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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, mainly since I was much too practical to let a little thing like guilt 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 simply 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 woman in a long time.
I just worked three or 4 nights a week anyhow, because I needed to be house by 9 pm on school nights and ten o'clock on weekends. But Deke didn't mind, he said that was a good idea because he could really 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 extra, although I didn't actually like it. I was constantly scared somebody would see me entering a odd vehicle, a different odd cars and truck 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 extra 200, which I believed was absurd, however you 'd be shocked how many men desired exactly that. Like it proved beyond a doubt that they were getting the real deal, an underage whore to fuck and draw . These were all older guys too, like my dad's age, or more frequently 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 marketing and transport all rolled into one. He bought my clothes and the stuff I need to work, like prophylactics and lube and junk like that. That wasn't true. It was more like acting than anything else since I had to in fact like these people for an hour or two. I needed to act younger often too, as a little lady maybe eleven or twelve years old; however never ever older. None of the men spending for me desired a lady, simply a girl, and knowing that I actually was simply fifteen, that was the kicker for them. I liked acting though and I think I had a real skill for it. I had a skill for the sex stuff anyhow, no doubt about that, and the more I did it the better I got.
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 in the beginning, but that had disappeared when I recognized I wasn't harming anyone. The men loved me for a little bit, although some of them loved me for real and asked me if I 'd wed them, or at least return 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 lonely since I understood it wasn't truly me they liked, primarily I felt a little more secure that method. Like a person who liked me wouldn't harm me, you understand? I 'd had sex with like fifty guys or something, most of them desiring 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 might close my eyes and picture the man who was making love to me truly was my daddy. I might speak to him, inform him I liked him, how he made me feel developed and unique and liked. And somewhere, somehow along that flight, I 'd started to think it. I 'd go home and see my genuine dad and almost forget that it hadn't been him that I 'd fucked an hour or 2 prior to. I was falling in love, in developed love, and I couldn't assist it. It was configured into me, growing up not as his child however as his better half. We 'd done everything but consummate our relationship, I thought, and he needed to feel the same way. Didn't he?
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