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It ends up I liked being an escort, a lot 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. Then, if I had the typical sense 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 ridiculous things that little girls do.
I had not been a little girl in a long time though.
Deke didn't mind, he said that was a great thing because he could really charge more, especially if the man I was going with chosen me up at school. That advantage turned out to be worth a couple of hundred dollars additional, although I didn't really like it.
I 'd been doing it for practically two months already, and I 'd lost track of how many guys I 'd had sex with. I didn't want to know, but it needed to be a lot. I 'd made a great deal of cash too. Way 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. Picking me up at school deserved an extra 200, which I believed was ludicrous, but you 'd be surprised the number of men wanted exactly that. Like it showed beyond a doubt that they were getting the real offer, an minor slut to fuck and draw . These were all older guys too, like my papa's age, or more often even older, in their 40's and 50's mainly. They had a great deal of cash to invest and it was the ideas that really flushed my savings account. Deke provided me 30% and kept 70% for himself. He stated that was generous because he was my supervisor, my agent, my security guy, my marketing and transport all rolled into one. He bought my clothing 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 given that I had to really like these people for an hour or 2. I had to act more youthful sometimes too, as a little woman possibly eleven or twelve years old; but never older. I liked acting though and I believe I had a genuine talent for it.
The males loved 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 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 because I understood it wasn't really me they liked, mainly I felt a little much safer that way. Like a person who liked me wouldn't injure me, you understand? I 'd had sex with like fifty men or something, many of them desiring 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 papa. I might speak to him, inform him I enjoyed him, how he made me feel unique and full-grown and enjoyed. And somewhere, in some way along that trip, I 'd started to think it. I 'd go home and see my genuine father and nearly forget that it hadn't been him that I 'd fucked an hour or more prior to. I was falling in love, in developed love, and I couldn't assist it. It was configured into me, maturing not as his child but as his partner. We 'd done everything but consummate our relationship, I thought, and he had to feel the same way. Didn't he?
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