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It turns out I liked being an escort, a lot more than I believed I would anyway. I even started taking the cash, mainly since I was much too practical to let a little thing like guilt obstruct of good sense. But then, if I had the common sense I wouldn't have been an escort either. I would have been simply another fifteen-year-old catholic schoolgirl, doing her research, doing her nails, doing the little silly things that little women do.
I had not been a little lady in a very long time though.
I only worked three or four nights a week anyhow, since I had to be house by 9 pm on school nights and 10 o'clock on weekends. But Deke didn't mind, he said that was a good thing since he might actually charge more, especially if the guy I was opting for selected me up at school. That opportunity turned out to be worth a number of hundred dollars extra, although I didn't actually like it. I was constantly scared someone would see me getting into a weird automobile, a different unusual automobile whenever, and wonder what was going on.
Way too much for a ninth grader to spend, even after Deke took his cut. Picking me up at school was worth an additional 200, which I thought was ludicrous, however you 'd be shocked how many guys wanted exactly that. Like it proved beyond a doubt that they were getting the real offer, an minor slut to draw 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 mainly. He said that was generous because he was my supervisor, my agent, my security man, my marketing and transportation all rolled into one. He purchased my clothes and the stuff I require to work, like condoms and lube and junk like that. It was more like acting than anything else considering that I had to actually like these people for an hour or two. I had to act younger in some cases too, as a little girl possibly eleven or twelve years old; however never older. I liked acting though and I believe I had a genuine skill for it.
Mary Magdalene had actually been a whore. That's where I took my comfort and she 'd become my tutelary saint. I 'd felt really guilty in the beginning, but that had gone away when I recognized I wasn't injuring anybody. The men enjoyed me for a bit, although a few of them enjoyed me for real and asked me if I 'd marry 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 brief time we were together, that's all, and while part of me felt lonely since I understood it wasn't truly me they liked, primarily I felt a little safer that way. Like a person who liked me would not harm me, you understand? I loved my papa. That had actually altered too and I don't understand if something related to the other precisely, however I do not believe in coincidence either. I 'd had sex with like fifty guys or something, most of them wanting me to call them Daddy while we did it. A few of them wished to call me by a different name, their child's name, or a niece or the little woman next door perhaps. But a lot of them didn't mind calling me Samantha either, and that troubled me at first, however then it didn't and I began liking it.
I might close my eyes and imagine the man who was making love to me actually was my papa. I could speak to him, tell him I liked him, how he made me feel unique and grown-up and loved. And someplace, in some way along that ride, I 'd begun to believe it. I 'd go house and see my real daddy and nearly forget that it hadn't been him that I 'd fucked an hour or 2 prior to. However I was falling in love, in grown-up love, and I couldn't help it. It was set into me, maturing not as his daughter but as his wife. We 'd done everything however practiced our relationship, I thought, and he had to feel the same way. Didn't he?
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