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It ends up I liked being an escort, far more than I believed I would anyway. I even began taking the money, mainly because I was much too practical to let a little thing like regret get in the way of good sense. But then, if I had the good sense I wouldn't have actually been an escort either. I would have been just another fifteen-year-old catholic schoolgirl, doing her homework, doing her nails, doing the little silly things that little girls do.
I hadn't been a little girl in a long time.
I just worked 3 or four nights a week anyhow, given that I had to be home by 9 pm on school nights and 10 o'clock on weekends. But Deke didn't mind, he stated that was a good thing because he could in fact charge more, especially if the man I was choosing 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 was constantly afraid someone would see me entering a odd automobile, a different odd car each time, and question what was going on.
Method too much for a ninth grader to invest, even after Deke took his cut. Picking me up at school was worth an additional 200, which I thought was outrageous, but you 'd be surprised how numerous guys desired precisely that. Like it showed beyond a doubt that they were getting the genuine offer, an underage whore to fuck and draw . These were all older men too, like my father's age, or more often even older, in their 40's and 50's primarily. He said that was generous due to the fact that he was my manager, my representative, my security guy, my marketing and transport all rolled into one. He bought my clothes and the stuff I need to work, like condoms and lube and junk like that. That wasn't real. It was more like acting than anything else given that I had to really like these men for an hour or two. I needed to act more youthful often too, as a little girl possibly eleven or twelve years old; but never older. None of the men paying for me desired a lady, just a lady, and knowing that I truly was just fifteen, that was the kicker for them. I liked acting though and I think I had a real skill for it. I had a talent for the sex things anyhow, no doubt about that, and the more I did it the much better I got.
Mary Magdalene had been a slut. That's where I took my comfort and she 'd become my patron saint. I 'd felt actually guilty at first, however that had actually disappeared when I recognized I wasn't harming anyone. The men liked me for a bit, although a few of them loved me for real and asked me if I 'd marry them, or at least return 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 knew it wasn't truly me they liked, mostly I felt a little more secure that way. Like a person who enjoyed me wouldn't injure 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 wanted to call me by a different name, their daughter's name, or a niece or the little lady next door perhaps.
I could close my eyes and think of the man who was making love to me actually was my dad. I might talk to him, inform him I liked him, how he made me feel full-grown and unique and loved. And somewhere, somehow along that flight, I 'd started to believe it. I 'd go house and see my real papa and almost forget that it had not been him that I 'd fucked an hour or 2 prior to. However I was falling in love, in grown-up love, and I could not help it. It was programmed into me, growing up not as his child but as his wife. We 'd done whatever but practiced our relationship, I believed, and he had to feel the same way. Didn't he?
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