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It turns out I liked being an escort, far more than I thought I would anyway. I even began taking the cash, primarily because I was much too practical to let a little thing like guilt get in the way of good sense. Then, if I had the typical 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 ridiculous things that little women do.
I hadn't been a little woman in a long time.
Deke didn't mind, he stated that was a great thing due to the fact that he might in fact charge more, particularly if the guy I was going with chosen me up at school. That privilege turned out to be worth a couple of hundred dollars additional, although I didn't truly like it.
I 'd been doing it for almost 2 months already, and I 'd lost track of the number of guys I 'd made love with. I didn't would like to know, but it had to be a lot. I 'd made a lot of money too. Way excessive for a ninth grader to spend, even after Deke took his cut. He charged 300 dollars an hour for me, or 500 dollars for two. Picking me up at school deserved an additional 200, which I thought was outrageous, but you 'd be surprised how many guys desired exactly that. Like it proved beyond a doubt that they were getting the genuine deal, an underage slut to suck and fuck . These were all older men too, like my father's age, or more frequently even older, in their 40's and 50's mostly. He stated that was generous since he was my manager, my representative, my security person, my marketing and transportation all rolled into one. He purchased my clothing and the things I require to work, like condoms and lube and junk like that. It was more like acting than anything else since I had to in fact like these people for an hour or 2. I had to act younger sometimes too, as a little girl perhaps eleven or twelve years old; but never ever older. I liked acting though and I believe I had a real talent for it.
The men liked me for a little bit, although some of them liked me for real and asked me if I 'd marry 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 brief time we were together, that's all, and while part of me felt lonesome because I knew it wasn't actually me they liked, primarily I felt a little much safer that method. Like a person who liked me would not harm me, you understand? I 'd had sex with like fifty men or something, most of them wanting 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 woman next door maybe.
I could close my eyes and imagine the male who was making love to me really was my father. I might talk to him, tell him I loved him, how he made me feel unique and grown-up and enjoyed. I was falling in love, in grown-up love, and I couldn't help it.
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