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It turns out I liked being an escort, much more than I believed I would anyway. I even began taking the money, primarily due to the fact that I was much too useful to let a little thing like regret obstruct of sound judgment. However then, if I had the common sense I would not 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 girls do.
I hadn't been a little girl in a long period of time though.
Deke didn't mind, he stated that was a great thing since he might really charge more, especially if the person I was going with picked me up at school. That advantage turned out to be worth a couple of hundred dollars additional, although I didn't actually 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 additional 200, which I believed was ridiculous, however you 'd be surprised how numerous guys wanted exactly that. Like it proved beyond a doubt that they were getting the real offer, an underage whore to draw and fuck . These were all older men too, like my papa's age, or more often even older, in their 40's and 50's primarily. He said that was generous since he was my manager, my agent, my security man, my marketing and transportation all rolled into one. He purchased my clothes and the things I need to work, like prophylactics and lube and junk like that. That wasn't real. It was more like acting than anything else considering that I needed to actually like these men for an hour or more. I had to act more youthful sometimes too, as a little woman maybe eleven or twelve years of ages; but never ever older. None of the men spending for me wanted a female, just a girl, and knowing that I truly 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 stuff anyway, no doubt about that, and the more I did it the much better I got.
Mary Magdalene had been a whore. That's where I took my comfort and she 'd become my tutelary saint. I 'd felt actually guilty in the beginning, but that had actually gone away when I realized I wasn't harming anybody. The men loved me for a bit, although some of them loved me for real and asked me if I 'd wed them, or at least return to their cities and deal 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 lonely since I knew it wasn't really me they liked, mostly I felt a little more secure that method. Like a person who loved me wouldn't hurt me, you know? I 'd had sex with like fifty people 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 think of the man who was making love to me actually was my daddy. I could talk with him, inform him I liked him, how he made me feel unique and grown-up and loved. And somewhere, in some way along that ride, I 'd begun to believe it. I 'd go house and see my genuine father and practically forget that it had not been him that I 'd fucked an hour or two before. I was falling in love, in developed love, and I could not help it. It was programmed into me, growing up not as his daughter but as his wife. We 'd done everything however skilled our relationship, I believed, and he needed to feel the same way. Didn't he?
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