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It turns out I liked being an escort, much more than I believed I would anyhow. I even started taking the money, mostly since I was much too useful to let a little thing like regret obstruct of sound judgment. Then, if I had the typical sense I would not 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 silly things that little women do.
I hadn't been a little lady in a very long time though.
I just worked three or four nights a week anyway, considering that I had to be house by 9 pm on school nights and 10 o'clock on weekends. Deke didn't mind, he stated that was a good thing because he could in fact charge more, especially if the man I was going with picked me up at school. That benefit turned out to be worth a couple of hundred dollars extra, although I didn't really like it. I was constantly afraid somebody would see me entering a odd vehicle, a different unusual car each time, and wonder what was going on.
Method too much for a ninth grader to invest, even after Deke took his cut. Choosing me up at school was worth an additional 200, which I thought was ludicrous, however you 'd be shocked how lots of people desired exactly that. Like it proved beyond a doubt that they were getting the genuine offer, an minor whore to suck and fuck . These were all older guys too, like my daddy's age, or more frequently even older, in their 40's and 50's mostly. He stated that was generous because he was my manager, my representative, my security person, my advertising and transport all rolled into one. He purchased my clothing and the things I require to work, like prophylactics and lube and junk like that. 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 sometimes too, as a little girl possibly eleven or twelve years old; but never older. I liked acting though and I think I had a genuine skill for it.
The guys enjoyed me for a little bit, although some of them enjoyed me for genuine and asked me if I 'd wed 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 brief time we were together, that's all, and while part of me felt lonesome since I understood it wasn't actually me they liked, primarily I felt a little more secure that method. Like a man who enjoyed me wouldn't harm me, you know? I 'd had sex with like fifty men or something, most of them desiring me to call them Daddy while we did it. Some of them wanted to call me by a various name, their daughter's name, or a niece or the little girl next door maybe.
I might close my eyes and imagine the man who was making love to me really was my papa. I might talk to him, tell him I loved him, how he made me feel developed and special and enjoyed. And someplace, in some way along that ride, I 'd begun to believe it. I 'd go home and see my real dad and almost forget that it hadn't been him that I 'd fucked an hour or two before. However I was falling in love, in developed love, and I couldn't help it. It was set into me, growing up not as his child however as his partner. We 'd done everything but practiced our relationship, I believed, and he needed to feel the same way. Didn't he?
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