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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, mainly since I was much too practical to let a little thing like guilt obstruct of common sense. Then, if I had the typical sense I wouldn't have 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 ladies do.
I had not been a little woman in a long period of time though.
I only worked three or 4 nights a week anyhow, since I needed to be house by 9 pm on school nights and ten o'clock on weekends. Deke didn't mind, he said that was a great thing since he might really charge more, especially if the person I was going with picked me up at school. That privilege turned out to be worth a number of hundred dollars extra, although I didn't truly like it. I was constantly afraid somebody would see me entering into a strange cars and truck, a various unusual car whenever, and wonder what was going on.
Way too much for a ninth grader to spend, even after Deke took his cut. Choosing me up at school was worth an additional 200, which I thought was absurd, but you 'd be surprised how numerous men wanted precisely that. Like it showed beyond a doubt that they were getting the genuine offer, an underage slut to draw and fuck . These were all older men too, like my dad's age, or more typically even older, in their 40's and 50's primarily. He stated that was generous due to the fact that he was my manager, my agent, my security man, my marketing and transportation all rolled into one. He bought my clothes and the stuff I require to work, like prophylactics and lube and junk like that. It was more like acting than anything else given that I had to in fact like these guys for an hour or 2. I had to act younger in some cases too, as a little woman perhaps eleven or twelve years old; however never older. I liked acting though and I believe I had a real talent for it.
Mary Magdalene had actually been a slut. That's where I took my convenience and she 'd become my tutelary saint. I 'd felt really guilty in the beginning, but that had disappeared when I understood I wasn't hurting anyone. The men loved me for a bit, although a few of them liked me for real and asked me if I 'd marry them, or at least come back to their cities and cope 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 lonesome because I knew it wasn't actually me they liked, primarily I felt a little safer that way. Like a person who enjoyed me wouldn't harm me, you understand? I 'd had sex with like fifty people or something, many of them wanting me to call them Daddy while we did it. Some of them desired to call me by a various name, their daughter's name, or a niece or the little girl next door possibly.
I could close my eyes and imagine the man who was making love to me really was my dad. I might talk to him, tell him I loved him, how he made me feel grown-up and unique and liked. And someplace, somehow along that ride, I 'd begun to think it. I 'd go house and see my real papa and almost forget that it hadn't been him that I 'd fucked an hour or more before. But I was falling in love, in developed love, and I couldn't help it. It was configured into me, maturing not as his daughter but as his wife. We 'd done everything however practiced our relationship, I believed, and he had to feel the same way. Didn't he?
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