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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, mostly due to the fact that I was much too practical to let a little thing like guilt obstruct of good sense. However then, if I had the common sense I would not have actually been an escort either. I would have been just another fifteen-year-old catholic schoolgirl, doing her research, doing her nails, doing the little ridiculous things that little girls do.
I had not been a little woman in a long time.
Deke didn't mind, he stated that was a good thing because he could actually charge more, specifically if the guy I was going with picked me up at school. That benefit turned out to be worth a couple of hundred dollars extra, although I didn't really like it.
I 'd been doing it for almost two months currently, and I 'd lost track of how many men 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 spend, even after Deke took his cut. He charged 300 dollars an hour for me, or 500 dollars for 2. Selecting me up at school was worth an extra 200, which I thought was ludicrous, but you 'd be surprised the number of people desired precisely that. Like it proved beyond a doubt that they were getting the real deal, an underage slut to fuck and draw . These were all older guys too, like my daddy's age, or more frequently even older, in their 40's and 50's primarily. They had a great deal of cash to invest and it was the ideas that actually flushed my bank account. Deke gave me 30% and kept 70% for himself. He said that was generous because he was my manager, my agent, my security guy, my advertising and transport all rolled into one. He bought my clothing and the stuff I need to work, like condoms 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. That wasn't real. It was more like acting than anything else given that I needed to actually like these people for an hour or 2. I needed to act younger in some cases too, as a little girl possibly eleven or twelve years old; but never older. None of the men spending for me desired a female, simply a lady, and knowing that I actually was simply 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 anyway, no doubt about that, and the more I did it the better I got.
The males enjoyed me for a little bit, although some of them enjoyed me for real 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 lonely since I knew it wasn't actually me they liked, mostly I felt a little safer that method. Like a guy who enjoyed me would not harm me, you know? I 'd had sex with like fifty guys 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 picture the man who was making love to me really was my father. I could talk with him, tell him I enjoyed him, how he made me feel developed and unique and enjoyed. And somewhere, in some way along that ride, I 'd started to believe it. I 'd go home and see my genuine papa and practically forget that it had not been him that I 'd fucked an hour or two before. I was falling in love, in developed love, and I couldn't assist it. It was configured into me, growing up not as his child but as his other half. We 'd done everything but practiced our relationship, I thought, and he needed to feel the same way. Didn't he?
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