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It ends up I liked being an escort, much more than I thought I would anyhow. I even began taking the cash, mainly because I was much too useful to let a little thing like guilt obstruct of common sense. Then, if I had the common sense I wouldn't have 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 girls do.
I had not been a little lady in a long time.
Deke didn't mind, he stated that was a good thing because he might actually charge more, especially if the man I was going with chosen me up at school. That advantage turned out to be worth a couple of hundred dollars additional, although I didn't actually like it.
I 'd been doing it for almost two months already, and I 'd misplaced the number of people I 'd made love with. I didn't want to know, however it had to be a lot. I 'd made a great deal of money too. Way too much for a ninth grader to spend, even after Deke took his cut. He charged 300 dollars an hour for me, or 500 dollars for 2. Choosing me up at school deserved an extra 200, which I thought was ludicrous, however you 'd be surprised the number of guys desired exactly that. Like it showed beyond a doubt that they were getting the real offer, an underage whore to fuck and draw . These were all older guys too, like my daddy's age, or more frequently even older, in their 40's and 50's mostly. He said that was generous because he was my manager, my representative, my security person, my marketing and transportation all rolled into one. He bought my clothes and the stuff I require to work, like prophylactics and lube and junk like that. It was more like acting than anything else since I had to in fact like these men for an hour or 2. I had to act younger often too, as a little woman possibly eleven or twelve years old; but never ever older. I liked acting though and I think I had a real skill for it.
Mary Magdalene had been a slut. That's where I took my convenience and she 'd become my patron saint. I 'd felt truly guilty at first, but that had disappeared when I understood I wasn't harming anybody. The men liked me for a bit, although a few of them loved me for real and asked me if I 'd wed them, or at least return 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 lonely since I understood it wasn't actually me they liked, mostly I felt a little more secure that way. Like a person who enjoyed me would not harm me, you know? I loved my papa. That had changed too and I do not know if something involved the other specifically, but I don't believe in coincidence either. I 'd made love with like fifty men or something, the majority of them desiring me to call them Daddy while we did it. A few of them wished to call me by a various name, their child's name, or a niece or the little girl next door maybe. A lot of them didn't mind calling me Samantha either, and that bothered me at initially, however then it didn't and I began liking it.
I could close my eyes and picture the guy who was making love to me actually was my daddy. I might talk to him, inform him I loved him, how he made me feel unique and grown-up and loved. I was falling in love, in full-grown love, and I couldn't help it.
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