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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 money, mostly because 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 common sense I would not have actually 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 hadn't been a little woman in a long period of time though.
Deke didn't mind, he stated that was a excellent thing because he could really charge more, particularly if the man I was going with chosen me up at school. That benefit turned out to be worth a couple of hundred dollars additional, 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 additional 200, which I thought was outrageous, however you 'd be shocked how numerous guys desired exactly that. Like it showed beyond a doubt that they were getting the real deal, an underage whore to fuck and suck . These were all older men too, like my father's age, or more frequently even older, in their 40's and 50's mostly. He stated that was generous due to the fact that he was my manager, my representative, my security guy, my marketing and transportation all rolled into one. He bought my clothes and the stuff I need to work, like prophylactics and lube and scrap like that. It was more like acting than anything else because I had to actually like these guys for an hour or two. I had to act younger sometimes too, as a little woman perhaps eleven or twelve years old; however never ever older. I liked acting though and I believe I had a real skill for it.
Mary Magdalene had actually been a slut. That's where I took my comfort and she 'd become my patron saint. I 'd felt actually guilty in the beginning, but that had gone away when I realized I wasn't hurting anybody. The men enjoyed me for a bit, although a few of them loved me genuine and asked me if I 'd marry them, or a minimum of come back to their cities and live with them. However they loved who I pretended to be for that short time we were together, that's all, and while part of me felt lonesome due to the fact that I understood it wasn't actually me they liked, mainly I felt a little safer that way. Like a man who liked 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 different name, their child's name, or a niece or the little girl next door perhaps.
I might close my eyes and think of the man who was making love to me really was my father. I might talk to him, tell him I enjoyed him, how he made me feel unique and grown-up and liked. And someplace, somehow along that trip, I 'd begun to believe it. I 'd go home and see my genuine daddy and nearly forget that it had not been him that I 'd fucked an hour or two prior to. I was falling in love, in grown-up love, and I couldn't assist it. It was set into me, growing up not as his daughter but as his spouse. We 'd done everything but consummate our relationship, I believed, and he needed to feel the same way. Didn't he?
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