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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 since I was much too useful to let a little thing like guilt get in the way of good sense. 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 hadn't been a little woman in a very long time though.
Deke didn't mind, he stated that was a great thing because he could actually charge more, particularly if the person I was going with selected me up at school. That advantage 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 already, and I 'd lost track of how many people I 'd made love with. I didn't want to know, but it had to be a lot. I 'd made a lot of cash too. Way excessive 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. Picking me up at school was worth an additional 200, which I thought was ludicrous, however you 'd be surprised how many guys wanted exactly that. Like it showed beyond a doubt that they were getting the real offer, an underage whore to draw and fuck . These were all older men too, like my daddy's age, or more frequently even older, in their 40's and 50's mainly. They had a lot of cash to spend and it was the ideas that truly flushed my checking account. Deke offered me 30% and kept 70% for himself. He said that was generous since he was my manager, my representative, my security man, my advertising and transportation all rolled into one. He bought my clothing 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 tell 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 actually like these men for an hour or two. I needed to act younger often too, as a little woman perhaps eleven or twelve years old; but never older. None of the men paying for me desired a lady, simply a lady, and understanding that I actually was simply fifteen, that was the kicker for them. I liked acting though and I believe I had a genuine skill 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.
The men 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 short time we were together, that's all, and while part of me felt lonely because I understood it wasn't really me they liked, mostly I felt a little more secure that method. Like a man who enjoyed me would not hurt me, you know? I 'd had sex with like fifty guys or something, many 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 woman next door perhaps.
I might close my eyes and envision the man who was making love to me actually was my father. I might talk with him, inform him I enjoyed him, how he made me feel full-grown and special and enjoyed. And someplace, somehow along that flight, I 'd begun to believe it. I 'd go home and see my real dad and practically forget that it had not been him that I 'd fucked an hour or two before. I was falling in love, in full-grown love, and I couldn't help it. It was configured into me, maturing not as his daughter however as his wife. We 'd done whatever however skilled our relationship, I believed, and he needed to feel the same way. Didn't he?
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