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It ends up I liked being an escort, far more than I thought I would anyhow. I even began taking the cash, mostly due to the fact that I was much too practical to let a little thing like guilt get in the way of good sense. Then, if I had the common 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 ladies do.
I had not been a little woman in a long time.
Deke didn't mind, he said that was a good thing because he might actually charge more, specifically if the person I was going with chosen me up at school. That advantage turned out to be worth a couple of hundred dollars extra, although I didn't actually like it.
I 'd been doing it for nearly two months already, and I 'd misplaced the number of men I 'd had sex with. I didn't want to know, however it had to be a lot. I 'd made a lot of money too. Method too much for a ninth grader to invest, even after Deke took his cut. He charged 300 dollars an hour for me, or 500 dollars for 2. Picking me up at school deserved an additional 200, which I believed was ridiculous, but you 'd be surprised how many men desired precisely that. Like it showed beyond a doubt that they were getting the genuine offer, an minor slut to suck and fuck . These were all older people too, like my papa's age, or more often even older, in their 40's and 50's mainly. He stated that was generous because he was my manager, my agent, my security guy, my marketing and transport all rolled into one. He bought my clothes and the things I need to work, like prophylactics and lube and junk like that. It was more like acting than anything else given that I had to actually like these people for an hour or 2. I had to act younger often too, as a little woman possibly eleven or twelve years old; but never older. I liked acting though and I think I had a real skill for it.
The males liked me for a little bit, although some of them liked 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 short 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 more secure that method. Like a man who loved me wouldn't harm me, you understand? I loved my daddy. That had changed too and I don't understand if something had to do with the other specifically, but I don't believe in coincidence either. I 'd had sex with like fifty men or something, most of them desiring me to call them Daddy while we did it. A few of them wanted to call me by a different name, their child's name, or a niece or the little girl next door possibly. A lot of them didn't mind calling me Samantha either, and that troubled me at initially, however then it didn't and I began liking it.
I might close my eyes and envision the man who was making love to me really was my father. I might talk to him, inform him I liked him, how he made me feel unique and grown-up and enjoyed. I was falling in love, in full-grown love, and I couldn't assist it.
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