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It turns out I liked being an escort, far more than I believed I would anyhow. I even began taking the money, mainly since I was much too useful to let a little thing like guilt obstruct of sound judgment. But then, if I had the sound judgment I wouldn't have been an escort either. I would have been just another fifteen-year-old catholic schoolgirl, doing her research, doing her nails, doing the little silly things that little women do.
I hadn't been a little girl in a long time.
I just worked 3 or 4 nights a week anyhow, since I had to be house by 9 pm on school nights and ten o'clock on weekends. Deke didn't mind, he stated that was a good thing since he might really charge more, specifically if the man I was going with picked me up at school. That privilege ended up being worth a couple of hundred dollars additional, although I didn't actually like it. I was always scared someone would see me getting into a strange car, a various strange automobile whenever, and question what was going on.
Method 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 thought was ludicrous, but you 'd be stunned how many guys wanted precisely that. Like it showed beyond a doubt that they were getting the real deal, an underage whore to fuck and suck . These were all older men too, like my father's age, or more typically even older, in their 40's and 50's mostly. He said that was generous because he was my supervisor, my representative, my security person, my marketing and transportation all rolled into one. He purchased my clothing and the things I need to work, like condoms and lube and scrap like that. It was more like acting than anything else given that I had to actually like these guys for an hour or two. I had to act younger sometimes too, as a little woman possibly eleven or twelve years old; however never older. I liked acting though and I believe I had a genuine 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 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 brief time we were together, that's all, and while part of me felt lonesome since I understood it wasn't truly me they liked, mainly I felt a little safer that method. Like a person who loved me would not 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 perhaps.
I could close my eyes and think of the man who was making love to me truly was my daddy. I could speak to him, tell him I loved him, how he made me feel unique and grown-up and liked. And somewhere, somehow along that trip, I 'd begun to believe it. I 'd go home and see my real father and nearly forget that it hadn't been him that I 'd fucked an hour or two prior to. I was falling in love, in full-grown love, and I could not help it. It was configured into me, growing up not as his child however as his other half. 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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