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It turns out I liked being an escort, a lot more than I thought I would anyhow. I even started taking the money, mainly because I was much too practical to let a little thing like regret get in the way of good sense. However then, if I had the sound judgment I would not have been an escort either. I would have been just 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 lady in a long time.
Deke didn't mind, he stated that was a excellent thing because he could really charge more, particularly if the guy I was going with chosen me up at school. That advantage turned out to be worth a couple of hundred dollars additional, although I didn't really like it.
I 'd been doing it for almost two months already, and I 'd misplaced how many guys I 'd had sex with. I didn't wish to know, but it needed to be a lot. I 'd made a great deal of money too. Way excessive for a ninth grader to spend, even after Deke took his cut. He charged 300 dollars an hour for me, or 500 dollars for two. Choosing me up at school deserved an additional 200, which I thought was absurd, but you 'd marvel the number of guys wanted exactly that. Like it proved beyond a doubt that they were getting the genuine offer, an minor slut to fuck and draw . These were all older men too, like my daddy's age, or more typically even older, in their 40's and 50's mostly. He stated that was generous since he was my manager, my representative, my security guy, my advertising and transport all rolled into one. He purchased my clothes and the things I need to work, like condoms and lube and junk like that. It was more like acting than anything else since I had to really like these people for an hour or two. I had to act more youthful in some cases too, as a little girl perhaps eleven or twelve years old; however never ever older. I liked acting though and I think I had a genuine skill for it.
The males enjoyed me for a little bit, although some of them liked me for genuine 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 brief time we were together, that's all, and while part of me felt lonely because I knew it wasn't really me they liked, primarily I felt a little safer that method. Like a man who enjoyed me wouldn't injure me, you know? I 'd had sex with like fifty men or something, most 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 girl next door perhaps.
I might close my eyes and picture the man who was making love to me really was my papa. I could talk to him, inform him I loved him, how he made me feel full-grown and unique and liked. I was falling in love, in full-grown love, and I couldn't assist it.
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