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It ends up I liked being an escort, much more than I thought I would anyway. I even began taking the money, mostly since I was much too practical to let a little thing like guilt get in the way of common sense. 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 silly things that little ladies do.
I had not been a little girl in a long time.
Deke didn't mind, he stated that was a excellent thing because he could actually charge more, specifically if the guy 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 actually like it.
I 'd been doing it for nearly 2 months currently, and I 'd lost track of how many men I 'd made love with. I didn't want to know, however it had to be a lot. I 'd made a great deal of money too. Method 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 2. Picking me up at school deserved an additional 200, which I thought was outrageous, but you 'd marvel the number of people wanted precisely that. Like it proved beyond a doubt that they were getting the real deal, an underage whore to suck and fuck . These were all older guys too, like my daddy's age, or more typically even older, in their 40's and 50's mostly. He said that was generous since he was my supervisor, my representative, my security man, my marketing and transportation all rolled into one. He bought my clothing and the things I need to work, like prophylactics and lube and junk like that. It was more like acting than anything else because I had to in fact like these people for an hour or two. I had to act younger often too, as a little girl perhaps eleven or twelve years old; however never ever older. I liked acting though and I think I had a genuine skill for it.
Mary Magdalene had been a slut. That's where I took my convenience and she 'd become my tutelary saint. I 'd felt actually guilty initially, but that had actually disappeared when I recognized I wasn't hurting anyone. The men enjoyed me for a little bit, although a few of them enjoyed me for real and asked me if I 'd marry them, or at least come back to their cities and deal 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 because I understood it wasn't truly me they liked, mostly I felt a little much safer that way. Like a man who liked me wouldn't injure 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 different name, their child's name, or a niece or the little woman next door maybe.
I might close my eyes and imagine the man who was making love to me actually was my father. I might speak to him, inform him I loved him, how he made me feel developed and special and liked. And somewhere, in some way along that trip, I 'd begun to think it. I 'd go home and see my genuine papa and almost forget that it had not been him that I 'd fucked an hour or two before. But I was falling in love, in grown-up love, and I couldn't help it. It was set into me, growing up not as his child but 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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