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It ends up I liked being an escort, a lot more than I believed I would anyhow. I even began taking the cash, primarily because I was much too useful to let a little thing like guilt obstruct of sound judgment. Then, if I had the typical 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 had not been a little lady in a long time.
Deke didn't mind, he stated that was a good thing because he could really charge more, specifically if the guy I was going with selected 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. Choosing me up at school was worth an extra 200, which I believed was outrageous, however you 'd be surprised how many people desired exactly that. Like it showed beyond a doubt that they were getting the real offer, an underage whore to draw and fuck . These were all older guys too, like my dad's age, or more often even older, in their 40's and 50's primarily. He said that was generous due to the fact that he was my manager, my representative, my security man, my advertising and transportation all rolled into one. He bought my clothes and the things I need to work, like condoms and lube and scrap like that. That wasn't true. It was more like acting than anything else because I needed to in fact like these men for an hour or more. I needed to act more youthful in some cases too, as a little girl perhaps eleven or twelve years of ages; but never older. None of the men spending for me desired a lady, simply a lady, and knowing that I actually was simply fifteen, that was the kicker for them. I liked acting though and I think I had a real talent for it. I had a talent for the sex stuff anyway, no doubt about that, and the more I did it the better I got.
Mary Magdalene had been a slut. That's where I took my comfort and she 'd become my patron saint. I 'd felt really guilty at first, but that had gone away when I realized I wasn't harming anyone. The men liked me for a bit, although some of them liked 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 because I knew it wasn't truly me they liked, mostly I felt a little more secure that way. Like a person who enjoyed me wouldn't harm me, you understand? I was in love with my papa. That had altered too and I do not know if something pertained to the other exactly, but I don't believe in coincidence either. I 'd had sex with like fifty men or something, most of them desiring me to call them Daddy while we did it. A few of them wished to call me by a various name, their daughter's name, or a niece or the little woman next door perhaps. But a lot of them didn't mind calling me Samantha either, and that troubled me in the beginning, but then it didn't and I began liking it.
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 unique and enjoyed. I was falling in love, in full-grown love, and I could not assist it.
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