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It turns out I liked being an escort, a lot more than I thought I would anyhow. I even began taking the money, mostly due to the fact that I was much too practical to let a little thing like guilt obstruct of good sense. Then, if I had the typical sense I wouldn't 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 silly things that little girls do.
I had not been a little girl in a long time.
Deke didn't mind, he said that was a great thing because he could in fact charge more, specifically if the guy I was going with chosen me up at school. That opportunity turned out to be worth a couple of hundred dollars additional, although I didn't actually like it.
I 'd been doing it for practically 2 months already, and I 'd lost track of the number of guys I 'd made love with. I didn't need to know, but it needed to be a lot. I 'd made a lot of money too. Way too much for a ninth grader to spend, even after Deke took his cut. He charged 300 dollars an hour for me, or 500 dollars for two. Choosing me up at school deserved an additional 200, which I believed was absurd, but 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 draw and fuck . These were all older men too, like my daddy's age, or more often even older, in their 40's and 50's mostly. He said that was generous because he was my manager, my agent, my security person, my advertising and transport all rolled into one. He purchased my clothing and the things I need to work, like condoms and lube and junk like that. But that wasn't real. It was more like acting than anything else given that I needed to in fact like these people for an hour or more. I had to act younger often too, as a little girl possibly eleven or twelve years old; but never older. None of the men spending for me desired a woman, simply a woman, and knowing that I actually was just fifteen, that was the kicker for them. I liked acting though and I believe I had a genuine talent for it. I had a talent for the sex things anyhow, no doubt about that, and the more I did it the much better I got.
Mary Magdalene had actually been a slut. That's where I took my convenience and she 'd become my patron saint. I 'd felt actually guilty in the beginning, but that had disappeared when I realized I wasn't harming anybody. The men loved me for a bit, although a few of them loved me genuine and asked me if I 'd wed them, or at least return to their cities and deal with them. However 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 since I understood it wasn't truly me they liked, primarily I felt a little safer that way. Like a guy who liked me would not hurt me, you understand? I 'd had sex with like fifty people or something, most of them wanting me to call them Daddy while we did it. Some of them desired to call me by a various name, their child's name, or a niece or the little woman next door possibly.
I could close my eyes and imagine the man who was making love to me really was my daddy. I might speak to him, tell him I loved him, how he made me feel full-grown and unique and enjoyed. And somewhere, in some way along that ride, I 'd begun to believe it. I 'd go home and see my genuine papa and almost forget that it had not been him that I 'd fucked an hour or two before. But I was falling in love, in full-grown love, and I couldn't help it. It was set into me, maturing not as his daughter but as his partner. We 'd done everything however skilled our relationship, I believed, and he had to feel the same way. Didn't he?
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