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It turns out I liked being an escort, a lot more than I believed I would anyway. I even started taking the money, mostly since I was much too useful to let a little thing like guilt obstruct 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 silly 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 good thing due to the fact that he could really charge more, specifically if the man I was going with picked me up at school. That opportunity turned out to be worth a couple of hundred dollars extra, although I didn't really like it.
Way 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 ridiculous, but you 'd be stunned how lots of people desired precisely that. Like it proved beyond a doubt that they were getting the real deal, an underage whore to draw and fuck . These were all older men too, like my father's age, or more often even older, in their 40's and 50's primarily. They had a lot of cash to spend and it was the tips that actually flushed my checking account. Deke provided me 30% and kept 70% for himself. He said that was generous due to the fact that he was my manager, my representative, my security person, my marketing and transportation all rolled into one. He purchased my clothes and the stuff I require to work, like prophylactics 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. But that wasn't true. It was more like acting than anything else given that I had to actually like these men for an hour or more. I had to act more youthful sometimes too, as a little woman possibly eleven or twelve years old; but never ever older. None of the men spending for me desired a woman, just a woman, and understanding that I actually was simply fifteen, that was the kicker for them. I liked acting though and I think I had a real skill for it. I had a skill for the sex stuff anyway, no doubt about that, and the more I did it the much better I got.
The males enjoyed me for a little bit, although some of them enjoyed 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 short time we were together, that's all, and while part of me felt lonely since I knew it wasn't really me they liked, primarily I felt a little more secure that method. Like a guy who enjoyed me wouldn't harm me, you understand? I 'd had sex with like fifty people or something, most of them desiring me to call them Daddy while we did it. Some of them wanted to call me by a various name, their daughter's name, or a niece or the little lady next door maybe.
I could close my eyes and imagine the man who was making love to me really was my daddy. I might talk with him, tell him I liked him, how he made me feel special and grown-up and loved. And someplace, somehow along that trip, I 'd begun to believe it. I 'd go house and see my real daddy and almost forget that it hadn't been him that I 'd fucked an hour or more before. However I was falling in love, in full-grown love, and I could not assist it. It was set into me, maturing not as his child but as his better half. We 'd done whatever however skilled our relationship, I believed, and he needed to feel the same way. Didn't he?
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