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It ends up I liked being an escort, much more than I believed I would anyway. I even started taking the money, mainly since I was much too practical to let a little thing like regret obstruct of common sense. Then, if I had the typical sense I wouldn't 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 ridiculous things that little ladies do.
I hadn't been a little girl in a long time.
Deke didn't mind, he said that was a excellent thing due to the fact that he might really charge more, especially if the man I was going with chosen me up at school. That opportunity turned out to be worth a couple of hundred dollars additional, although I didn't truly like it.
I 'd been doing it for practically 2 months currently, and I 'd misplaced the number of men I 'd made love with. I didn't want to know, but it had to be a lot. I 'd made a great deal of cash too. Method too much 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. Selecting me up at school deserved an extra 200, which I believed was outrageous, however you 'd marvel the number of men wanted exactly that. Like it showed beyond a doubt that they were getting the real deal, an underage whore to fuck and draw . These were all older people too, like my dad's age, or more often even older, in their 40's and 50's primarily. He said that was generous due to the fact that he was my supervisor, my agent, my security guy, my marketing and transport all rolled into one. He purchased my clothes and the stuff I need to work, like condoms and lube and scrap like that. It was more like acting than anything else since I had to in fact like these guys for an hour or two. I had to act younger in some cases too, as a little lady possibly eleven or twelve years old; however never ever older. I liked acting though and I think I had a genuine talent for it.
Mary Magdalene had actually been a whore. That's where I took my comfort and she 'd become my tutelary saint. I 'd felt truly guilty at first, but that had actually disappeared when I understood I wasn't hurting anybody. The men 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 deal with them. But 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 since I understood it wasn't really me they liked, primarily I felt a little safer that way. Like a guy who loved me wouldn't hurt me, you understand? I 'd had sex with like fifty people or something, most of them wanting me to call them Daddy while we did it. Some of them desired to call me by a different name, their daughter's name, or a niece or the little woman 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 to him, tell him I enjoyed him, how he made me feel full-grown and unique and enjoyed. And someplace, somehow along that ride, I 'd started to believe it. I 'd go house and see my genuine daddy and nearly forget that it had not been him that I 'd fucked an hour or two before. But I was falling in love, in developed love, and I couldn't help it. It was programmed into me, maturing not as his child however as his wife. We 'd done whatever but skilled our relationship, I believed, and he had to feel the same way. Didn't he?
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