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It turns out I liked being an escort, a lot more than I thought I would anyway. I even began taking the cash, mainly because I was much too practical to let a little thing like guilt get in the way of sound judgment. But then, if I had the good sense I wouldn't have actually 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 ladies do.
I hadn't been a little woman in a very long time though.
Deke didn't mind, he said that was a excellent thing because he might really charge more, especially if the guy I was going with selected me up at school. That privilege turned out to be worth a couple of hundred dollars additional, although I didn't actually like it.
Method too much for a ninth grader to spend, even after Deke took his cut. Picking me up at school was worth an extra 200, which I believed was outrageous, but you 'd be surprised how lots of men desired precisely that. Like it showed beyond a doubt that they were getting the real offer, an underage slut to draw and fuck . These were all older men too, like my father's age, or more frequently even older, in their 40's and 50's mainly. He stated that was generous since he was my manager, my agent, my security guy, my advertising and transportation all rolled into one. He bought my clothing and the stuff I need to work, like condoms and lube and scrap like that. That wasn't true. It was more like acting than anything else because I needed to in fact like these people for an hour or more. I needed to act more youthful sometimes too, as a little woman possibly eleven or twelve years of ages; but never older. None of the men spending for me wanted a woman, just a girl, and knowing that I actually 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 talent for the sex stuff anyhow, no doubt about that, and the more I did it the better I got.
The men enjoyed 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 truly me they liked, primarily I felt a little safer that way. Like a guy who loved me wouldn't hurt 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 desired to call me by a different name, their daughter's name, or a niece or the little girl next door possibly.
I could close my eyes and imagine the man who was making love to me actually was my dad. I could speak to him, inform him I loved him, how he made me feel developed and unique and loved. And somewhere, in some way along that flight, I 'd started to think it. I 'd go house and see my genuine daddy and almost forget that it hadn't been him that I 'd fucked an hour or two before. I was falling in love, in developed love, and I could not help it. It was set into me, growing up not as his daughter however as his partner. We 'd done everything however skilled our relationship, I thought, and he had to feel the same way. Didn't he?
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