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It turns out I liked being an escort, far more than I thought I would anyhow. I even began taking the cash, primarily because I was much too practical to let a little thing like guilt get in the way of sound judgment. Then, if I had the common sense I would not have 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 ladies do.
I had not been a little girl in a long time.
Deke didn't mind, he said that was a great thing due to the fact that he might actually charge more, particularly if the person I was going with selected me up at school. That opportunity turned out to be worth a couple of hundred dollars additional, although I didn't actually 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 believed was outrageous, but you 'd be surprised how numerous people wanted exactly that. Like it showed beyond a doubt that they were getting the real offer, an minor whore to fuck and draw . These were all older guys too, like my father's age, or regularly even older, in their 40's and 50's primarily. They had a great deal of money to spend and it was the ideas that truly flushed my savings account. Deke offered me 30% and kept 70% for himself. He said that was generous since he was my supervisor, my agent, my security guy, my advertising and transportation all rolled into one. He bought my clothes and the stuff I require to work, like prophylactics and lube and scrap 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 real. It was more like acting than anything else because I had to really like these guys for an hour or 2. I needed to act younger often too, as a little lady perhaps eleven or twelve years of ages; but never older. None of the men paying for me desired a woman, just a woman, and knowing that I actually was just fifteen, that was the kicker for them. I liked acting though and I believe I had a genuine talent for it. I had a skill for the sex stuff anyhow, no doubt about that, and the more I did it the much better I got.
Mary Magdalene had been a whore. That's where I took my convenience and she 'd become my patron saint. I 'd felt really guilty in the beginning, but that had gone away when I recognized I wasn't injuring anyone. The men liked me for a bit, although some of them liked me for real and asked me if I 'd wed them, or at least return to their cities and deal 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 because I knew it wasn't actually me they liked, mostly I felt a little safer that way. Like a guy who liked me would not injure 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 various name, their child's name, or a niece or the little lady next door perhaps.
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 loved him, how he made me feel grown-up and special and liked. And someplace, somehow along that trip, I 'd started to think it. I 'd go home and see my genuine father and practically forget that it had not been him that I 'd fucked an hour or 2 prior to. But I was falling in love, in developed love, and I couldn't help it. It was set into me, growing up not as his child but as his wife. We 'd done everything however skilled our relationship, I thought, and he had to feel the same way. Didn't he?
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