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It turns out I liked being an escort, far more than I believed I would anyway. I even began taking the money, mainly due to the fact that I was much too practical to let a little thing like guilt get in the way of good sense. But then, if I had the common sense I wouldn't 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 long period of time though.
Deke didn't mind, he stated that was a good thing since he could in fact charge more, especially if the guy I was going with picked me up at school. That benefit turned out to be worth a couple of hundred dollars additional, although I didn't truly like it.
Way too much for a ninth grader to spend, even after Deke took his cut. Choosing me up at school was worth an extra 200, which I believed was ludicrous, however you 'd be shocked how many men desired exactly that. Like it showed beyond a doubt that they were getting the genuine deal, an underage slut to fuck and draw . These were all older guys too, like my father's age, or more typically even older, in their 40's and 50's mostly. He stated that was generous since he was my supervisor, my agent, my security person, my marketing and transport all rolled into one. He bought my clothes and the stuff I require to work, like prophylactics and lube and scrap like that. It was more like acting than anything else given that I had to really like these men for an hour or two. I had to act more youthful in some cases too, as a little girl possibly eleven or twelve years old; however never ever older. I liked acting though and I think I had a real talent for it.
The guys loved me for a little bit, although some of them liked me for real 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 actually me they liked, primarily I felt a little much safer that way. Like a guy who liked me would not harm me, you understand? I 'd had sex with like fifty men or something, many 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 lady next door perhaps.
I might close my eyes and envision the man who was making love to me actually was my father. I could talk to him, tell him I loved him, how he made me feel grown-up and special and loved. I was falling in love, in developed love, and I couldn't help it.
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