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It ends up I liked being an escort, a lot more than I thought I would anyway. I even started taking the cash, primarily because I was much too practical to let a little thing like guilt get in the way of sound judgment. However then, if I had the sound judgment I wouldn't have 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 women do.
I hadn't been a little woman in a long time.
Deke didn't mind, he stated that was a good thing due to the fact that he could actually charge more, especially if the man I was going with selected me up at school. That opportunity turned out to be worth a couple of hundred dollars additional, although I didn't actually like it.
I 'd been doing it for practically two months already, and I 'd lost track of how many men I 'd made love with. I didn't need to know, however it had to be a lot. I 'd made a lot 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 two. Picking me up at school was worth an extra 200, which I thought was absurd, however you 'd be surprised how many men desired exactly that. Like it proved beyond a doubt that they were getting the genuine deal, an underage whore to draw and fuck . These were all older people too, like my father's age, or more typically even older, in their 40's and 50's mainly. He said that was generous because he was my manager, my agent, my security man, my advertising and transport all rolled into one. He purchased my clothes and the things I require to work, like condoms and lube and junk like that. It was more like acting than anything else given that I had to in fact like these men for an hour or two. I had to act more youthful in some cases too, as a little woman maybe eleven or twelve years old; however never ever older. I liked acting though and I believe I had a real talent for it.
The men liked me for a little bit, although some of them loved 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 since I understood it wasn't really me they liked, primarily I felt a little more secure that way. Like a person who loved me would not injure me, you understand? 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 various name, their daughter's name, or a niece or the little woman next door possibly.
I might close my eyes and imagine the man who was making love to me actually was my papa. I might talk to him, inform him I liked him, how he made me feel grown-up and unique and enjoyed. And someplace, in some way along that trip, I 'd begun to believe it. I 'd go house and see my real father and almost forget that it had not been him that I 'd fucked an hour or two before. But I was falling in love, in full-grown love, and I couldn't assist 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 needed to feel the same way. Didn't he?
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