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It ends up I liked being an escort, a lot more than I thought I would anyway. I even started taking the cash, primarily since I was much too practical to let a little thing like guilt obstruct of good sense. But then, if I had the sound judgment I would not 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 silly things that little ladies do.
I hadn't been a little woman in a very long time though.
Deke didn't mind, he said that was a great thing since he could in fact charge more, particularly if the guy I was going with chosen me up at school. That advantage turned out to be worth a couple of hundred dollars additional, although I didn't truly like it.
I 'd been doing it for practically two months already, and I 'd misplaced how many people I 'd had sex with. I didn't want to know, but it had to be a lot. I 'd made a great deal of money too. Way 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. Choosing me up at school was worth an additional 200, which I thought was ludicrous, but you 'd be surprised how many people desired exactly that. Like it proved beyond a doubt that they were getting the real deal, an minor whore to suck and fuck . These were all older guys too, like my father's age, or more frequently even older, in their 40's and 50's primarily. He stated that was generous due to the fact that he was my supervisor, my representative, my security guy, my advertising and transport all rolled into one. He bought my clothes and the stuff I need to work, like condoms and lube and scrap like that. It was more like acting than anything else given that I had to actually like these men for an hour or 2. I had to act younger often too, as a little lady maybe eleven or twelve years old; however never older. I liked acting though and I think I had a genuine 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 really guilty in the beginning, however that had gone away when I recognized I wasn't harming anybody. The men loved me for a little bit, although some of them liked me for real and asked me if I 'd marry them, or a minimum of return 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 lonesome since I knew it wasn't really me they liked, mostly 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 men or something, many of them wanting me to call them Daddy while we did it. Some of them desired to call me by a different name, their daughter's name, or a niece or the little girl next door perhaps.
I might close my eyes and think of the man who was making love to me truly was my father. I might speak to him, inform him I enjoyed him, how he made me feel unique and grown-up and liked. And somewhere, somehow along that trip, I 'd begun to think it. I 'd go home and see my genuine dad and practically forget that it hadn't been him that I 'd fucked an hour or two prior to. However I was falling in love, in grown-up love, and I couldn't help it. It was programmed into me, maturing not as his daughter however as his other half. We 'd done everything however skilled our relationship, I believed, and he had to feel the same way. Didn't he?
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