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It turns out I liked being an escort, far more than I believed I would anyway. I even started taking the cash, mostly since I was much too practical to let a little thing like guilt get in the way of sound judgment. Then, if I had the common sense I wouldn't 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 silly things that little ladies do.
I hadn't been a little girl in a long time though.
Deke didn't mind, he stated that was a excellent thing due to the fact that he could in fact charge more, especially if the person I was going with selected me up at school. That privilege turned out to be worth a couple of hundred dollars additional, although I didn't truly like it.
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 ludicrous, however you 'd be stunned how lots of men wanted precisely that. Like it proved beyond a doubt that they were getting the genuine offer, an minor slut to fuck and draw . These were all older guys too, like my daddy'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 agent, my security guy, my marketing and transportation all rolled into one. He bought my clothing and the stuff I need to work, like condoms and lube and junk like that. It was more like acting than anything else considering that I had to actually like these men for an hour or two. I had to act younger in some cases too, as a little woman maybe eleven or twelve years old; but never older. I liked acting though and I think I had a genuine skill for it.
Mary Magdalene had actually been a whore. That's where I took my comfort and she 'd become my patron saint. I 'd felt really guilty initially, however that had gone away when I recognized I wasn't harming anyone. The men enjoyed me for a bit, although a few of them enjoyed me genuine and asked me if I 'd wed them, or at least come back to their cities and live with them. But 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 truly me they liked, primarily I felt a little much safer that way. Like a man who enjoyed me wouldn't injure me, you understand? I 'd had sex with like fifty people 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 possibly.
I might close my eyes and picture 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 developed and special and loved. I was falling in love, in developed love, and I couldn't assist it.
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