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It turns out I liked being an escort, much more than I believed I would anyhow. I even began taking the money, mostly because I was much too practical to let a little thing like regret obstruct of common sense. Then, if I had the typical 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 silly things that little girls do.
I hadn't been a little lady in a very long time though.
Deke didn't mind, he stated that was a good thing because he could in fact charge more, specifically if the man I was going with picked me up at school. That privilege turned out to be worth a couple of hundred dollars additional, although I didn't truly like it.
Method too much for a ninth grader to invest, even after Deke took his cut. Selecting me up at school was worth an additional 200, which I believed was ridiculous, but you 'd be surprised how lots of people wanted precisely that. Like it proved beyond a doubt that they were getting the genuine deal, an minor whore to suck and fuck . These were all older people too, like my papa's age, or more frequently even older, in their 40's and 50's mainly. They had a lot of money to spend and it was the ideas that really flushed my savings account. Deke provided me 30% and kept 70% for himself. He said that was generous since he was my manager, my agent, my security man, 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. He did all the work if you listened to him tell it, and all I did was lay there and get rich. But that wasn't real. It was more like acting than anything else given that I had to actually like these people for an hour or two. I had to act more youthful sometimes too, as a little girl maybe eleven or twelve years old; but never older. None of the men spending for me wanted a woman, simply a woman, and understanding that I actually was simply fifteen, that was the kicker for them. I liked acting though and I believe I had a real skill for it. I had a skill for the sex stuff anyhow, no doubt about that, and the more I did it the better I got.
The men enjoyed 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 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 way. Like a person who liked me wouldn't hurt me, you understand? I 'd had sex with like fifty guys 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 daughter's name, or a niece or the little lady next door possibly.
I could close my eyes and picture the man who was making love to me really was my father. I might talk with him, inform him I liked him, how he made me feel special and full-grown and enjoyed. And somewhere, somehow along that ride, I 'd begun to think it. I 'd go house and see my genuine daddy and almost forget that it hadn't been him that I 'd fucked an hour or two before. I was falling in love, in full-grown love, and I could not assist it. It was set into me, maturing not as his daughter however as his better half. We 'd done whatever however skilled our relationship, I thought, and he had to feel the same way. Didn't he?
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