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It turns out I liked being an escort, much more than I believed I would anyhow. I even began taking the cash, mostly because I was much too useful to let a little thing like guilt get in the way of common 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 homework, doing her nails, doing the little ridiculous things that little girls do.
I had not been a little girl in a long time though.
Deke didn't mind, he said that was a good thing because he could in fact charge more, particularly if the guy I was going with chosen me up at school. That opportunity turned out to be worth a couple of hundred dollars additional, although I didn't truly like it.
Method too much for a ninth grader to invest, even after Deke took his cut. Selecting me up at school was worth an additional 200, which I thought was ridiculous, but you 'd be surprised how lots of people desired precisely that. Like it showed beyond a doubt that they were getting the genuine offer, an underage whore to draw and fuck . These were all older men too, like my dad's age, or more frequently even older, in their 40's and 50's mainly. They had a great deal of money to spend and it was the pointers that truly flushed my checking account. Deke provided me 30% and kept 70% for himself. He said that was generous because he was my manager, my representative, my security person, my advertising and transport all rolled into one. He purchased my clothes 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. It was more like acting than anything else because I had to really like these people for an hour or two. I had to act more youthful sometimes too, as a little woman perhaps eleven or twelve years old; however never older. I liked acting though and I believe I had a genuine talent for it.
The guys enjoyed me for a little bit, although some of them loved me for real and asked me if I 'd wed 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 brief time we were together, that's all, and while part of me felt lonesome because I understood it wasn't really me they liked, primarily I felt a little safer that method. Like a person who loved me wouldn't harm me, you understand? 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 wanted to call me by a different name, their daughter's name, or a niece or the little girl next door perhaps.
I might close my eyes and picture the man who was making love to me actually was my dad. I could talk to him, inform him I enjoyed him, how he made me feel full-grown and unique and enjoyed. I was falling in love, in developed love, and I couldn't help it.
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