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It turns out I liked being an escort, far more than I thought I would anyway. I even started taking the money, mainly since I was much too useful to let a little thing like guilt get in the way of common sense. Then, if I had the common 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 silly things that little girls do.
I hadn't been a little lady in a long time though.
Deke didn't mind, he stated that was a good thing due to the fact that he could really charge more, especially if the guy I was going with chosen me up at school. That opportunity turned out to be worth a couple of hundred dollars additional, although I didn't really like it.
Way 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 outrageous, but you 'd be surprised how numerous guys desired precisely that. Like it showed beyond a doubt that they were getting the genuine deal, an minor slut to fuck and draw . These were all older men too, like my father's age, or more often even older, in their 40's and 50's primarily. They had a lot of cash to invest and it was the suggestions that really flushed my bank account. Deke gave me 30% and kept 70% for himself. He said that was generous due to the fact that he was my manager, my agent, my security guy, my advertising and transport all rolled into one. He purchased my clothing and the stuff I need to work, like condoms and lube and junk like that. He did all the work if you listened to him tell it, and all I did was lay there and get rich. It was more like acting than anything else since I had to in fact like these people for an hour or two. I had to act younger often too, as a little woman possibly eleven or twelve years old; but never older. I liked acting though and I think I had a genuine talent for it.
The guys enjoyed me for a little bit, although some of them enjoyed me for real 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 short time we were together, that's all, and while part of me felt lonesome due to the fact that I understood it wasn't truly me they liked, primarily I felt a little safer that way. Like a man who enjoyed me would not 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 various name, their child's name, or a niece or the little woman next door perhaps.
I could close my eyes and think of the man who was making love to me truly was my dad. I might talk to him, inform him I liked him, how he made me feel unique and grown-up and enjoyed. I was falling in love, in grown-up love, and I couldn't assist it.
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