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It ends up I liked being an escort, much more than I believed I would anyhow. I even started taking the cash, mainly because I was much too useful to let a little thing like regret get in the way of common sense. However then, if I had the sound judgment I would not 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 girls do.
I hadn't been a little lady in a long time.
Deke didn't mind, he stated that was a great thing because he could really charge more, particularly if the person I was going with picked me up at school. That privilege turned out to be worth a couple of hundred dollars extra, although I didn't really like it.
I 'd been doing it for almost two months already, and I 'd lost track of the number of people I 'd had sex with. I didn't wish to know, but it had to be a lot. I 'd made a great deal of money too. Way excessive for a ninth grader to spend, even after Deke took his cut. He charged 300 dollars an hour for me, or 500 dollars for two. Selecting me up at school was worth an extra 200, which I believed was outrageous, however you 'd be surprised the number of people desired exactly that. Like it showed beyond a doubt that they were getting the genuine offer, an minor whore to fuck and suck . These were all older people too, like my daddy's age, or more typically even older, in their 40's and 50's primarily. He stated that was generous since he was my supervisor, my agent, my security man, my advertising and transport all rolled into one. He purchased my clothing and the stuff I require to work, like prophylactics and lube and junk like that. It was more like acting than anything else since I had to actually like these people for an hour or two. I had to act younger often too, as a little woman maybe eleven or twelve years old; but never ever older. I liked acting though and I believe I had a genuine talent for it.
The men enjoyed me for a little bit, although some of them loved 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 short time we were together, that's all, and while part of me felt lonely because I understood it wasn't truly me they liked, mainly I felt a little safer that method. Like a man who loved me would not harm me, you understand? I 'd had sex with like fifty people or something, many of them wanting me to call them Daddy while we did it. Some of them wanted to call me by a various name, their daughter's name, or a niece or the little girl next door perhaps.
I might close my eyes and picture the man who was making love to me truly was my papa. I could speak to him, tell him I loved him, how he made me feel full-grown and unique and enjoyed. And someplace, somehow along that ride, I 'd started to think it. I 'd go house and see my real dad and almost forget that it hadn't been him that I 'd fucked an hour or two before. But I was falling in love, in full-grown love, and I could not help it. It was set into me, growing up not as his child however as his spouse. We 'd done whatever but practiced our relationship, I believed, and he needed to feel the same way. Didn't he?
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