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It turns out I liked being an escort, much more than I thought I would anyhow. I even began taking the cash, mainly because I was much too practical to let a little thing like regret obstruct of good sense. Then, if I had the typical sense I would not have been an escort either. I would have been simply 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 said that was a excellent thing since he could actually charge more, specifically if the man I was going with chosen me up at school. That opportunity turned out to be worth a couple of hundred dollars extra, 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 ridiculous, however you 'd be stunned how lots of men wanted exactly that. Like it showed beyond a doubt that they were getting the genuine deal, an minor slut to suck and fuck . These were all older guys too, like my father's age, or more typically even older, in their 40's and 50's primarily. He stated that was generous because he was my manager, my agent, my security person, my marketing and transport all rolled into one. He bought my clothes and the things I need to work, like condoms and lube and junk like that. That wasn't true. It was more like acting than anything else because I needed to actually like these men for an hour or more. I had to act younger often too, as a little girl maybe eleven or twelve years old; but never ever older. None of the men spending for me wanted a lady, just a lady, and knowing that I really was just 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 anyway, no doubt about that, and the more I did it the better I got.
The men loved me for a little bit, although some of them enjoyed me for genuine and asked me if I 'd wed 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 truly me they liked, primarily I felt a little more secure that way. Like a man who liked me wouldn't harm 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 wanted to call me by a different name, their daughter's name, or a niece or the little girl next door maybe.
I might close my eyes and picture the man who was making love to me actually was my father. I could speak to him, tell him I loved him, how he made me feel developed and special and enjoyed. And somewhere, in some way along that ride, I 'd started to believe it. I 'd go house and see my genuine father and practically forget that it had not been him that I 'd fucked an hour or 2 prior to. However I was falling in love, in developed love, and I could not assist it. It was set into me, growing up not as his daughter however as his partner. 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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