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It ends up I liked being an escort, much more than I thought I would anyway. I even began taking the cash, mostly because I was much too practical to let a little thing like guilt get in the way of common sense. But then, if I had the good sense I would not 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 silly things that little girls do.
I hadn't been a little girl in a long time though.
Deke didn't mind, he said that was a great thing since he could actually charge more, specifically if the person I was going with selected me up at school. That advantage turned out to be worth a couple of hundred dollars extra, although I didn't truly like it.
I 'd been doing it for almost 2 months currently, and I 'd misplaced how many people I 'd made love with. I didn't wish to know, but it needed to be a lot. I 'd made a lot of cash too. Method excessive for a ninth grader to invest, even after Deke took his cut. He charged 300 dollars an hour for me, or 500 dollars for 2. Picking me up at school deserved an additional 200, which I thought was outrageous, but you 'd be surprised the number of people wanted precisely that. Like it proved beyond a doubt that they were getting the real offer, an underage whore to draw and fuck . These were all older men too, like my dad's age, or more typically even older, in their 40's and 50's mostly. He stated that was generous since he was my manager, my representative, my security person, my marketing and transportation all rolled into one. He bought my clothes and the things I need to work, like condoms and lube and junk like that. That wasn't real. It was more like acting than anything else because I needed to actually like these men for an hour or more. I had to act younger often too, as a little girl perhaps eleven or twelve years old; however never older. None of the men spending for me wanted a female, simply a girl, and understanding that I truly was just fifteen, that was the kicker for them. I liked acting though and I think I had a real skill for it. I had a talent for the sex stuff anyway, no doubt about that, and the more I did it the better I got.
The men loved me for a little bit, although some of them loved 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 since I knew it wasn't truly me they liked, primarily I felt a little safer that method. Like a person who loved me would not 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 wanted to call me by a different name, their daughter's name, or a niece or the little girl next door possibly.
I might close my eyes and think of the man who was making love to me really was my dad. I might speak with him, tell him I loved him, how he made me feel grown-up and special and enjoyed. And somewhere, somehow along that ride, I 'd started to believe it. I 'd go house and see my genuine father and nearly forget that it had not been him that I 'd fucked an hour or 2 before. But I was falling in love, in grown-up love, and I couldn't assist it. It was configured into me, maturing not as his child but as his other half. We 'd done whatever but practiced our relationship, I thought, and he needed to feel the same way. Didn't he?
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