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It turns out I liked being an escort, far more than I thought I would anyhow. I even started taking the money, mostly since I was much too practical to let a little thing like guilt get in the way of common sense. Then, if I had the common sense I would not 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 silly things that little ladies do.
I had not been a little woman in a long time.
I only worked 3 or 4 nights a week anyhow, since I had to be home by 9 pm on school nights and ten o'clock on weekends. However Deke didn't mind, he stated that was a good thing due to the fact that he might actually charge more, especially if the guy I was choosing selected me up at school. That privilege turned out to be worth a couple of hundred dollars additional, although I didn't actually like it. I was always scared someone would see me entering into a unusual vehicle, a different weird automobile each time, and question what was going on.
I 'd been doing it for almost two months currently, and I 'd misplaced the number of guys I 'd had sex with. I didn't need to know, but it needed to be a lot. I 'd made a lot of money too. Way excessive for a ninth grader to spend, even after Deke took his cut. He charged 300 dollars an hour for me, or 500 dollars for two. Picking me up at school was worth an additional 200, which I thought was outrageous, however you 'd be surprised the number of men wanted precisely that. Like it showed beyond a doubt that they were getting the real deal, an minor whore to fuck and suck . These were all older people too, like my father's age, or more frequently even older, in their 40's and 50's mainly. They had a great deal of cash to invest and it was the suggestions that actually flushed my savings account. Deke offered me 30% and kept 70% for himself. He stated that was generous since he was my manager, my representative, my security guy, my advertising and transport all rolled into one. He purchased my clothing 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. However that wasn't real. It was more like acting than anything else because I needed to actually like these guys for an hour or two. I had to act younger sometimes too, as a little girl perhaps eleven or twelve years of ages; but never ever older. None of the men paying for me desired a woman, just a girl, and knowing that I really was just fifteen, that was the kicker for them. I liked acting though and I think I had a real talent for it. I had a skill for the sex things anyhow, no doubt about that, and the more I did it the much better I got.
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 since I understood it wasn't actually me they liked, mainly I felt a little more secure that method. Like a guy who liked me would not hurt me, you know? 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 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 father. I might talk to him, tell him I enjoyed him, how he made me feel unique and full-grown and liked. And somewhere, somehow along that trip, I 'd started to think it. I 'd go house and see my genuine daddy and practically forget that it had not been him that I 'd fucked an hour or more prior to. But I was falling in love, in grown-up love, and I could not assist it. It was configured into me, growing up not as his daughter however as his partner. We 'd done whatever but practiced our relationship, I believed, and he needed to feel the same way. Didn't he?
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