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It turns out I liked being an escort, far more than I thought I would anyway. I even began taking the cash, primarily due to the fact that I was much too useful to let a little thing like guilt get in the way of good sense. However then, if I had the common 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 ladies do.
I had not been a little woman in a long time though.
I only worked three or 4 nights a week anyway, because I had to be home by 9 pm on school nights and 10 o'clock on weekends. Deke didn't mind, he stated that was a good thing since he might in fact charge more, specifically if the person I was going with chosen me up at school. That privilege ended up being worth a number of hundred dollars additional, although I didn't truly like it. I was constantly scared somebody would see me entering into a unusual cars and truck, a different strange vehicle whenever, and wonder what was going on.
Way 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 thought was ludicrous, but you 'd be surprised how lots of guys desired precisely that. Like it showed beyond a doubt that they were getting the genuine offer, an minor slut to suck and fuck . These were all older guys too, like my father's age, or more typically even older, in their 40's and 50's mostly. He said that was generous because he was my manager, my agent, my security man, my advertising and transport all rolled into one. He purchased my clothes and the stuff I need to work, like prophylactics and lube and scrap like that. It was more like acting than anything else given that I had to actually like these men for an hour or 2. I had to act younger in some cases too, as a little lady possibly eleven or twelve years old; but never older. I liked acting though and I think I had a real skill for it.
Mary Magdalene had been a whore. That's where I took my convenience and she 'd become my patron saint. I 'd felt truly guilty initially, but that had actually gone away when I realized I wasn't hurting anyone. The men liked 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 lonesome due to the fact that I understood it wasn't truly me they liked, mainly I felt a little more secure that way. Like a guy who liked me would not hurt 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 wanted to call me by a different name, their daughter's name, or a niece or the little woman next door perhaps.
I might close my eyes and think of the man who was making love to me truly was my papa. I could speak with him, inform him I liked him, how he made me feel full-grown and unique and enjoyed. And somewhere, somehow along that flight, I 'd begun to think it. I 'd go home and see my genuine dad and practically forget that it hadn't been him that I 'd fucked an hour or two prior to. But I was falling in love, in full-grown love, and I couldn't help it. It was set into me, maturing not as his child however as his other half. We 'd done whatever however practiced our relationship, I believed, and he needed to feel the same way. Didn't he?
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