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It ends up I liked being an escort, a lot more than I thought I would anyway. I even began taking the money, primarily since I was much too practical to let a little thing like regret get in the way of good sense. Then, if I had the common sense I would not 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 silly things that little girls do.
I had not been a little woman in a very long time though.
Deke didn't mind, he stated that was a great thing because he could in fact 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 extra, although I didn't really like it.
Way too much for a ninth grader to invest, even after Deke took his cut. Choosing me up at school was worth an additional 200, which I believed was absurd, but you 'd be shocked how many men desired precisely that. Like it proved beyond a doubt that they were getting the real deal, an underage whore to draw and fuck . These were all older men 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 manager, my agent, my security person, my marketing and transport all rolled into one. He purchased my clothing and the things I require to work, like condoms and lube and scrap like that. However that wasn't real. It was more like acting than anything else because I needed to actually like these people for an hour or two. I had to act younger sometimes too, as a little lady maybe eleven or twelve years old; however never ever older. None of the men paying for me wanted a lady, just a girl, and knowing that I really was just fifteen, that was the kicker for them. I liked acting though and I believe I had a genuine talent for it. I had a skill for the sex stuff anyhow, no doubt about that, and the more I did it the much better I got.
The males liked me for a little bit, although some of them loved 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 lonely since I knew it wasn't truly me they liked, mainly I felt a little more secure that method. Like a guy who liked me would not hurt me, you understand? I loved my father. That had actually changed too and I do not understand if one thing related to the other exactly, but I don't believe in coincidence either. 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 woman next door maybe. But a lot of them didn't mind calling me Samantha either, which troubled me initially, however then it didn't and I started liking it.
I could close my eyes and picture the man who was making love to me really was my daddy. I could speak with him, tell him I liked him, how he made me feel grown-up and special and liked. And someplace, 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 hadn't been him that I 'd fucked an hour or two before. 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 however as his wife. We 'd done everything but skilled our relationship, I thought, and he needed to feel the same way. Didn't he?
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