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It ends up I liked being an escort, a lot more than I believed I would anyway. I even started taking the cash, primarily because I was much too useful to let a little thing like guilt obstruct of good sense. But then, if I had the common sense I would not have 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 girl in a long time.
Deke didn't mind, he stated that was a great thing since he might actually charge more, particularly if the man I was going with selected me up at school. That privilege turned out to be worth a couple of hundred dollars extra, although I didn't actually like it.
Way too much for a ninth grader to invest, even after Deke took his cut. Picking me up at school was worth an extra 200, which I thought was absurd, however you 'd be stunned how lots of men wanted exactly that. Like it proved beyond a doubt that they were getting the real offer, an minor whore to fuck and draw . These were all older guys too, like my dad's age, or more frequently even older, in their 40's and 50's primarily. He stated that was generous since he was my manager, my representative, my security man, my marketing and transportation all rolled into one. He purchased my clothing and the things I require to work, like condoms and lube and scrap like that. However that wasn't real. It was more like acting than anything else given that I needed to in fact like these guys for an hour or more. I had to act more youthful often too, as a little woman maybe eleven or twelve years old; however never older. None of the men spending for me wanted a female, just a lady, and knowing that I truly was just fifteen, that was the kicker for them. I liked acting though and I think I had a genuine talent for it. I had a talent for the sex things anyway, no doubt about that, and the more I did it the much better I got.
The men liked me for a little bit, although some of them liked 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 lonely because I understood it wasn't truly me they liked, mainly I felt a little safer that way. Like a man who enjoyed me wouldn't injure me, you understand? 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 woman next door maybe.
I might close my eyes and envision the man who was making love to me truly was my father. I could talk to him, tell him I loved him, how he made me feel grown-up and unique and liked. I was falling in love, in full-grown love, and I couldn't assist it.
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