to work, like condoms and lube and scrap like that. However that wasn't true. It was more like acting than anything else since I needed to in fact like these guys for an hour or 2. I had to act more youthful often too, as a little woman possibly eleven or twelve years old; but never ever older. None of the men spending for me wanted a woman, just a lady, and understanding that I really was just fifteen, that was the kicker for them. I liked acting though and I think I had a real talent for it. I had a talent for the sex stuff anyway, no doubt about that, and the more I did it the better I got.
Mary Magdalene had been a whore. That's where I took my comfort and she 'd become my tutelary saint. I 'd felt actually guilty initially, however that had actually gone away when I recognized I wasn't hurting anyone. The men liked me for a little bit, although a few of them enjoyed me for real and asked me if I 'd wed them, or at least return 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 since I understood it wasn't truly me they liked, primarily I felt a little more secure that way. Like a person who enjoyed me wouldn't injure me, you know? I loved my father. That had actually changed too and I don't understand if something had to do with the other exactly, but I do not believe in coincidence either. I 'd had sex with like fifty guys or something, the majority of them wanting me to call them Daddy while we did it. Some of them wanted to call me by a various name, their child's name, or a niece or the little girl next door maybe. A lot of them didn't mind calling me Samantha either, and that troubled me at initially, but then it didn't and I began liking it.
I could close my eyes and picture the man who was making love to me actually was my papa. I might speak to him, inform him I enjoyed him, how he made me feel special and full-grown and enjoyed. And somewhere, in some way along that flight, I 'd begun to believe it. I 'd go house and see my genuine papa and practically forget that it had not been him that I 'd fucked an hour or two before. I was falling in love, in grown-up love, and I could not help it. It was configured into me, maturing not as his daughter but as his partner. We 'd done whatever but practiced our relationship, I believed, and he needed to feel the same way. Didn't he?
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