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Stella , 41 y
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It turns out I liked being an escort, far more than I believed I would anyway. I even began taking the money, primarily since 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 been an escort either. I would have been just another fifteen-year-old catholic schoolgirl, doing her homework, doing her nails, doing the little ridiculous things that little girls do. I hadn't been a little girl in a long time. Deke didn't mind, he stated that was a excellent thing due to the fact that he might in fact charge more, particularly if the guy I was going with picked me up at school. That privilege turned out to be worth a couple of hundred dollars extra, although I didn't actually like it.

Way too much for a ninth grader to spend, even after Deke took his cut. Choosing me up at school was worth an extra 200, which I thought was outrageous, but you 'd be shocked how many guys wanted precisely that. Like it showed beyond a doubt that they were getting the real offer, an minor whore to draw and fuck . These were all older guys too, like my daddy's age, or more frequently even older, in their 40's and 50's mostly. They had a lot of money to spend and it was the pointers that truly flushed my bank account. Deke provided me 30% and kept 70% for himself. He said that was generous due to the fact that he was my supervisor, my agent, my security man, my marketing and transportation all rolled into one. He bought my clothes and the stuff I require to work, like condoms and lube and scrap 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 men for an hour or 2. I had to act younger often too, as a little woman possibly eleven or twelve years old; but never ever older. I liked acting though and I believe I had a genuine skill for it.

The men loved me for a little bit, although some of them loved me for genuine 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 because I knew it wasn't truly me they liked, mostly I felt a little more secure that method. Like a guy who liked me wouldn't hurt me, you understand? 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 different name, their daughter's name, or a niece or the little woman next door possibly.

I could close my eyes and imagine the male who was making love to me really was my daddy. I might talk to him, tell him I loved him, how he made me feel unique and full-grown and liked. I was falling in love, in full-grown love, and I couldn't assist it.

 

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