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It turns out I liked being an escort, a lot more than I believed I would anyhow. I even started taking the money, mainly because I was much too useful to let a little thing like guilt obstruct of good sense. But 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 research, doing her nails, doing the little ridiculous things that little ladies do.
I had not been a little woman in a very long time though.
Deke didn't mind, he stated that was a excellent thing since he might really charge more, specifically if the guy I was going with selected me up at school. That benefit 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 2 months currently, and I 'd misplaced the number of people I 'd made love with. I didn't would like to know, however it needed to be a lot. I 'd made a lot of cash too. Way too much for a ninth grader to invest, 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 additional 200, which I believed was outrageous, however you 'd be surprised how many guys wanted precisely that. Like it showed beyond a doubt that they were getting the real offer, an minor whore to fuck and draw . These were all older guys too, like my dad's age, or more typically even older, in their 40's and 50's mainly. He said that was generous since he was my supervisor, my representative, my security man, my marketing and transport all rolled into one. He bought my clothing and the stuff I need to work, like prophylactics and lube and junk like that. It was more like acting than anything else since I had to actually like these people for an hour or two. I had to act more youthful often too, as a little girl possibly eleven or twelve years old; however never older. I liked acting though and I believe I had a real skill for it.
Mary Magdalene had been a slut. That's where I took my comfort and she 'd become my patron saint. I 'd felt actually guilty at first, but that had gone away when I recognized I wasn't hurting anyone. The men liked me for a little bit, although some of them liked me genuine and asked me if I 'd marry them, or a minimum of come back to their cities and cope 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 since I knew it wasn't truly me they liked, primarily I felt a little safer that way. Like a man who enjoyed me wouldn't hurt me, you understand? I 'd had sex with like fifty guys or something, most of them desiring me to call them Daddy while we did it. Some of them wanted to call me by a various name, their child's name, or a niece or the little lady next door perhaps.
I could close my eyes and picture the man who was making love to me actually was my father. I might talk to him, tell him I enjoyed him, how he made me feel unique and grown-up and loved. And someplace, in some way along that trip, I 'd started to think it. I 'd go house and see my genuine father and nearly forget that it had not been him that I 'd fucked an hour or 2 prior to. However I was falling in love, in full-grown love, and I could not help it. It was set into me, growing up not as his child but as his better half. We 'd done everything but consummate our relationship, I believed, and he had to feel the same way. Didn't he?
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