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It turns out I liked being an escort, a lot more than I thought I would anyhow. I even started 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 been an escort either. I would have been simply another fifteen-year-old catholic schoolgirl, doing her homework, doing her nails, doing the little ridiculous things that little girls do.
I hadn't been a little girl in a long time though.
I just worked three or 4 nights a week anyway, because I needed to be home by 9 pm on school nights and ten o'clock on weekends. But Deke didn't mind, he stated that was a good idea due to the fact that he could in fact charge more, specifically if the person I was choosing picked me up at school. That advantage ended up being worth a number of hundred dollars additional, although I didn't truly like it. I was constantly scared somebody would see me entering a odd cars and truck, a different weird car every time, and question what was going on.
Way too much for a ninth grader to spend, even after Deke took his cut. Selecting me up at school was worth an extra 200, which I thought was outrageous, but you 'd be surprised how many people wanted precisely that. Like it showed beyond a doubt that they were getting the real offer, an minor slut to suck and fuck . These were all older people too, like my daddy's age, or more frequently even older, in their 40's and 50's mainly. He stated that was generous because he was my manager, my agent, my security person, my advertising and transportation all rolled into one. He purchased my clothing and the things I require to work, like prophylactics and lube and scrap like that. It was more like acting than anything else considering that I had to in fact like these people for an hour or two. I had to act more youthful often too, as a little girl perhaps eleven or twelve years old; however never ever older. I liked acting though and I think I had a genuine talent for it.
Mary Magdalene had been a slut. That's where I took my comfort and she 'd become my patron saint. I 'd felt actually guilty initially, but that had gone away when I recognized I wasn't injuring anybody. The men liked me for a 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 short time we were together, that's all, and while part of me felt lonesome due to the fact that I knew it wasn't actually me they liked, mainly I felt a little more secure that way. Like a person who enjoyed me wouldn't hurt me, you know? I 'd had sex with like fifty men or something, most 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 lady next door perhaps.
I might close my eyes and envision the man who was making love to me really was my dad. I could talk to him, inform him I loved him, how he made me feel special and developed and loved. I was falling in love, in grown-up love, and I could not help it.
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