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It ends up I liked being an escort, much more than I thought I would anyhow. I even started taking the cash, primarily due to the fact that I was much too practical to let a little thing like guilt get in the way of good sense. But then, if I had the sound judgment I wouldn't have been an escort either. I would have been just another fifteen-year-old catholic schoolgirl, doing her research, doing her nails, doing the little silly things that little ladies do.
I had not been a little lady in a very long time though.
Deke didn't mind, he stated that was a good thing since he might in fact charge more, specifically 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 really like it.
Way too much for a ninth grader to invest, even after Deke took his cut. Choosing me up at school was worth an extra 200, which I thought was absurd, however you 'd be surprised how many men desired precisely that. Like it showed beyond a doubt that they were getting the real offer, an minor slut to draw and fuck . These were all older people too, like my daddy's age, or more frequently even older, in their 40's and 50's mostly. He stated that was generous since he was my supervisor, my representative, my security man, my marketing and transportation all rolled into one. He purchased 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 really like these men for an hour or two. I had to act more youthful often too, as a little lady possibly eleven or twelve years old; however never older. I liked acting though and I think I had a real skill for it.
Mary Magdalene had been a whore. That's where I took my comfort and she 'd become my patron saint. I 'd felt truly guilty at first, but that had disappeared when I realized I wasn't injuring anybody. The men liked me for a little bit, although some of them enjoyed me genuine and asked me if I 'd wed them, or at least return to their cities and deal 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 truly me they liked, mostly I felt a little safer that way. Like a guy who enjoyed me wouldn't hurt me, you understand? I loved my papa. That had changed too and I don't know if one thing had to do with the other precisely, but I don't believe in coincidence either. I 'd had sex with like fifty guys or something, most of them wanting me to call them Daddy while we did it. A few of them wished to call me by a different name, their daughter's name, or a niece or the little girl next door maybe. However a lot of them didn't mind calling me Samantha either, and that bothered me at first, but then it didn't and I began liking it.
I might close my eyes and imagine the guy who was making love to me truly was my papa. I could talk to him, tell him I liked him, how he made me feel grown-up and unique and liked. I was falling in love, in developed love, and I couldn't assist it.
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