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It ends up I liked being an escort, a lot more than I thought I would anyway. I even began taking the money, mostly due to the fact that I was much too useful to let a little thing like regret obstruct of sound judgment. Then, if I had the common sense I wouldn't have been an escort either. I would have been just 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 girl in a very long time though.
Deke didn't mind, he said that was a good thing since he might actually charge more, especially if the man I was going with chosen me up at school. That opportunity turned out to be worth a couple of hundred dollars extra, although I didn't truly 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 extra 200, which I believed was ludicrous, but you 'd be stunned how many people wanted exactly that. Like it proved beyond a doubt that they were getting the genuine offer, an minor whore to fuck and draw . These were all older people too, like my papa'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 agent, my security guy, my marketing and transport all rolled into one. He purchased my clothing and the things I require to work, like condoms and lube and junk like that. However that wasn't real. It was more like acting than anything else because I needed to actually like these people for an hour or 2. I had to act more youthful in some cases too, as a little lady possibly eleven or twelve years of ages; but never older. None of the men paying for me desired a lady, simply a girl, and knowing that I truly was simply fifteen, that was the kicker for them. I liked acting though and I believe I had a real skill for it. I had a skill for the sex things anyway, no doubt about that, and the more I did it the much better I got.
The men loved me for a little bit, although some of them enjoyed me for genuine and asked me if I 'd marry 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 due to the fact that I understood it wasn't truly me they liked, mostly I felt a little safer that way. Like a man who loved me would not hurt me, you understand? I 'd had sex with like fifty guys or something, most of them wanting me to call them Daddy while we did it. Some of them wanted to call me by a different name, their child's name, or a niece or the little woman next door possibly.
I could close my eyes and picture the male who was making love to me actually was my father. I could talk to him, inform him I enjoyed him, how he made me feel grown-up and special and enjoyed. I was falling in love, in grown-up love, and I could not assist it.
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