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It turns out I liked being an escort, much more than I believed I would anyway. I even started taking the money, mostly because I was much too useful to let a little thing like regret obstruct of good sense. Then, if I had the common sense I wouldn't have actually been an escort either. I would have been just another fifteen-year-old catholic schoolgirl, doing her research, doing her nails, doing the little ridiculous things that little ladies do.
I had not been a little lady in a very long time though.
Deke didn't mind, he said that was a good thing because he could in fact charge more, particularly if the person I was going with chosen me up at school. That advantage 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 spend, even after Deke took his cut. Selecting me up at school was worth an additional 200, which I believed was ridiculous, but you 'd be shocked how lots of guys wanted exactly that. Like it showed beyond a doubt that they were getting the genuine deal, an minor whore to suck and fuck . These were all older people too, like my daddy's age, or regularly even older, in their 40's and 50's primarily. They had a lot of cash to spend and it was the suggestions that truly flushed my bank account. Deke provided me 30% and kept 70% for himself. He said that was generous since he was my manager, my representative, my security man, my marketing and transport all rolled into one. He purchased my clothes and the stuff I need to work, like condoms 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 because I had to really like these men for an hour or 2. I had to act younger sometimes too, as a little lady maybe 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 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 because I understood it wasn't really me they liked, mostly I felt a little safer that way. Like a person who loved me wouldn't injure me, you know? I 'd had sex with like fifty guys or something, most of them wanting me to call them Daddy while we did it. Some of them desired to call me by a various name, their child's name, or a niece or the little girl next door possibly.
I might close my eyes and envision the male who was making love to me truly was my dad. I might talk to him, tell him I enjoyed him, how he made me feel grown-up and unique and enjoyed. I was falling in love, in developed love, and I could not assist it.
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