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It turns out I liked being an escort, a lot more than I thought I would anyhow. I even began taking the cash, mostly since I was much too useful to let a little thing like regret obstruct of common sense. Then, if I had the typical sense I would not 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 ridiculous things that little girls do.
I had not been a little girl in a long period of time though.
Deke didn't mind, he said that was a great thing because he could really charge more, especially if the man 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. Picking me up at school was worth an additional 200, which I believed was ridiculous, however you 'd be shocked how lots of people desired precisely that. Like it showed beyond a doubt that they were getting the real deal, an underage whore to fuck and draw . These were all older guys too, like my papa's age, or regularly even older, in their 40's and 50's primarily. They had a great deal of money to spend and it was the suggestions that actually flushed my checking account. Deke provided me 30% and kept 70% for himself. He stated that was generous due to the fact that he was my manager, my agent, my security guy, my marketing and transportation all rolled into one. He bought my clothes and the stuff I require to work, like prophylactics and lube and junk like that. He did all the work if you listened to him inform it, and all I did was lay there and get rich. 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 in some cases too, as a little woman perhaps eleven or twelve years old; however never ever older. I liked acting though and I think I had a real skill for it.
The men liked me for a little bit, although some of them enjoyed 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 short time we were together, that's all, and while part of me felt lonely 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 wouldn't harm me, you know? I loved my papa. That had actually changed too and I do not understand if one thing involved the other exactly, but I do not believe in coincidence either. I 'd made love 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 child's name, or a niece or the little woman next door possibly. A lot of them didn't mind calling me Samantha either, and that bothered me at first, but then it didn't and I started liking it.
I might close my eyes and imagine the man who was making love to me really was my father. I might talk to him, tell him I liked him, how he made me feel developed and unique and liked. I was falling in love, in grown-up love, and I could not assist it.
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