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It turns out I liked being an escort, much more than I thought I would anyhow. I even started taking the money, primarily due to the fact that I was much too practical to let a little thing like guilt obstruct of common sense. However then, if I had the common sense I would not have been an escort either. I would have been simply another fifteen-year-old catholic schoolgirl, doing her homework, doing her nails, doing the little ridiculous things that little girls do.
I had not been a little girl in a long time.
Deke didn't mind, he said that was a good thing because he might really charge more, especially if the person I was going with picked me up at school. That opportunity turned out to be worth a couple of hundred dollars additional, although I didn't actually like it.
Method too much for a ninth grader to invest, even after Deke took his cut. Selecting me up at school was worth an additional 200, which I thought was outrageous, but you 'd be surprised how lots of guys desired precisely that. Like it proved beyond a doubt that they were getting the real deal, an underage slut to fuck and draw . These were all older guys too, like my daddy's age, or more often even older, in their 40's and 50's mainly. He stated that was generous due to the fact that he was my manager, my representative, my security guy, my advertising and transport all rolled into one. He bought my clothing and the things I require 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 guys for an hour or 2. I had to act younger often too, as a little lady perhaps eleven or twelve years old; however never ever older. I liked acting though and I think I had a real talent for it.
Mary Magdalene had been a slut. That's where I took my comfort and she 'd become my patron saint. I 'd felt truly guilty initially, however that had actually gone away when I realized I wasn't hurting anyone. The men loved me for a little bit, although a few of them liked me genuine and asked me if I 'd wed them, or a minimum of return to their cities and cope 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 lonesome since I understood it wasn't really me they liked, mostly I felt a little safer that method. Like a man who enjoyed me wouldn't hurt me, you understand? I 'd had sex with like fifty people or something, many of them desiring 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 girl next door maybe.
I could close my eyes and picture the man who was making love to me actually was my papa. I could talk with him, inform him I enjoyed him, how he made me feel grown-up and unique and loved. And somewhere, somehow along that trip, I 'd begun to think it. I 'd go home and see my genuine father and almost forget that it had not been him that I 'd fucked an hour or more before. However I was falling in love, in developed love, and I could not assist it. It was programmed into me, growing up not as his daughter but as his better half. We 'd done whatever but consummate our relationship, I thought, and he needed to feel the same way. Didn't he?
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