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It ends up I liked being an escort, much more than I believed I would anyhow. I even began taking the cash, primarily because 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 common sense I wouldn't have actually 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 ladies do.
I had not been a little lady in a long period of time though.
Deke didn't mind, he said that was a excellent thing due to the fact that he might actually charge more, particularly 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 2 months currently, and I 'd misplaced how many people I 'd made love with. I didn't want to know, but it had to be a lot. I 'd made a great deal 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 2. Selecting me up at school deserved an extra 200, which I believed was absurd, but you 'd be surprised the number of men desired precisely that. Like it proved beyond a doubt that they were getting the real offer, an minor whore to suck and fuck . These were all older guys too, like my daddy's age, or more often even older, in their 40's and 50's mostly. He said that was generous since he was my manager, my agent, my security guy, my marketing 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. It was more like acting than anything else since I had to actually like these men for an hour or 2. I had to act younger sometimes too, as a little woman maybe eleven or twelve years old; but never ever older. I liked acting though and I think I had a real talent for it.
The males 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 lonely due to the fact that I knew it wasn't truly me they liked, primarily I felt a little much safer that way. Like a person who liked me would not harm me, you know? 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 wanted to call me by a different name, their child's name, or a niece or the little lady next door perhaps.
I might close my eyes and imagine the guy who was making love to me really was my father. I might talk to him, tell him I liked him, how he made me feel special and developed and liked. I was falling in love, in grown-up love, and I could not assist it.
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