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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 cash, mostly due to the fact that 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 wouldn't 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 women do.
I hadn't been a little girl in a long period of time though.
Deke didn't mind, he stated that was a excellent thing because he could really charge more, particularly if the guy I was going with chosen me up at school. That benefit turned out to be worth a couple of hundred dollars additional, although I didn't actually like it.
Method too much for a ninth grader to invest, even after Deke took his cut. Picking me up at school was worth an extra 200, which I believed was ridiculous, but you 'd be surprised how many guys wanted exactly that. Like it showed beyond a doubt that they were getting the real offer, an minor slut to draw 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 money to invest and it was the suggestions that really flushed my checking account. Deke gave me 30% and kept 70% for himself. He stated that was generous since he was my manager, my representative, my security man, my marketing and transport all rolled into one. He bought my clothes and the stuff I require to work, like prophylactics and lube and scrap like that. He did all the work if you listened to him tell it, and all I did was lay there and get rich. It was more like acting than anything else given that I had to in fact like these men for an hour or 2. I had to act younger often too, as a little lady possibly eleven or twelve years old; however never older. I liked acting though and I think I had a real skill for it.
The guys enjoyed me for a little bit, although some of them liked me for real and asked me if I 'd wed 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 due to the fact that I knew it wasn't truly me they liked, primarily I felt a little more secure that way. Like a guy who liked me would not hurt me, you understand? I 'd had sex with like fifty people 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 daughter's name, or a niece or the little girl next door maybe.
I might close my eyes and picture the male who was making love to me really was my dad. I might talk to him, tell him I liked him, how he made me feel special and grown-up and loved. I was falling in love, in developed love, and I couldn't help it.
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