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It turns out I liked being an escort, a lot more than I believed I would anyhow. I even began taking the cash, primarily due to the fact that I was much too useful to let a little thing like guilt get in the way of sound judgment. However then, if I had the sound judgment I would not have been an escort either. I would have been just another fifteen-year-old catholic schoolgirl, doing her research, doing her nails, doing the little ridiculous things that little girls do.
I hadn't been a little girl in a very long time though.
I just worked three or four nights a week anyhow, considering that I had to be house by 9 pm on school nights and ten o'clock on weekends. Deke didn't mind, he stated that was a excellent thing due to the fact that he might really charge more, particularly if the man 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 was always scared someone would see me entering a strange car, a different strange automobile whenever, and wonder what was going on.
Way too much for a ninth grader to invest, even after Deke took his cut. Picking me up at school was worth an additional 200, which I thought was outrageous, but you 'd be surprised how many people desired exactly that. Like it showed beyond a doubt that they were getting the real offer, an underage whore to draw and fuck . These were all older people too, like my father's age, or more frequently even older, in their 40's and 50's mainly. 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 clothing and the things I require to work, like prophylactics and lube and scrap like that. It was more like acting than anything else given that I had to in fact like these people for an hour or 2. I had to act younger often too, as a little woman perhaps eleven or twelve years old; however never older. I liked acting though and I think I had a real talent for it.
The men enjoyed me for a little bit, although some of them loved me for genuine 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 lonesome because I knew it wasn't truly me they liked, mainly I felt a little more secure that method. Like a person who loved me would not hurt me, you know? I 'd had sex with like fifty guys 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 lady next door maybe.
I could close my eyes and envision the man who was making love to me really was my papa. I might speak to him, inform him I liked him, how he made me feel special and grown-up and enjoyed. And somewhere, somehow along that flight, I 'd started to think it. I 'd go house and see my genuine papa and nearly forget that it hadn't been him that I 'd fucked an hour or more before. I was falling in love, in grown-up love, and I couldn't help it. It was set into me, maturing not as his daughter but as his wife. We 'd done whatever but skilled our relationship, I thought, and he needed to feel the same way. Didn't he?
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