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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 money, primarily because I was much too useful to let a little thing like regret get in the way of good sense. However then, if I had the sound judgment I would not 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 women do.
I hadn't been a little girl in a long time.
Deke didn't mind, he said that was a great thing because he could actually charge more, especially if the person I was going with picked me up at school. That privilege turned out to be worth a couple of hundred dollars additional, although I didn't truly like it.
I 'd been doing it for practically two months currently, and I 'd lost track of how many guys I 'd made love with. I didn't wish to know, but it had to be a lot. I 'd made a great deal of cash too. Way too much for a ninth grader to invest, 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 ridiculous, however you 'd be surprised the number of men desired precisely that. Like it showed beyond a doubt that they were getting the real deal, an underage slut to draw and fuck . These were all older guys too, like my dad's age, or more typically even older, in their 40's and 50's mainly. He said that was generous due to the fact that he was my manager, my representative, my security person, my advertising and transportation all rolled into one. He purchased my clothing and the stuff I require to work, like condoms and lube and junk like that. It was more like acting than anything else because I had to actually like these guys for an hour or two. I had to act younger often too, as a little girl perhaps eleven or twelve years old; but never older. I liked acting though and I believe I had a genuine talent for it.
Mary Magdalene had been a slut. That's where I took my convenience and she 'd become my tutelary saint. I 'd felt truly guilty in the beginning, however that had actually gone away when I understood I wasn't harming anybody. The men enjoyed me for a bit, although a few of them loved me for real and asked me if I 'd wed them, or a minimum of 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 lonesome due to the fact that I understood it wasn't actually me they liked, primarily I felt a little safer that way. Like a person who loved me wouldn't harm 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 wanted to call me by a different name, their child's name, or a niece or the little girl next door possibly.
I could close my eyes and picture the man who was making love to me actually was my dad. I could talk with him, tell him I loved him, how he made me feel full-grown and unique and loved. And someplace, in some way along that trip, I 'd started to believe it. I 'd go home and see my genuine father and almost forget that it had not been him that I 'd fucked an hour or more before. I was falling in love, in developed love, and I could not assist it. It was configured into me, maturing not as his daughter but as his spouse. We 'd done whatever however practiced our relationship, I thought, and he needed to feel the same way. Didn't he?
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