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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, mainly due to the fact that I was much too practical to let a little thing like regret get in the way of sound judgment. But then, if I had the sound judgment I wouldn't 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 ridiculous things that little women do.
I had not been a little lady in a long period of time though.
Deke didn't mind, he said that was a excellent thing since he might really charge more, especially if the man I was going with picked me up at school. That opportunity turned out to be worth a couple of hundred dollars extra, although I didn't truly like it.
Way too much for a ninth grader to spend, even after Deke took his cut. Picking me up at school was worth an additional 200, which I believed was ridiculous, however you 'd be surprised how lots of guys desired precisely that. Like it proved beyond a doubt that they were getting the real deal, an underage slut to suck and fuck . These were all older people too, like my daddy's age, or regularly even older, in their 40's and 50's primarily. They had a lot of cash to spend and it was the ideas that actually flushed my checking account. Deke provided me 30% and kept 70% for himself. He said that was generous because he was my manager, my agent, my security man, my marketing and transport all rolled into one. He bought my clothing 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 actually like these people for an hour or two. I had to act younger in some cases too, as a little girl possibly eleven or twelve years old; however never ever older. I liked acting though and I think I had a real talent for it.
The guys enjoyed me for a little bit, although some of them enjoyed me for real 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 lonely because I understood it wasn't really me they liked, mainly I felt a little safer that method. Like a man who loved me would not harm 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 desired to call me by a various name, their daughter's name, or a niece or the little woman next door maybe.
I could close my eyes and imagine the man who was making love to me really was my daddy. I might speak to him, tell him I liked him, how he made me feel unique and developed and loved. And someplace, somehow along that ride, I 'd begun to believe it. I 'd go house and see my genuine dad and nearly forget that it hadn't been him that I 'd fucked an hour or two prior to. I was falling in love, in full-grown love, and I couldn't assist it. It was set into me, maturing not as his child however as his wife. We 'd done whatever however skilled our relationship, I believed, and he had to feel the same way. Didn't he?
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