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It ends up I liked being an escort, a lot more than I thought I would anyway. I even began taking the money, mostly since I was much too useful to let a little thing like regret obstruct of common sense. Then, if I had the common sense I wouldn't 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 women do.
I had not been a little girl in a very long time though.
Deke didn't mind, he stated that was a excellent thing due to the fact that he could actually charge more, especially if the person I was going with picked me up at school. That privilege turned out to be worth a couple of hundred dollars extra, although I didn't actually like it.
Method too much for a ninth grader to spend, even after Deke took his cut. Choosing me up at school was worth an extra 200, which I believed was outrageous, however you 'd be shocked how many guys wanted exactly that. Like it proved beyond a doubt that they were getting the genuine offer, an minor slut to draw and fuck . These were all older men too, like my papa's age, or more frequently even older, in their 40's and 50's mostly. He said that was generous because he was my supervisor, my representative, my security guy, my advertising and transport all rolled into one. He bought my clothing and the stuff I need to work, like prophylactics and lube and junk like that. But that wasn't true. It was more like acting than anything else since I needed to really like these people for an hour or 2. I had to act younger sometimes too, as a little woman possibly eleven or twelve years old; however never older. None of the men spending for me wanted a lady, simply a woman, and knowing that I truly was simply fifteen, that was the kicker for them. I liked acting though and I think I had a real skill for it. I had a skill for the sex stuff anyhow, no doubt about that, and the more I did it the better I got.
The males liked me for a little bit, although some of them enjoyed me for genuine 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 lonesome since I knew it wasn't really me they liked, primarily I felt a little more secure that way. Like a man who loved me would not injure me, you understand? I loved my father. That had changed too and I don't know if something related to the other exactly, however I don't believe in coincidence either. I 'd made love with like fifty men or something, the majority of them desiring me to call them Daddy while we did it. Some of them wanted to call me by a various name, their child's name, or a niece or the little woman next door possibly. A lot of them didn't mind calling me Samantha either, and that troubled me at first, however then it didn't and I began liking it.
I could close my eyes and imagine the man who was making love to me truly was my father. I might talk to him, tell him I loved him, how he made me feel special and full-grown and liked. And someplace, in some way along that trip, I 'd started to think it. I 'd go house and see my real dad and almost forget that it had not been him that I 'd fucked an hour or two before. 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 daughter but as his other half. 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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