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It turns out I liked being an escort, much more than I believed I would anyway. I even started taking the cash, mostly since I was much too practical to let a little thing like guilt get in the way of sound judgment. Then, if I had the typical sense I wouldn't have actually been an escort either. I would have been simply another fifteen-year-old catholic schoolgirl, doing her research, 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 3 or 4 nights a week anyway, because I needed to be home by 9 pm on school nights and 10 o'clock on weekends. But Deke didn't mind, he said that was a advantage because he might actually charge more, specifically if the person I was going with chosen me up at school. That benefit turned out to be worth a couple of hundred dollars additional, although I didn't truly like it. I was constantly afraid somebody would see me entering into a unusual vehicle, a different strange automobile whenever, and question what was going on.
Method too much for a ninth grader to spend, even after Deke took his cut. Selecting me up at school was worth an extra 200, which I thought was ludicrous, but you 'd be stunned how numerous men wanted exactly that. Like it showed beyond a doubt that they were getting the real offer, an minor slut to suck and fuck . These were all older guys too, like my dad's age, or more often even older, in their 40's and 50's mostly. He said that was generous because he was my supervisor, my agent, my security man, my advertising and transportation all rolled into one. He purchased my clothes and the things I need to work, like condoms and lube and scrap like that. It was more like acting than anything else considering that I had to actually like these guys for an hour or 2. I had to act younger in some cases too, as a little girl perhaps eleven or twelve years old; but never older. I liked acting though and I think I had a genuine talent for it.
The guys loved me for a little bit, although some of them enjoyed 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 due to the fact that I knew it wasn't really me they liked, primarily I felt a little much safer that way. Like a man who enjoyed me would not injure me, you understand? I 'd had sex with like fifty people 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 child's name, or a niece or the little lady next door perhaps.
I might close my eyes and think of the man who was making love to me really was my daddy. I might speak to him, inform him I liked him, how he made me feel full-grown and special and loved. And somewhere, in some way along that ride, I 'd begun to believe it. I 'd go house and see my real papa and practically forget that it had not been him that I 'd fucked an hour or more prior to. However I was falling in love, in developed love, and I could not assist it. It was programmed into me, growing up not as his daughter but as his better half. We 'd done whatever however consummate our relationship, I believed, and he needed to feel the same way. Didn't he?
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