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It turns out I liked being an escort, much more than I thought I would anyway. I even started taking the cash, primarily since I was much too practical to let a little thing like regret get in the way of common sense. However then, if I had the common sense I would not have been an escort either. I would have been just another fifteen-year-old catholic schoolgirl, doing her research, doing her nails, doing the little ridiculous things that little ladies do.
I had not been a little lady in a long time though.
Deke didn't mind, he said that was a excellent thing due to the fact that he might in fact 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 really like it.
Method 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 believed was ridiculous, but you 'd be stunned how many guys desired exactly that. Like it showed beyond a doubt that they were getting the real offer, an underage whore to fuck and draw . These were all older men too, like my daddy's age, or regularly even older, in their 40's and 50's primarily. They had a great deal of money to spend and it was the tips that really flushed my checking account. Deke offered me 30% and kept 70% for himself. 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 clothing and the stuff I need to work, like condoms and lube and junk like that. He did all the work if you listened to him tell it, and all I did was lay there and get rich. It was more like acting than anything else because I had to actually like these men for an hour or two. I had to act younger in some cases too, as a little woman possibly eleven or twelve years old; but never ever older. I liked acting though and I think I had a real talent for it.
The guys enjoyed 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 lonesome due to the fact that I knew it wasn't truly me they liked, mainly I felt a little much safer that method. Like a man who enjoyed me would not hurt me, you understand? I 'd had sex with like fifty men or something, many of them desiring me to call them Daddy while we did it. Some of them wanted to call me by a various name, their child's name, or a niece or the little woman next door maybe.
I might close my eyes and think of the man who was making love to me truly was my papa. I could talk to him, inform him I liked him, how he made me feel full-grown and unique and liked. I was falling in love, in grown-up love, and I couldn't help it.
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