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It ends up I liked being an escort, much more than I thought I would anyway. I even started taking the cash, mostly because I was much too practical to let a little thing like regret get in the way of common sense. But then, if I had the sound judgment 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 girls do.
I had not been a little woman in a long time.
Deke didn't mind, he said that was a great thing due to the fact that he might in fact charge more, particularly if the man I was going with selected me up at school. That advantage 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 thought was ridiculous, but you 'd be stunned how many guys wanted exactly that. Like it showed beyond a doubt that they were getting the genuine offer, an underage slut to fuck and suck . These were all older people too, like my father's age, or more often even older, in their 40's and 50's mostly. He said that was generous since he was my manager, my agent, my security guy, my marketing and transport all rolled into one. He purchased my clothing and the things I need to work, like condoms and lube and scrap like that. It was more like acting than anything else since I had to really like these men for an hour or 2. I had to act younger often too, as a little girl maybe eleven or twelve years old; however never ever older. I liked acting though and I believe I had a real talent for it.
Mary Magdalene had been a whore. That's where I took my convenience and she 'd become my tutelary saint. I 'd felt truly guilty at first, however that had gone away when I recognized I wasn't harming anybody. The men enjoyed me for a little bit, although some of them liked me for real and asked me if I 'd wed them, or at least come back to their cities and cope 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 due to the fact that I knew it wasn't really me they liked, mainly I felt a little safer that method. Like a man who enjoyed me wouldn't hurt me, you know? I 'd had sex with like fifty people or something, most 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 perhaps.
I might close my eyes and envision the man who was making love to me truly was my papa. I might speak with him, inform him I liked him, how he made me feel grown-up and unique and enjoyed. And somewhere, somehow along that flight, I 'd begun to believe it. I 'd go home and see my genuine dad and nearly forget that it hadn't been him that I 'd fucked an hour or 2 before. I was falling in love, in full-grown love, and I couldn't assist it. It was programmed into me, maturing not as his daughter but as his other half. We 'd done whatever however practiced our relationship, I thought, and he had to feel the same way. Didn't he?
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