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It turns out I liked being an escort, far more than I believed I would anyhow. I even started taking the cash, mostly due to the fact that I was much too useful to let a little thing like regret obstruct of common sense. But then, if I had the good sense 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 silly things that little women do.
I hadn't been a little woman in a long time.
Deke didn't mind, he said that was a excellent thing since he could really charge more, particularly if the guy I was going with picked me up at school. That opportunity turned out to be worth a couple of hundred dollars extra, although I didn't truly like it.
I 'd been doing it for nearly 2 months currently, and I 'd lost track of the number of guys I 'd had sex with. I didn't would like to know, but it had to be a lot. I 'd made a great deal of money too. Method excessive for a ninth grader to invest, even after Deke took his cut. He charged 300 dollars an hour for me, or 500 dollars for two. Selecting me up at school was worth an additional 200, which I thought was ludicrous, but you 'd be surprised how many people desired precisely that. Like it proved beyond a doubt that they were getting the genuine deal, an underage slut to suck and fuck . These were all older guys too, like my dad's age, or more often even older, in their 40's and 50's mostly. He stated that was generous because he was my manager, my representative, my security man, my marketing and transportation 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 because I had to actually like these people for an hour or two. I had to act younger in some cases too, as a little lady maybe eleven or twelve years old; however never ever older. I liked acting though and I think I had a genuine talent for it.
The guys enjoyed 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 lonesome since I knew it wasn't really me they liked, mostly I felt a little safer that method. Like a man who enjoyed me wouldn't hurt me, you understand? I 'd had sex with like fifty people 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 daughter's name, or a niece or the little girl next door perhaps.
I might close my eyes and picture the man who was making love to me actually was my dad. I might talk to him, inform him I liked him, how he made me feel unique and grown-up and enjoyed. And someplace, somehow along that flight, I 'd started to think it. I 'd go house and see my real father and almost forget that it had not been him that I 'd fucked an hour or two prior to. I was falling in love, in developed love, and I couldn't help it. It was set into me, growing up not as his daughter but as his better half. We 'd done whatever but skilled our relationship, I thought, and he needed to feel the same way. Didn't he?
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