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It turns out I liked being an escort, far more than I believed I would anyway. I even began taking the money, mainly due to the fact that I was much too useful to let a little thing like regret get in the way of good sense. But then, if I had the common sense I wouldn't have actually 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 long time though.
I only worked three or 4 nights a week anyway, given that I had to be house by 9 pm on school nights and ten o'clock on weekends. Deke didn't mind, he stated that was a good thing since he might actually charge more, particularly if the guy I was going with selected me up at school. That opportunity turned out to be worth a couple of hundred dollars additional, although I didn't truly like it. I was constantly afraid somebody would see me getting into a unusual car, a various odd cars and truck 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 thought was ridiculous, but you 'd be surprised how many people desired precisely that. Like it proved beyond a doubt that they were getting the real deal, an minor whore to suck and fuck . These were all older people too, like my dad's age, or more typically even older, in their 40's and 50's mostly. He stated that was generous since he was my supervisor, my agent, my security person, my advertising and transport all rolled into one. He purchased 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 because I had to in fact like these men for an hour or two. I had to act more youthful often too, as a little lady perhaps eleven or twelve years old; but never older. I liked acting though and I think I had a real 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 brief time we were together, that's all, and while part of me felt lonesome because I understood it wasn't truly me they liked, mainly I felt a little much safer that method. Like a man who loved me would not injure me, you know? I 'd had sex with like fifty guys or something, most of them wanting 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 perhaps.
I might close my eyes and picture the man who was making love to me actually was my papa. I might talk to him, tell him I enjoyed him, how he made me feel unique and developed and loved. I was falling in love, in full-grown love, and I could not help it.
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