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It turns out I liked being an escort, far more than I believed I would anyway. I even began taking the cash, primarily due to the fact that I was much too practical to let a little thing like regret obstruct of good sense. Then, if I had the common sense I wouldn't have been an escort either. I would have been just another fifteen-year-old catholic schoolgirl, doing her research, doing her nails, doing the little silly 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 since he could really charge more, especially if the guy I was going with chosen me up at school. That privilege turned out to be worth a couple of hundred dollars additional, although I didn't actually like it.
I 'd been doing it for almost two months currently, and I 'd misplaced the number of guys I 'd had sex with. I didn't would like to know, however it had to be a lot. I 'd made a great deal of cash too. Way excessive for a ninth grader to spend, even after Deke took his cut. He charged 300 dollars an hour for me, or 500 dollars for 2. Selecting me up at school was worth an additional 200, which I thought was absurd, but you 'd marvel how many men wanted precisely that. Like it proved beyond a doubt that they were getting the real offer, an underage slut to suck and fuck . These were all older people too, like my papa's age, or more typically even older, in their 40's and 50's mainly. He said that was generous since he was my manager, my representative, my security guy, my marketing and transport all rolled into one. He purchased my clothing and the stuff I require to work, like condoms and lube and scrap like that. It was more like acting than anything else since I had to actually like these men for an hour or two. I had to act more youthful in some cases too, as a little girl perhaps eleven or twelve years old; but never older. I liked acting though and I believe I had a genuine talent for it.
The males enjoyed me for a little bit, although some of them liked 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 brief time we were together, that's all, and while part of me felt lonesome because I knew it wasn't actually me they liked, primarily I felt a little safer that way. Like a guy who enjoyed me would not injure me, you understand? I 'd had sex with like fifty people or something, many of them desiring me to call them Daddy while we did it. Some of them wanted to call me by a different name, their child's name, or a niece or the little girl next door possibly.
I could close my eyes and think of the man who was making love to me truly was my father. I might talk to him, inform him I loved him, how he made me feel special and developed and loved. I was falling in love, in developed love, and I couldn't assist it.
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