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It turns out I liked being an escort, far more than I believed I would anyhow. I even began taking the money, primarily due to the fact that I was much too practical to let a little thing like guilt get in the way of good sense. But then, if I had the good sense I would not have been an escort either. I would have been simply another fifteen-year-old catholic schoolgirl, doing her homework, doing her nails, doing the little ridiculous things that little girls do.
I had not been a little girl in a long time.
Deke didn't mind, he stated that was a great thing due to the fact that he might in fact charge more, particularly if the guy I was going with picked me up at school. That advantage turned out to be worth a couple of hundred dollars additional, although I didn't truly like it.
Way too much for a ninth grader to invest, even after Deke took his cut. Selecting me up at school was worth an extra 200, which I believed was ridiculous, but you 'd be surprised how lots of men wanted precisely that. Like it showed beyond a doubt that they were getting the real deal, an underage slut to draw and fuck . These were all older guys too, like my dad's age, or regularly even older, in their 40's and 50's mainly. They had a great deal of money to invest and it was the ideas that actually flushed my savings account. Deke gave me 30% and kept 70% for himself. He said that was generous since he was my manager, my representative, my security person, my marketing and transportation all rolled into one. He purchased my clothing and the stuff I need to work, like prophylactics and lube and junk like that. He did all the work if you listened to him inform it, and all I did was lay there and get rich. It was more like acting than anything else since I had to actually like these people for an hour or 2. I had to act younger in some cases too, as a little lady possibly eleven or twelve years old; but never ever older. I liked acting though and I think I had a genuine skill for it.
Mary Magdalene had been a whore. That's where I took my convenience and she 'd become my tutelary saint. I 'd felt truly guilty in the beginning, but that had actually disappeared when I understood I wasn't hurting anybody. The men enjoyed me for a bit, although some of them loved me genuine and asked me if I 'd wed them, or a minimum of return to their cities and cope with them. But they loved who I pretended to be for that short time we were together, that's all, and while part of me felt lonely because I knew it wasn't really me they liked, mainly I felt a little much safer that way. Like a guy who loved me wouldn't harm 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 wanted to call me by a different name, their daughter's name, or a niece or the little girl next door possibly.
I could close my eyes and think of the guy who was making love to me really was my dad. I could talk to him, tell him I liked him, how he made me feel special and grown-up and enjoyed. I was falling in love, in developed love, and I could not help it.
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