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It ends up I liked being an escort, a lot more than I thought I would anyhow. I even began taking the cash, mostly due to the fact that I was much too practical to let a little thing like regret get in the way of sound judgment. Then, if I had the typical sense I would not 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 women do.
I hadn't been a little girl in a long time.
Deke didn't mind, he said that was a great thing because he could in fact charge more, specifically 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.
Way too much for a ninth grader to invest, even after Deke took his cut. Choosing me up at school was worth an extra 200, which I believed was outrageous, however you 'd be stunned how many guys desired precisely that. Like it showed beyond a doubt that they were getting the genuine offer, an underage slut to suck and fuck . These were all older people too, like my father's age, or more frequently even older, in their 40's and 50's mainly. He stated that was generous because he was my supervisor, my agent, my security guy, my advertising and transport all rolled into one. He bought my clothes and the things I need to work, like condoms and lube and scrap like that. It was more like acting than anything else since I had to really like these people for an hour or two. I had to act more youthful in some cases too, as a little lady perhaps eleven or twelve years old; but never ever older. I liked acting though and I believe I had a genuine talent for it.
Mary Magdalene had been a slut. That's where I took my comfort and she 'd become my tutelary saint. I 'd felt actually guilty initially, but that had actually gone away when I recognized I wasn't hurting anybody. The men loved me for a little bit, although some of them enjoyed me genuine and asked me if I 'd wed them, or a minimum of come back to their cities and deal 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, mostly I felt a little safer that way. Like a person who enjoyed me wouldn't hurt 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 desired to call me by a different name, their child's name, or a niece or the little lady next door possibly.
I might close my eyes and think of the man who was making love to me truly was my father. I might talk to him, tell him I liked him, how he made me feel special and developed and liked. And somewhere, in some way along that trip, I 'd started to think it. I 'd go house and see my real papa and almost forget that it had not been him that I 'd fucked an hour or two prior to. I was falling in love, in grown-up love, and I could not assist it. It was programmed into me, maturing not as his child but as his better half. We 'd done whatever but practiced our relationship, I thought, and he had to feel the same way. Didn't he?
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