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It turns out I liked being an escort, far more than I believed I would anyhow. I even began taking the cash, mostly because I was much too practical to let a little thing like regret get in the way of common sense. Then, if I had the common sense I wouldn't have actually been an escort either. I would have been simply another fifteen-year-old catholic schoolgirl, doing her homework, doing her nails, doing the little ridiculous things that little ladies do.
I had not been a little woman in a long period of time though.
Deke didn't mind, he said that was a great thing because he might actually charge more, especially if the man I was going with chosen me up at school. That privilege turned out to be worth a couple of hundred dollars additional, 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 extra 200, which I believed was ludicrous, however you 'd be shocked how many guys wanted exactly that. Like it showed beyond a doubt that they were getting the genuine offer, an underage 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 mostly. They had a great deal of money to spend and it was the pointers that actually flushed my bank account. Deke gave me 30% and kept 70% for himself. He stated that was generous since he was my manager, 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 prophylactics and lube and junk like that. He did all the work if you listened to him inform it, and all I did was lay there and get rich. It was more like acting than anything else given that I had to actually like these people for an hour or 2. I had to act younger sometimes too, as a little girl maybe eleven or twelve years old; however never ever 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 convenience and she 'd become my tutelary saint. I 'd felt truly guilty at first, however that had actually gone away when I understood I wasn't injuring anybody. The men enjoyed me for a little bit, although some of them loved me genuine and asked me if I 'd marry them, or at least come back to their cities and deal with them. But 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 really me they liked, mainly I felt a little more secure that way. Like a person who liked me wouldn't injure me, you know? I 'd had sex with like fifty men 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 child's name, or a niece or the little girl next door possibly.
I might close my eyes and think of the man who was making love to me really was my dad. I might speak to him, tell him I loved him, how he made me feel full-grown and special and liked. And somewhere, somehow along that ride, I 'd begun to think it. I 'd go home and see my genuine father and almost forget that it hadn't been him that I 'd fucked an hour or two before. I was falling in love, in grown-up love, and I couldn't assist it. It was configured into me, growing up not as his child but as his better half. We 'd done everything however practiced our relationship, I thought, and he needed to feel the same way. Didn't he?
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