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It ends up I liked being an escort, much more than I believed I would anyway. I even began taking the money, mainly since 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 sound judgment I would not have actually 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 girls do.
I hadn't been a little woman in a long time.
I only worked three or 4 nights a week anyway, given that I needed to be home by 9 pm on school nights and 10 o'clock on weekends. Deke didn't mind, he said that was a good thing because he could actually charge more, particularly if the guy I was going with selected me up at school. That opportunity ended up being worth a couple of hundred dollars extra, although I didn't really like it. I was always afraid somebody would see me getting into a weird automobile, a different odd car each time, and wonder what was going on.
Way too much for a ninth grader to invest, even after Deke took his cut. Choosing me up at school was worth an extra 200, which I believed was ludicrous, but you 'd be surprised how many guys wanted precisely that. Like it showed beyond a doubt that they were getting the genuine deal, an minor whore to suck and fuck . These were all older men too, like my papa's age, or more often even older, in their 40's and 50's mostly. He stated that was generous due to the fact that he was my manager, my agent, my security person, my advertising and transportation all rolled into one. He purchased my clothes and the things I need to work, like condoms and lube and junk like that. That wasn't real. It was more like acting than anything else because I needed to really like these people for an hour or 2. I needed to act more youthful often too, as a little girl maybe eleven or twelve years old; but never ever older. None of the men paying for me wanted a woman, just a woman, and understanding that I really was simply fifteen, that was the kicker for them. I liked acting though and I think I had a genuine skill for it. I had a skill for the sex stuff anyway, no doubt about that, and the more I did it the much better I got.
The guys loved 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 due to the fact that I knew it wasn't really me they liked, primarily I felt a little safer that way. Like a man who enjoyed me wouldn't harm me, you know? I was in love with my daddy. That had actually changed too and I don't understand if one thing pertained to the other specifically, but I don't believe in coincidence either. I 'd made love with like fifty people or something, the majority 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. But 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 really was my daddy. I might talk with him, inform him I enjoyed him, how he made me feel grown-up and unique and enjoyed. And someplace, in some way along that ride, I 'd started to think it. I 'd go house and see my real daddy and nearly forget that it had not been him that I 'd fucked an hour or two prior to. I was falling in love, in grown-up love, and I could not help it. It was configured into me, maturing not as his child but as his better half. We 'd done whatever but consummate our relationship, I believed, and he had to feel the same way. Didn't he?
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