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It ends up I liked being an escort, far more than I thought I would anyway. I even began taking the money, mainly since I was much too practical to let a little thing like regret obstruct of common sense. But then, if I had the sound judgment 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 ridiculous things that little girls do.
I hadn't been a little lady in a long time.
Deke didn't mind, he stated that was a good thing because he might really charge more, particularly if the guy I was going with picked me up at school. That opportunity turned out to be worth a couple of hundred dollars extra, although I didn't really like it.
I 'd been doing it for almost two months already, and I 'd lost track of the number of guys I 'd made love with. I didn't would like to know, however it needed to be a lot. I 'd made a lot of cash too. Method excessive for a ninth grader to invest, even after Deke took his cut. He charged 300 dollars an hour for me, or 500 dollars for two. Choosing me up at school was worth an additional 200, which I thought was ridiculous, but you 'd be surprised the number of men desired precisely that. Like it proved beyond a doubt that they were getting the genuine offer, an underage whore to suck and fuck . These were all older men too, like my papa's age, or more often even older, in their 40's and 50's mostly. He said that was generous since he was my manager, 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 condoms and lube and junk like that. It was more like acting than anything else given that I had to in fact like these men for an hour or 2. I had to act younger sometimes too, as a little girl possibly eleven or twelve years old; but never ever older. I liked acting though and I think I had a real talent for it.
Mary Magdalene had actually been a whore. That's where I took my comfort and she 'd become my tutelary saint. I 'd felt actually guilty initially, but that had gone away when I understood I wasn't harming anybody. The men liked me for a little bit, although some of them enjoyed me for real and asked me if I 'd marry them, or a minimum of return to their cities and cope 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 lonesome because I knew it wasn't truly me they liked, mainly I felt a little safer that method. Like a guy who liked me would not hurt me, you know? 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 wanted to call me by a different name, their child's name, or a niece or the little lady next door perhaps.
I might close my eyes and imagine the man who was making love to me actually was my papa. I could speak with him, tell him I enjoyed him, how he made me feel developed and special and liked. And somewhere, somehow along that ride, I 'd begun to believe it. I 'd go home and see my real papa and practically forget that it had not been him that I 'd fucked an hour or two prior to. But I was falling in love, in full-grown love, and I couldn't help it. It was configured into me, maturing not as his daughter but as his other half. We 'd done whatever however consummate our relationship, I thought, and he needed to feel the same way. Didn't he?
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