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It turns out I liked being an escort, a lot more than I believed I would anyhow. I even began taking the money, primarily since I was much too practical to let a little thing like regret obstruct of good sense. But then, if I had the common sense 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 ridiculous things that little girls do.
I had not been a little girl in a long period of time though.
Deke didn't mind, he said that was a excellent thing since he could in fact charge more, particularly if the man I was going with selected me up at school. That opportunity turned out to be worth a couple of hundred dollars additional, although I didn't truly like it.
Way too much for a ninth grader to spend, even after Deke took his cut. Selecting me up at school was worth an extra 200, which I believed was absurd, however you 'd be surprised how lots of guys wanted exactly that. Like it showed beyond a doubt that they were getting the genuine deal, an minor whore to fuck and draw . These were all older people too, like my dad's age, or more frequently even older, in their 40's and 50's primarily. He said that was generous because he was my supervisor, my agent, my security man, my marketing and transport all rolled into one. He bought my clothes and the stuff I require to work, like condoms and lube and junk like that. It was more like acting than anything else considering that I had to really like these guys for an hour or two. I had to act more youthful often too, as a little lady possibly eleven or twelve years old; but never ever older. I liked acting though and I believe I had a real talent for it.
Mary Magdalene had actually been a whore. That's where I took my comfort and she 'd become my patron saint. I 'd felt really guilty at first, but that had disappeared when I understood I wasn't harming 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 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 knew it wasn't really me they liked, primarily I felt a little safer that way. Like a guy who liked me wouldn't hurt me, you know? 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 desired to call me by a different name, their child's name, or a niece or the little lady next door perhaps.
I might close my eyes and picture the male who was making love to me really was my dad. I might talk to him, inform him I enjoyed him, how he made me feel developed and special and enjoyed. I was falling in love, in developed love, and I could not help it.
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