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It turns out I liked being an escort, a lot more than I thought I would anyway. I even started taking the money, mainly since I was much too useful to let a little thing like guilt get in the way of common sense. Then, if I had the common 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 had not been a little woman in a long time.
I only worked 3 or four nights a week anyway, since I had to be house by 9 pm on school nights and 10 o'clock on weekends. Deke didn't mind, he said that was a great thing since he could in fact charge more, particularly if the guy I was going with picked me up at school. That advantage ended up being worth a couple of hundred dollars extra, although I didn't actually like it. I was constantly scared someone would see me getting into a strange vehicle, a different weird vehicle each time, and question what was going on.
I 'd been doing it for practically two months already, and I 'd lost track of the number of people I 'd had sex with. I didn't wish to know, however it needed to be a lot. I 'd made a lot of money too. Way excessive for a ninth grader to invest, even after Deke took his cut. He charged 300 dollars an hour for me, or 500 dollars for 2. Choosing me up at school was worth an additional 200, which I believed was absurd, but you 'd be surprised the number of men wanted precisely that. Like it showed beyond a doubt that they were getting the real offer, an minor slut to fuck and suck . These were all older men too, like my papa's age, or more often even older, in their 40's and 50's mainly. They had a lot of money to spend and it was the suggestions that truly flushed my checking account. Deke provided me 30% and kept 70% for himself. He said that was generous since he was my manager, my representative, my security person, my advertising and transport all rolled into one. He bought my clothing 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. However that wasn't real. It was more like acting than anything else considering that I needed to in fact 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; however never ever older. None of the men paying for me wanted a lady, just a lady, and knowing that I truly was simply fifteen, that was the kicker for them. I liked acting though and I believe I had a genuine skill for it. I had a talent for the sex things anyhow, no doubt about that, and the more I did it the better I got.
Mary Magdalene had been a whore. That's where I took my convenience and she 'd become my patron saint. I 'd felt actually guilty at first, but that had disappeared when I understood I wasn't injuring anyone. The men liked me for a bit, although some of them enjoyed me genuine and asked me if I 'd wed them, or at least come back to their cities and deal 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 since I knew it wasn't really me they liked, primarily I felt a little much safer that way. Like a man who loved me would not harm 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 wanted to call me by a different name, their child's name, or a niece or the little girl next door maybe.
I could close my eyes and think of the man who was making love to me really was my papa. I might talk with him, tell him I enjoyed him, how he made me feel grown-up and unique and liked. And someplace, in some way along that trip, I 'd begun to think it. I 'd go home and see my real dad and almost forget that it had not been him that I 'd fucked an hour or 2 before. However I was falling in love, in developed love, and I couldn't help it. It was programmed into me, maturing not as his daughter but as his wife. We 'd done everything but practiced our relationship, I believed, and he had to feel the same way. Didn't he?
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