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It turns out I liked being an escort, much more than I thought I would anyway. I even started taking the money, primarily since I was much too useful to let a little thing like guilt obstruct of good sense. Then, if I had the common sense I would not have actually 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 ladies do.
I had not been a little girl in a long time though.
Deke didn't mind, he stated that was a good thing since he could really charge more, especially if the person I was going with selected me up at school. That benefit turned out to be worth a couple of hundred dollars additional, although I didn't really like it.
Way too much for a ninth grader to spend, even after Deke took his cut. Selecting me up at school was worth an extra 200, which I believed was outrageous, but you 'd be stunned how numerous men wanted precisely that. Like it showed beyond a doubt that they were getting the real deal, an minor slut to fuck and suck . These were all older guys too, like my father's age, or more frequently even older, in their 40's and 50's primarily. He said that was generous since he was my supervisor, my representative, my security guy, my marketing and transportation all rolled into one. He bought my clothing and the things I need to work, like prophylactics and lube and junk like that. It was more like acting than anything else considering that I had to really like these people for an hour or 2. I had to act more youthful often too, as a little girl maybe eleven or twelve years old; but never ever older. I liked acting though and I believe I had a real skill for it.
Mary Magdalene had been a slut. That's where I took my comfort and she 'd become my tutelary saint. I 'd felt truly guilty in the beginning, however that had disappeared when I recognized I wasn't hurting anyone. The men liked me for a bit, although some of them liked me for real and asked me if I 'd wed them, or a minimum of return 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 lonely because I understood it wasn't truly me they liked, mainly I felt a little more secure that method. Like a guy who liked me wouldn't hurt me, you know? I 'd had sex with like fifty men or something, many of them wanting 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 lady next door possibly.
I might close my eyes and think of the man who was making love to me truly was my dad. I could talk to him, inform him I enjoyed him, how he made me feel special and full-grown and liked. And somewhere, somehow along that ride, I 'd begun to think it. I 'd go home and see my genuine father and almost forget that it hadn't been him that I 'd fucked an hour or 2 before. I was falling in love, in developed love, and I could not assist it. It was configured into me, maturing not as his child however as his wife. We 'd done everything but practiced our relationship, I thought, and he needed to feel the same way. Didn't he?
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