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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 money, mostly because I was much too useful to let a little thing like regret get in the way of common sense. Then, if I had the typical sense I wouldn't have actually been an escort either. I would have been simply another fifteen-year-old catholic schoolgirl, doing her research, doing her nails, doing the little silly things that little women 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 in fact charge more, particularly if the man 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 truly like it.
Method too much for a ninth grader to invest, even after Deke took his cut. Picking me up at school was worth an extra 200, which I believed was outrageous, but you 'd be shocked how numerous guys desired precisely that. Like it proved beyond a doubt that they were getting the real deal, an minor whore to fuck and suck . 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 supervisor, my agent, my security guy, my marketing and transportation all rolled into one. He bought my clothes and the stuff I need to work, like condoms and lube and scrap like that. That wasn't true. It was more like acting than anything else given that I needed to really like these guys for an hour or two. I needed to act more youthful often too, as a little woman maybe eleven or twelve years of ages; but never older. None of the men spending for me wanted a female, simply a girl, and understanding that I really was just fifteen, that was the kicker for them. I liked acting though and I believe I had a genuine skill for it. I had a skill for the sex stuff anyway, no doubt about that, and the more I did it the better I got.
The guys liked me for a little bit, although some of them liked me for genuine 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 actually me they liked, primarily I felt a little safer that method. Like a person who loved me wouldn't injure me, you understand? I 'd had sex with like fifty men or something, most of them desiring 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 think of the man who was making love to me actually was my dad. I could talk with him, inform him I liked him, how he made me feel special and developed and enjoyed. And someplace, somehow along that flight, I 'd started to believe it. I 'd go house and see my real dad and almost forget that it hadn't been him that I 'd fucked an hour or more prior to. I was falling in love, in developed love, and I couldn't help it. It was programmed into me, growing up not as his daughter but as his better half. We 'd done whatever but consummate our relationship, I thought, and he needed to feel the same way. Didn't he?
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