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It ends up I liked being an escort, a lot more than I thought I would anyway. I even started taking the cash, mainly since I was much too useful to let a little thing like guilt get in the way of sound judgment. Then, if I had the common sense I wouldn't have actually been an escort either. I would have been simply another fifteen-year-old catholic schoolgirl, doing her homework, doing her nails, doing the little silly things that little women do.
I had not been a little woman in a long time.
I just worked 3 or four nights a week anyway, given that I had to be home by 9 pm on school nights and ten o'clock on weekends. Deke didn't mind, he stated that was a good thing since he could actually charge more, specifically if the man I was going with selected me up at school. That privilege turned out to be worth a couple of hundred dollars additional, although I didn't truly like it. I was always scared someone would see me entering into a unusual automobile, a various weird car whenever, and question what was going on.
Way too much for a ninth grader to spend, even after Deke took his cut. Selecting me up at school was worth an extra 200, which I believed was ridiculous, but you 'd be stunned how numerous men wanted exactly that. Like it showed beyond a doubt that they were getting the real deal, an underage slut to fuck and suck . These were all older people too, like my dad's age, or more typically even older, in their 40's and 50's mainly. He said that was generous because he was my supervisor, my representative, my security guy, my marketing and transport all rolled into one. He purchased my clothing and the stuff I need to work, like condoms and lube and junk like that. It was more like acting than anything else because I had to in fact 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 ever older. I liked acting though and I believe I had a genuine talent for it.
The males 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 short time we were together, that's all, and while part of me felt lonely because I understood it wasn't truly me they liked, mostly I felt a little much safer that way. Like a person who loved me would not hurt 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 lady next door maybe.
I might close my eyes and think of the man who was making love to me really was my daddy. I could talk to him, tell him I enjoyed him, how he made me feel unique and full-grown and loved. I was falling in love, in grown-up love, and I could not assist it.
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