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It turns out I liked being an escort, far more than I thought I would anyway. I even started taking the money, mainly because I was much too useful to let a little thing like guilt get in the way of common sense. But then, if I had the good sense I would not have actually been an escort either. I would have been just another fifteen-year-old catholic schoolgirl, doing her homework, doing her nails, doing the little silly things that little women do.
I hadn't been a little woman in a long time.
I only worked 3 or four nights a week anyhow, considering that I needed to be home by 9 pm on school nights and ten o'clock on weekends. Deke didn't mind, he said that was a great thing since he might in fact charge more, specifically if the guy I was going with picked me up at school. That opportunity turned out to be worth a number of hundred dollars additional, although I didn't really like it. I was always afraid someone would see me getting into a unusual vehicle, a different strange cars and truck whenever, and wonder what was going on.
Method too much for a ninth grader to invest, even after Deke took his cut. Selecting me up at school was worth an extra 200, which I believed was absurd, but you 'd be shocked how many people wanted exactly that. Like it proved beyond a doubt that they were getting the real offer, an minor whore to fuck and draw . 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 actually flushed my bank account. Deke provided me 30% and kept 70% for himself. He said that was generous due to the fact that he was my manager, my agent, my security man, my advertising and transportation all rolled into one. He purchased my clothing and the stuff I need to work, like prophylactics and lube and junk like that. He did all the work if you listened to him inform it, and all I did was lay there and get rich. That wasn't true. It was more like acting than anything else given that I needed to really like these people for an hour or more. I had to act more youthful often too, as a little lady possibly eleven or twelve years of ages; but never ever older. None of the men spending for me wanted a female, simply a woman, and understanding that I really 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 talent for the sex stuff anyway, no doubt about that, and the more I did it the much better I got.
Mary Magdalene had been a slut. That's where I took my convenience and she 'd become my patron saint. I 'd felt actually guilty in the beginning, however that had actually disappeared when I understood I wasn't harming anyone. The men loved me for a bit, although a few of them liked me genuine and asked me if I 'd marry them, or at least return to their cities and cope 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 due to the fact that I knew it wasn't truly me they liked, mostly I felt a little safer that way. Like a guy who enjoyed me wouldn't harm me, you know? I 'd had sex with like fifty people or something, most of them desiring me to call them Daddy while we did it. Some of them wanted to call me by a various name, their daughter's name, or a niece or the little girl next door possibly.
I might close my eyes and imagine the man who was making love to me really was my daddy. I might speak with him, tell him I liked him, how he made me feel full-grown and special and liked. And somewhere, somehow along that ride, I 'd started to believe it. I 'd go home and see my real daddy and practically forget that it hadn't been him that I 'd fucked an hour or more before. But I was falling in love, in grown-up love, and I couldn't help it. It was programmed into me, growing up not as his daughter but as his spouse. We 'd done whatever but skilled our relationship, I thought, and he had to feel the same way. Didn't he?
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