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It turns out I liked being an escort, much more than I thought I would anyhow. I even began taking the money, mostly due to the fact that I was much too practical to let a little thing like regret get in the way of common sense. But then, if I had the good sense I wouldn't have been an escort either. I would have been just another fifteen-year-old catholic schoolgirl, doing her research, doing her nails, doing the little silly things that little women do.
I had not been a little woman in a very long time though.
Deke didn't mind, he said that was a great thing due to the fact that he might actually charge more, specifically if the person I was going with chosen me up at school. That privilege 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. Selecting me up at school was worth an extra 200, which I thought was absurd, but you 'd be shocked how numerous guys wanted precisely that. Like it showed beyond a doubt that they were getting the genuine deal, an minor whore to draw and fuck . These were all older guys too, like my papa's age, or more typically even older, in their 40's and 50's primarily. He stated that was generous because he was my manager, my representative, my security man, my advertising and transport all rolled into one. He purchased my clothes and the stuff 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 men for an hour or 2. I had to act younger often too, as a little girl maybe eleven or twelve years old; but never ever older. I liked acting though and I believe I had a genuine talent for it.
Mary Magdalene had been a whore. That's where I took my convenience and she 'd become my tutelary saint. I 'd felt truly guilty in the beginning, but that had actually gone away when I understood I wasn't hurting anybody. The men loved me for a little bit, although a few 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 short time we were together, that's all, and while part of me felt lonesome since I knew it wasn't really me they liked, mainly I felt a little much safer that way. Like a man who liked me would not injure me, you know? I 'd had sex with like fifty men or something, many of them desiring me to call them Daddy while we did it. Some of them wanted to call me by a different name, their daughter's name, or a niece or the little lady next door maybe.
I might close my eyes and envision the man who was making love to me actually was my daddy. I could talk to him, tell him I liked him, how he made me feel unique and developed and enjoyed. I was falling in love, in grown-up love, and I could not help it.
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