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It ends up I liked being an escort, much more than I believed I would anyhow. I even began taking the money, mainly 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 research, doing her nails, doing the little ridiculous things that little women do.
I had not been a little woman in a long time.
I just worked 3 or four nights a week anyway, considering that I had to be house by 9 pm on school nights and ten o'clock on weekends. However Deke didn't mind, he said that was a advantage due to the fact that he could in fact charge more, specifically if the man I was going with chosen me up at school. That benefit ended up being worth a couple of hundred dollars extra, although I didn't truly like it. I was always afraid someone would see me entering into a unusual cars and truck, a various weird car whenever, and question what was going on.
Way too much for a ninth grader to spend, even after Deke took his cut. Picking me up at school was worth an extra 200, which I thought was ludicrous, but you 'd be surprised how many guys wanted precisely that. Like it proved beyond a doubt that they were getting the real offer, an minor slut to draw and fuck . These were all older guys too, like my dad's age, or more often even older, in their 40's and 50's primarily. They had a great deal of cash to spend and it was the tips that really flushed my checking account. Deke offered me 30% and kept 70% for himself. He stated that was generous since he was my manager, my agent, my security guy, my advertising and transport all rolled into one. He purchased my clothing and the stuff I require 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. It was more like acting than anything else since I had to actually like these guys for an hour or 2. I had to act younger often too, as a little girl maybe eleven or twelve years old; but never older. I liked acting though and I think 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 patron saint. I 'd felt truly guilty at first, but that had actually gone away when I realized I wasn't harming anybody. The men loved me for a little bit, although some of them liked me for real and asked me if I 'd marry them, or at least come back to their cities and deal 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 lonesome because I knew it wasn't really me they liked, mostly I felt a little much safer that way. Like a person who loved 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 desired to call me by a different name, their daughter's name, or a niece or the little woman next door perhaps.
I could close my eyes and picture the man who was making love to me truly was my father. I might speak to him, inform him I enjoyed him, how he made me feel grown-up and unique and liked. And someplace, somehow along that trip, I 'd begun to think it. I 'd go house and see my real dad and nearly forget that it had not been him that I 'd fucked an hour or more before. I was falling in love, in grown-up love, and I couldn't help it. It was set into me, growing up not as his child however as his partner. We 'd done everything however practiced our relationship, I believed, and he had to feel the same way. Didn't he?
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