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It turns out I liked being an escort, a lot more than I thought I would anyway. I even started taking the money, mainly because I was much too practical to let a little thing like regret get in the way of sound judgment. Then, if I had the typical sense I wouldn't 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 woman in a long time.
Deke didn't mind, he said that was a excellent thing since he could really charge more, specifically if the guy 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 actually like it.
Way too much for a ninth grader to invest, even after Deke took his cut. Selecting me up at school was worth an extra 200, which I thought was ludicrous, however you 'd be shocked how numerous men wanted precisely that. Like it proved 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 father's age, or more typically even older, in their 40's and 50's primarily. He stated that was generous due to the fact that he was my manager, my agent, my security man, my advertising and transportation all rolled into one. He bought my clothing and the stuff I need 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 genuine talent for it.
Mary Magdalene had actually been a slut. That's where I took my comfort and she 'd become my patron saint. I 'd felt truly guilty initially, but that had actually disappeared when I realized I wasn't injuring anyone. The men loved me for a bit, although a few of them enjoyed me for real and asked me if I 'd marry them, or a minimum of come back to their cities and cope 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 lonesome due to the fact that I knew it wasn't really me they liked, mostly I felt a little more secure that method. Like a person who enjoyed me would not injure me, you know? I 'd had sex with like fifty men or something, many of them desiring 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 girl next door perhaps.
I might close my eyes and envision the male who was making love to me really was my father. I could talk to him, inform him I loved him, how he made me feel unique and developed and liked. I was falling in love, in full-grown love, and I couldn't help it.
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