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It ends up I liked being an escort, far more than I believed I would anyway. I even started taking the cash, mostly because I was much too practical to let a little thing like regret obstruct of common sense. Then, if I had the typical sense 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 silly things that little women do.
I hadn't been a little lady in a long time.
Deke didn't mind, he said that was a good thing because he might actually charge more, particularly if the guy I was going with chosen me up at school. That benefit turned out to be worth a couple of hundred dollars extra, although I didn't truly like it.
Way too much for a ninth grader to invest, even after Deke took his cut. Picking me up at school was worth an extra 200, which I believed was absurd, but you 'd be stunned how lots of men desired exactly that. Like it proved beyond a doubt that they were getting the real offer, an minor slut to fuck and draw . These were all older guys too, like my father's age, or more frequently 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 representative, my security man, my advertising and transport all rolled into one. He bought my clothes and the things I require to work, like condoms and lube and junk like that. That wasn't true. It was more like acting than anything else since I needed to really like these men for an hour or more. I needed to act younger sometimes too, as a little woman maybe eleven or twelve years old; but never ever older. None of the men spending for me desired a woman, just a woman, and understanding that I actually was just fifteen, that was the kicker for them. I liked acting though and I think I had a real skill for it. I had a talent for the sex things anyhow, no doubt about that, and the more I did it the better I got.
The men liked me for a little bit, although some of them liked me for real and asked me if I 'd wed 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 lonely since I knew it wasn't really me they liked, mostly I felt a little much safer that method. Like a guy who enjoyed me would not hurt me, you understand? I 'd had sex with like fifty men or something, most of them desiring 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 possibly.
I could close my eyes and imagine the man who was making love to me actually was my father. I might talk to him, tell him I enjoyed him, how he made me feel unique and developed and liked. I was falling in love, in full-grown love, and I could not help it.
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