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It turns out I liked being an escort, a lot more than I thought I would anyway. I even began taking the money, mostly due to the fact that I was much too useful to let a little thing like guilt obstruct of good sense. But then, if I had the sound judgment I wouldn't 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 hadn't been a little lady in a long time.
Deke didn't mind, he said that was a great thing since he could actually charge more, especially if the guy I was going with chosen me up at school. That opportunity 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 invest, even after Deke took his cut. Choosing me up at school was worth an additional 200, which I believed was outrageous, however you 'd be shocked how numerous men wanted precisely that. Like it showed beyond a doubt that they were getting the genuine offer, an underage whore to suck and fuck . These were all older people too, like my father's age, or more typically 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 advertising and transportation all rolled into one. He bought my clothing and the stuff I require to work, like condoms and lube and scrap like that. It was more like acting than anything else given that I had to in fact like these guys for an hour or 2. I had to act younger often too, as a little woman maybe eleven or twelve years old; but never ever older. I liked acting though and I believe I had a real skill for it.
The guys liked me for a little bit, although some of them liked 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 knew it wasn't actually me they liked, mainly I felt a little much safer that way. Like a guy who enjoyed me would not injure me, you know? I 'd had sex with like fifty guys or something, many of them desiring me to call them Daddy while we did it. Some of them wanted to call me by a different 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 really was my daddy. I could talk with him, inform him I liked him, how he made me feel unique and developed and loved. And somewhere, in some way along that ride, I 'd begun to believe it. I 'd go home and see my genuine papa and nearly forget that it hadn't been him that I 'd fucked an hour or two before. But I was falling in love, in grown-up love, and I couldn't assist it. It was programmed into me, growing up not as his daughter but as his better half. We 'd done whatever but consummate our relationship, I thought, and he needed to feel the same way. Didn't he?
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