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It turns out I liked being an escort, much more than I believed I would anyway. I even started taking the money, primarily 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 common sense I would not 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 ladies do.
I had not been a little lady in a long time.
Deke didn't mind, he said that was a great thing due to the fact that he could actually charge more, especially if the man 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.
Way too much for a ninth grader to spend, even after Deke took his cut. Picking me up at school was worth an additional 200, which I believed was outrageous, but you 'd be shocked how numerous men wanted precisely that. Like it proved beyond a doubt that they were getting the genuine offer, an minor slut 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 mostly. He stated that was generous due to the fact that he was my supervisor, my representative, my security person, my marketing and transport all rolled into one. He purchased my clothes and the stuff I need to work, like prophylactics and lube and scrap like that. That wasn't real. It was more like acting than anything else considering that I had to really like these men for an hour or more. I had to act more youthful often too, as a little lady possibly eleven or twelve years old; but never ever older. None of the men spending for me desired a lady, simply a girl, and understanding that I really was just fifteen, that was the kicker for them. I liked acting though and I think I had a real talent for it. I had a skill for the sex stuff anyhow, no doubt about that, and the more I did it the much better I got.
Mary Magdalene had been a slut. That's where I took my convenience and she 'd become my tutelary saint. I 'd felt truly guilty at first, however that had actually disappeared when I recognized I wasn't hurting anyone. The men liked me for a bit, although some of them loved me genuine and asked me if I 'd marry them, or a minimum of 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 way. Like a person who enjoyed me would not harm me, you know? I 'd had sex with like fifty men or something, most of them desiring me to call them Daddy while we did it. Some of them desired to call me by a different name, their child's name, or a niece or the little girl next door maybe.
I could close my eyes and envision the man who was making love to me really was my father. I could talk with him, tell him I enjoyed him, how he made me feel unique and grown-up and liked. And somewhere, in some way along that flight, I 'd started to believe it. I 'd go house and see my real daddy and practically forget that it had not been him that I 'd fucked an hour or more before. I was falling in love, in developed love, and I could not help it. It was programmed into me, maturing not as his daughter but as his partner. 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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