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It ends up I liked being an escort, a lot more than I believed I would anyway. I even began taking the money, primarily because I was much too practical to let a little thing like guilt get in the way of common sense. But then, if I had the sound judgment I wouldn't 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 ladies do.
I hadn't been a little lady in a very long time though.
Deke didn't mind, he said that was a excellent 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 extra, although I didn't really 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 additional 200, which I thought was absurd, but you 'd be stunned how many guys desired precisely that. Like it showed beyond a doubt that they were getting the real deal, an minor whore to draw and fuck . These were all older men too, like my daddy's age, or more often even older, in their 40's and 50's mainly. He said that was generous due to the fact that he was my manager, my agent, my security person, my advertising and transportation all rolled into one. He purchased my clothes and the stuff I need to work, like condoms and lube and scrap like that. But that wasn't true. It was more like acting than anything else given that I had to really like these guys for an hour or 2. I needed to act more youthful often too, as a little lady possibly eleven or twelve years of ages; however never older. None of the men paying for me desired a lady, just a girl, and knowing that I really was simply fifteen, that was the kicker for them. I liked acting though and I believe I had a genuine skill for it. I had a talent for the sex stuff anyhow, no doubt about that, and the more I did it the better I got.
Mary Magdalene had been a slut. That's where I took my convenience and she 'd become my patron saint. I 'd felt really guilty initially, however that had disappeared when I realized I wasn't injuring anyone. The men liked me for a bit, although some of them loved me for real and asked me if I 'd marry them, or a minimum of come back to their cities and deal 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 due to the fact that I knew it wasn't truly me they liked, mainly I felt a little much safer that way. Like a person who loved me would not harm me, you understand? I 'd had sex with like fifty people 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 child's name, or a niece or the little lady next door maybe.
I might close my eyes and imagine the man who was making love to me truly was my papa. I could talk to him, tell him I liked him, how he made me feel unique and grown-up and liked. I was falling in love, in developed love, and I couldn't help it.
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