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It turns out I liked being an escort, a lot more than I thought I would anyway. I even began taking the money, mostly because I was much too useful to let a little thing like regret obstruct of good sense. But then, if I had the common sense I would not have actually been an escort either. I would have been simply another fifteen-year-old catholic schoolgirl, doing her research, doing her nails, doing the little silly things that little ladies do.
I hadn't been a little lady in a long time.
Deke didn't mind, he said that was a excellent thing since he might really charge more, particularly if the person I was going with chosen me up at school. That benefit turned out to be worth a couple of hundred dollars additional, although I didn't actually like it.
Method 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 absurd, but you 'd be shocked how many guys wanted precisely that. Like it showed beyond a doubt that they were getting the genuine offer, an underage whore to fuck and suck . These were all older guys too, like my father's age, or more often even older, in their 40's and 50's mainly. They had a lot of cash to spend and it was the suggestions that actually flushed my bank account. Deke gave me 30% and kept 70% for himself. He said that was generous since he was my supervisor, my agent, my security guy, my advertising and transportation all rolled into one. He bought my clothing and the stuff I need to work, like prophylactics and lube and scrap like that. He did all the work if you listened to him inform it, and all I did was lay there and get rich. It was more like acting than anything else given that I had to actually like these guys for an hour or two. I had to act younger in some cases too, as a little woman possibly eleven or twelve years old; however never ever older. I liked acting though and I believe I had a genuine skill for it.
The guys enjoyed me for a little bit, although some of them enjoyed 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 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 really me they liked, mostly I felt a little safer that way. Like a person who loved me would not hurt me, you understand? I 'd had sex with like fifty guys 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 maybe.
I might close my eyes and imagine the man who was making love to me really was my father. I could speak to him, tell him I liked him, how he made me feel developed and unique and loved. And someplace, somehow along that ride, I 'd begun to think it. I 'd go house and see my genuine father and almost forget that it hadn't been him that I 'd fucked an hour or more before. I was falling in love, in developed love, and I couldn't help it. It was set into me, growing up not as his daughter but as his spouse. We 'd done whatever but practiced our relationship, I believed, and he needed to feel the same way. Didn't he?
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