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It ends up I liked being an escort, far more than I thought I would anyhow. I even started taking the money, mostly since I was much too practical to let a little thing like guilt get in the way of sound judgment. However then, if I had the good sense I wouldn't have been an escort either. I would have been simply another fifteen-year-old catholic schoolgirl, doing her research, doing her nails, doing the little ridiculous things that little women do.
I had not been a little girl in a long time.
Deke didn't mind, he stated that was a great thing since he might in fact charge more, especially if the person I was going with picked me up at school. That privilege turned out to be worth a couple of hundred dollars extra, although I didn't actually like it.
Way too much for a ninth grader to spend, even after Deke took his cut. Choosing me up at school was worth an extra 200, which I believed was outrageous, but you 'd be stunned how numerous people desired exactly that. Like it showed beyond a doubt that they were getting the real offer, an underage slut to fuck and suck . These were all older guys too, like my father's age, or more often even older, in their 40's and 50's mostly. They had a lot of money to invest and it was the pointers that actually flushed my checking account. Deke offered me 30% and kept 70% for himself. He stated that was generous since he was my supervisor, my representative, my security person, my marketing and transportation all rolled into one. He purchased my clothes and the stuff I require to work, like prophylactics and lube and scrap like that. He did all the work if you listened to him tell it, and all I did was lay there and get rich. It was more like acting than anything else because I had to really like these people for an hour or two. I had to act more youthful in some cases too, as a little woman possibly eleven or twelve years old; but never older. I liked acting though and I think I had a genuine skill for it.
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, but that had gone away when I realized I wasn't harming anyone. The men liked me for a little bit, although some of them liked me for real and asked me if I 'd wed them, or a minimum of return to their cities and cope with them. However 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 because I knew it wasn't truly me they liked, primarily I felt a little more secure that way. Like a person who enjoyed me wouldn't injure me, you know? I 'd had sex with like fifty men 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 child's name, or a niece or the little girl next door perhaps.
I could close my eyes and envision the man who was making love to me actually was my daddy. I might speak with him, inform him I enjoyed him, how he made me feel unique and grown-up and liked. And someplace, in some way along that ride, I 'd started to believe it. I 'd go house and see my real dad and almost forget that it hadn't been him that I 'd fucked an hour or more before. However I was falling in love, in full-grown love, and I could not help it. It was programmed into me, growing up not as his daughter however as his partner. We 'd done whatever but consummate our relationship, I thought, and he needed to feel the same way. Didn't he?
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