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It ends up I liked being an escort, a lot more than I thought I would anyway. I even began taking the cash, mostly due to the fact that I was much too useful to let a little thing like guilt get in the way of sound judgment. Then, if I had the typical 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 ladies do.
I had not been a little girl in a long time.
Deke didn't mind, he said that was a great thing since he could really charge more, especially if the person I was going with picked me up at school. That privilege turned out to be worth a couple of hundred dollars additional, although I didn't actually like it.
Way too much for a ninth grader to spend, even after Deke took his cut. Choosing me up at school was worth an extra 200, which I believed was ludicrous, however you 'd be surprised how many guys desired exactly that. Like it proved beyond a doubt that they were getting the real deal, an underage whore to fuck and draw . These were all older people too, like my dad's age, or more often even older, in their 40's and 50's mostly. He stated that was generous because he was my manager, my representative, my security man, my marketing and transport all rolled into one. He purchased my clothing and the stuff I need to work, like condoms and lube and scrap like that. It was more like acting than anything else because I had to really like these guys for an hour or two. I had to act younger in some cases too, as a little woman maybe eleven or twelve years old; however never ever older. I liked acting though and I believe I had a real talent for it.
Mary Magdalene had been a slut. That's where I took my convenience and she 'd become my patron saint. I 'd felt truly guilty initially, but that had disappeared when I recognized I wasn't hurting anybody. 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 return to their cities and deal 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 method. Like a person who enjoyed me wouldn't injure me, you know? I 'd had sex with like fifty people 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 girl next door maybe.
I could close my eyes and think of the man who was making love to me truly was my daddy. I might speak to him, inform him I enjoyed him, how he made me feel special and grown-up and liked. And someplace, somehow along that ride, I 'd started to think it. I 'd go house and see my real papa and nearly forget that it had not been him that I 'd fucked an hour or two before. But I was falling in love, in developed love, and I couldn't assist it. It was configured into me, growing up not as his daughter however as his wife. We 'd done whatever however practiced our relationship, I believed, and he had to feel the same way. Didn't he?
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