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It turns out I liked being an escort, much more than I thought I would anyhow. I even began taking the cash, primarily since I was much too practical to let a little thing like guilt get in the way of good sense. But then, if I had the common 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 ridiculous things that little women do.
I had not been a little woman in a long time.
I only worked 3 or four nights a week anyway, since I had to be house by 9 pm on school nights and ten o'clock on weekends. But Deke didn't mind, he said that was a advantage because he could actually charge more, specifically if the man I was choosing selected me up at school. That benefit turned out to be worth a couple of hundred dollars additional, although I didn't truly like it. I was always afraid somebody would see me entering a odd vehicle, a different odd car every time, and question what was going on.
Way too much for a ninth grader to invest, even after Deke took his cut. Choosing me up at school was worth an additional 200, which I believed was outrageous, however you 'd be stunned how lots of people wanted exactly that. Like it showed beyond a doubt that they were getting the real deal, an minor slut to suck and fuck . These were all older people too, like my daddy's age, or more frequently even older, in their 40's and 50's mainly. He said that was generous because he was my manager, my agent, my security man, my marketing and transport all rolled into one. He purchased my clothes and the stuff I need to work, like condoms and lube and junk like that. It was more like acting than anything else given that I had to actually like these guys for an hour or two. I had to act younger often too, as a little woman perhaps eleven or twelve years old; but never older. I liked acting though and I think I had a genuine skill for it.
The men enjoyed me for a little bit, although some of them enjoyed me for genuine and asked me if I 'd wed 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, mostly I felt a little much safer that way. Like a guy who enjoyed me would not injure me, you know? I 'd had sex with like fifty guys or something, many of them desiring me to call them Daddy while we did it. Some of them wanted to call me by a various name, their daughter's name, or a niece or the little lady next door maybe.
I could close my eyes and envision the guy who was making love to me truly was my papa. I might talk to him, inform him I liked him, how he made me feel unique and full-grown and liked. I was falling in love, in full-grown love, and I could not assist it.
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