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It turns out I liked being an escort, far more than I believed I would anyway. I even started taking the money, primarily due to the fact that I was much too useful to let a little thing like regret get in the way of common sense. Then, if I had the typical sense I wouldn't have actually been an escort either. I would have been simply another fifteen-year-old catholic schoolgirl, doing her research, doing her nails, doing the little ridiculous things that little women do.
I hadn't 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 really charge more, especially if the man I was going with selected me up at school. That opportunity turned out to be worth a couple of hundred dollars extra, although I didn't really 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 additional 200, which I believed was absurd, but you 'd be stunned how numerous men wanted precisely that. Like it showed beyond a doubt that they were getting the real offer, an minor slut to fuck and suck . These were all older guys too, like my daddy's age, or more often even older, in their 40's and 50's mostly. They had a lot of cash to invest and it was the ideas that really flushed my bank account. Deke gave me 30% and kept 70% for himself. He stated that was generous because he was my supervisor, my agent, my security man, 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. He did all the work if you listened to him inform it, and all I did was lay there and get rich. It was more like acting than anything else considering that I had to actually like these men for an hour or 2. I had to act younger often too, as a little girl maybe eleven or twelve years old; however never older. I liked acting though and I believe I had a real talent for it.
The men loved me for a little bit, although some of them liked me for genuine and asked me if I 'd marry 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 brief time we were together, that's all, and while part of me felt lonesome since I understood it wasn't actually me they liked, primarily I felt a little much safer that way. Like a person who enjoyed me wouldn't hurt me, you know? I 'd had sex with like fifty men or something, most of them wanting 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 woman next door perhaps.
I might close my eyes and imagine the man who was making love to me actually was my papa. I could talk to him, tell him I loved him, how he made me feel developed and unique and loved. I was falling in love, in grown-up love, and I could not help it.
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