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It ends up I liked being an escort, far more than I believed I would anyhow. I even started taking the cash, mostly due to the fact that I was much too practical to let a little thing like guilt get in the way of sound judgment. However then, if I had the good sense I wouldn't have actually been an escort either. I would have been just another fifteen-year-old catholic schoolgirl, doing her homework, doing her nails, doing the little ridiculous things that little ladies do.
I had not been a little lady in a long period of time though.
Deke didn't mind, he said that was a excellent thing since he might really charge more, specifically if the guy I was going with picked me up at school. That benefit turned out to be worth a couple of hundred dollars additional, although I didn't really like it.
Method 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, but you 'd be shocked how many men desired precisely that. Like it proved beyond a doubt that they were getting the real offer, an underage whore to draw and fuck . These were all older people too, like my daddy's age, or more typically even older, in their 40's and 50's mostly. He said that was generous because he was my manager, my representative, my security person, my marketing and transportation all rolled into one. He bought my clothes and the stuff I need to work, like prophylactics and lube and scrap like that. It was more like acting than anything else given that I had to actually like these men for an hour or two. I had to act younger sometimes too, as a little woman possibly eleven or twelve years old; but never older. I liked acting though and I think I had a real skill for it.
The guys liked me for a little bit, although some of them loved me for real 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 because I understood it wasn't really me they liked, mainly I felt a little more secure that way. Like a person who enjoyed me wouldn't hurt me, you know? I loved my dad. That had actually changed too and I don't know if something related to the other exactly, however I don't believe in coincidence either. I 'd made love with like fifty people or something, most of them wanting me to call them Daddy while we did it. A few of them wanted to call me by a different name, their daughter's name, or a niece or the little lady next door perhaps. A lot of them didn't mind calling me Samantha either, and that troubled me at initially, but then it didn't and I began liking it.
I could close my eyes and imagine the guy who was making love to me actually was my daddy. I could talk to him, tell him I liked him, how he made me feel full-grown and special and liked. I was falling in love, in full-grown love, and I could not assist it.
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