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It turns out I liked being an escort, much more than I thought I would anyhow. I even started taking the money, primarily because I was much too practical to let a little thing like regret get in the way of good sense. 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 ridiculous things that little women do.
I had not been a little woman in a long time.
Deke didn't mind, he said that was a great thing since he might in fact charge more, particularly if the person I was going with picked me up at school. That advantage turned out to be worth a couple of hundred dollars additional, although I didn't really like it.
Method too much for a ninth grader to invest, even after Deke took his cut. Selecting me up at school was worth an extra 200, which I believed was outrageous, but you 'd be stunned how lots of guys desired exactly that. Like it showed beyond a doubt that they were getting the genuine offer, an underage slut to draw and fuck . These were all older men too, like my father's age, or more often even older, in their 40's and 50's mostly. They had a great deal of cash to spend and it was the tips that truly flushed my bank account. Deke offered me 30% and kept 70% for himself. He said that was generous because he was my supervisor, my agent, my security man, my marketing and transportation all rolled into one. He bought my clothes and the stuff I require to work, like condoms and lube and scrap 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 since I had to in fact like these men for an hour or two. I had to act younger often too, as a little lady perhaps eleven or twelve years old; however never ever older. I liked acting though and I believe I had a genuine talent for it.
The guys loved me for a little bit, although some of them loved me for real 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 short time we were together, that's all, and while part of me felt lonesome due to the fact that I knew it wasn't really me they liked, mostly I felt a little safer that method. Like a person who loved me would not hurt me, you know? 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 different name, their child's name, or a niece or the little woman next door maybe.
I might close my eyes and picture the man who was making love to me really was my father. I could talk to him, inform him I loved him, how he made me feel special and developed and liked. I was falling in love, in full-grown love, and I could not help it.
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