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It turns out I liked being an escort, far more than I believed I would anyway. I even began taking the cash, mainly since I was much too useful to let a little thing like guilt get in the way of sound judgment. Then, if I had the typical sense I wouldn't have been an escort either. I would have been just another fifteen-year-old catholic schoolgirl, doing her homework, doing her nails, doing the little ridiculous things that little ladies do.
I had not been a little lady in a very long time though.
I only worked three or 4 nights a week anyhow, considering that I had to be house by 9 pm on school nights and ten o'clock on weekends. Deke didn't mind, he said that was a excellent thing because he might actually charge more, especially if the guy I was going with selected me up at school. That advantage ended up being worth a couple of hundred dollars additional, although I didn't truly like it. I was always afraid someone would see me getting into a unusual car, a different odd automobile each time, and question 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 extra 200, which I thought was ridiculous, but you 'd be shocked how many guys wanted exactly that. Like it showed beyond a doubt that they were getting the genuine deal, an minor 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 mainly. He said that was generous due to the fact that he was my supervisor, my agent, my security man, my advertising and transport all rolled into one. He bought my clothing and the things I require to work, like condoms and lube and junk like that. It was more like acting than anything else given that I had to really like these guys for an hour or 2. I had to act more youthful in some cases too, as a little girl perhaps eleven or twelve years old; but never older. I liked acting though and I believe I had a genuine talent for it.
The males loved me for a little bit, although some of them loved me for genuine 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 because I understood it wasn't actually me they liked, mainly I felt a little much safer that method. Like a man who enjoyed me wouldn't injure me, you understand? I was in love with my father. That had altered too and I don't understand if something related to the other exactly, but I don't believe in coincidence either. 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 wished to call me by a different name, their daughter's name, or a niece or the little woman next door perhaps. But a lot of them didn't mind calling me Samantha either, which bothered me in the beginning, however then it didn't and I started liking it.
I could close my eyes and picture the guy who was making love to me really was my papa. I could talk to him, inform him I loved him, how he made me feel full-grown and special and loved. I was falling in love, in developed love, and I couldn't help it.
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