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It ends up I liked being an escort, far more than I thought I would anyway. I even started taking the money, mostly because I was much too practical to let a little thing like guilt obstruct of common sense. Then, if I had the common sense I would not 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 silly things that little women do.
I hadn't been a little girl in a long time.
I just worked 3 or 4 nights a week anyhow, considering that I had to be home by 9 pm on school nights and 10 o'clock on weekends. Deke didn't mind, he said that was a great thing due to the fact that he might really charge more, especially if the guy I was going with picked me up at school. That benefit ended up being worth a couple of hundred dollars additional, although I didn't really like it. I was always afraid someone would see me entering into a strange car, a different unusual vehicle each time, and question what was going on.
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, however you 'd be surprised how many people wanted precisely that. Like it proved beyond a doubt that they were getting the real offer, an minor whore to fuck and suck . These were all older men too, like my father's age, or more frequently even older, in their 40's and 50's mainly. He said that was generous due to the fact that he was my manager, my representative, my security person, my advertising and transport all rolled into one. He bought my clothes and the stuff I require to work, like prophylactics and lube and junk like that. That wasn't real. It was more like acting than anything else given that I needed to really like these men for an hour or two. I needed to act younger sometimes too, as a little lady possibly eleven or twelve years old; but never older. None of the men spending for me desired a lady, simply a lady, and knowing that I really was simply fifteen, that was the kicker for them. I liked acting though and I believe I had a genuine talent for it. I had a skill for the sex stuff anyhow, no doubt about that, and the more I did it the better I got.
The guys 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 short time we were together, that's all, and while part of me felt lonesome since I understood it wasn't truly me they liked, mainly I felt a little more secure that way. Like a guy who enjoyed me would not injure me, you know? I 'd had sex with like fifty people or something, most 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 girl next door perhaps.
I might close my eyes and picture the man who was making love to me really was my papa. I might speak to him, inform him I enjoyed him, how he made me feel full-grown and unique and liked. And somewhere, in some way along that trip, I 'd started to believe it. I 'd go house and see my real dad and almost forget that it hadn't been him that I 'd fucked an hour or 2 prior to. However I was falling in love, in developed love, and I could not help it. It was programmed into me, growing up not as his daughter but as his spouse. We 'd done everything but skilled our relationship, I believed, and he had to feel the same way. Didn't he?
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