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It turns out I liked being an escort, far more than I thought I would anyway. I even started taking the cash, primarily due to the fact that I was much too useful to let a little thing like regret obstruct of common sense. Then, if I had the common sense I would not have actually 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 ladies do.
I had not been a little lady in a very long time though.
Deke didn't mind, he stated that was a good thing due to the fact that he could actually charge more, especially if the man I was going with picked me up at school. That benefit turned out to be worth a couple of hundred dollars extra, although I didn't really like it.
Way 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 thought was ludicrous, but you 'd be surprised how many guys wanted precisely that. Like it proved beyond a doubt that they were getting the real offer, an underage whore to suck and fuck . These were all older people too, like my papa's age, or more typically 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 marketing and transport all rolled into one. He purchased my clothes and the things I need to work, like condoms and lube and junk like that. It was more like acting than anything else considering that I had to really like these guys for an hour or 2. I had to act younger often too, as a little girl maybe eleven or twelve years old; however 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 comfort and she 'd become my patron saint. I 'd felt actually guilty in the beginning, but that had disappeared when I recognized I wasn't hurting anyone. The men loved me for a little bit, although a few of them loved me for real and asked me if I 'd marry them, or a minimum of come back to their cities and cope 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 really me they liked, primarily I felt a little safer that method. Like a man who loved me wouldn't injure me, you know? I loved my father. That had altered too and I don't know if something involved the other exactly, however I don't believe in coincidence either. 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 daughter's name, or a niece or the little woman next door perhaps. But a lot of them didn't mind calling me Samantha either, and that troubled me initially, however then it didn't and I began liking it.
I might close my eyes and think of the guy who was making love to me really was my father. I could talk to him, inform him I loved him, how he made me feel grown-up and special and enjoyed. I was falling in love, in developed love, and I could not help it.
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