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It turns out I liked being an escort, much more than I thought I would anyway. I even started taking the money, primarily due to the fact that I was much too practical to let a little thing like regret obstruct of common sense. But 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 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 stated that was a excellent thing because he could really charge more, particularly if the guy I was going with picked me up at school. That advantage turned out to be worth a couple of hundred dollars extra, although I didn't actually like it.
Method too much for a ninth grader to spend, even after Deke took his cut. Picking me up at school was worth an additional 200, which I believed was ridiculous, however you 'd be surprised how lots of men desired exactly that. Like it proved beyond a doubt that they were getting the real deal, an underage slut to suck and fuck . These were all older people too, like my dad's age, or more often even older, in their 40's and 50's mainly. They had a great deal of cash to spend and it was the ideas that truly flushed my savings account. Deke gave me 30% and kept 70% for himself. He said that was generous due to the fact that he was my supervisor, my representative, my security person, my marketing and transportation all rolled into one. He purchased my clothing 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 since I had to really like these people for an hour or 2. I had to act younger in some cases too, as a little girl perhaps eleven or twelve years old; but never older. I liked acting though and I believe I had a genuine talent for it.
Mary Magdalene had been a whore. That's where I took my convenience and she 'd become my patron saint. I 'd felt truly guilty at first, however that had disappeared when I understood I wasn't hurting anybody. The men liked 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 deal 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 lonesome since I understood it wasn't actually me they liked, mainly I felt a little safer that method. Like a person who loved me would not hurt me, you know? 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 child's name, or a niece or the little lady next door maybe.
I might close my eyes and picture the man who was making love to me really was my daddy. I might talk to him, tell him I enjoyed him, how he made me feel developed and unique and liked. And someplace, somehow along that ride, I 'd begun to think it. I 'd go home and see my genuine dad and practically forget that it hadn't been him that I 'd fucked an hour or more before. But I was falling in love, in developed love, and I could not help it. It was set into me, growing up not as his child however as his wife. We 'd done everything but consummate our relationship, I believed, and he needed to feel the same way. Didn't he?
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