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It turns out I liked being an escort, a lot more than I thought I would anyway. I even began taking the cash, primarily because I was much too useful to let a little thing like guilt obstruct of sound judgment. 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 homework, doing her nails, doing the little silly things that little women do.
I hadn't been a little lady in a long time.
I only worked three or 4 nights a week anyway, because I needed to be home by 9 pm on school nights and ten o'clock on weekends. Deke didn't mind, he said that was a great thing since he could in fact charge more, especially if the man I was going with selected me up at school. That opportunity ended up being worth a couple of hundred dollars extra, although I didn't actually like it. I was constantly scared somebody would see me entering into a weird automobile, a different weird car each time, and question what was going on.
Method too much for a ninth grader to spend, even after Deke took his cut. Picking me up at school was worth an extra 200, which I believed was ludicrous, but you 'd be surprised how many guys wanted precisely that. Like it proved beyond a doubt that they were getting the genuine offer, an minor whore to fuck and draw . These were all older guys too, like my papa's age, or more often even older, in their 40's and 50's mostly. He said that was generous due to the fact that he was my supervisor, my agent, my security guy, my advertising and transportation all rolled into one. He bought my clothing and the stuff I need to work, like prophylactics and lube and scrap like that. That wasn't true. It was more like acting than anything else because I had to actually like these men for an hour or more. I had to act more youthful often too, as a little lady perhaps eleven or twelve years old; however never older. None of the men paying for me wanted a female, 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 genuine skill for it. I had a skill for the sex things anyhow, no doubt about that, and the more I did it the better I got.
The males loved me for a little bit, although some of them liked 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 due to the fact that I understood it wasn't actually me they liked, mainly I felt a little more secure that way. Like a guy who enjoyed me would not harm me, you understand? I 'd had sex with like fifty guys or something, most of them wanting 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 lady next door possibly.
I might close my eyes and envision the man who was making love to me actually was my father. I might speak to him, inform him I loved him, how he made me feel full-grown and special and loved. And somewhere, in some way along that trip, I 'd started to believe it. I 'd go home and see my genuine father and nearly forget that it had not been him that I 'd fucked an hour or more prior to. I was falling in love, in developed love, and I couldn't help it. It was set into me, maturing not as his daughter but as his partner. We 'd done everything however consummate our relationship, I believed, and he had to feel the same way. Didn't he?
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