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It turns out I liked being an escort, a lot more than I thought I would anyhow. I even started taking the cash, mostly due to the fact that I was much too practical to let a little thing like regret get in the way of good sense. But then, if I had the common sense I wouldn't have actually been an escort either. I would have been simply 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 very long time though.
Deke didn't mind, he said that was a great thing due to the fact that he could really charge more, specifically if the person I was going with chosen me up at school. That opportunity turned out to be worth a couple of hundred dollars extra, although I didn't truly like it.
I 'd been doing it for almost two months already, and I 'd misplaced how many people I 'd made love with. I didn't wish to know, however it had to be a lot. I 'd made a lot of cash 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 2. Choosing me up at school was worth an additional 200, which I believed was ludicrous, but you 'd be surprised the number of people wanted exactly that. Like it showed beyond a doubt that they were getting the real deal, an minor whore to fuck and suck . These were all older guys too, like my dad's age, or more frequently even older, in their 40's and 50's mostly. He said that was generous since he was my supervisor, my agent, my security person, my advertising and transport all rolled into one. He bought my clothes and the stuff I need to work, like prophylactics and lube and junk like that. That wasn't real. It was more like acting than anything else since I had to really like these people for an hour or two. I had to act more youthful sometimes too, as a little girl maybe eleven or twelve years of ages; but never ever older. None of the men paying for me desired a woman, just a girl, and understanding that I actually was just fifteen, that was the kicker for them. I liked acting though and I think I had a real talent for it. I had a skill for the sex stuff anyway, no doubt about that, and the more I did it the better I got.
Mary Magdalene had been a slut. That's where I took my comfort and she 'd become my patron saint. I 'd felt really guilty in the beginning, however that had actually disappeared when I realized I wasn't injuring anybody. The men loved me for a little bit, although a few of them liked me for real 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 brief time we were together, that's all, and while part of me felt lonely due to the fact that I knew it wasn't truly me they liked, mainly I felt a little much safer that way. Like a person who loved me would not injure 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 desired to call me by a different name, their child's name, or a niece or the little woman next door perhaps.
I might close my eyes and envision the man who was making love to me really was my father. I could talk with him, inform him I liked him, how he made me feel unique and grown-up and liked. And someplace, somehow along that trip, I 'd started to believe it. I 'd go house and see my genuine father and nearly forget that it had not been him that I 'd fucked an hour or two before. I was falling in love, in grown-up love, and I could not help it. It was set into me, maturing not as his child however as his spouse. We 'd done everything but skilled our relationship, I thought, and he needed to feel the same way. Didn't he?
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