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It turns out I liked being an escort, a lot more than I thought I would anyhow. I even began taking the money, mostly because I was much too useful to let a little thing like guilt obstruct of common sense. 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 homework, doing her nails, doing the little silly things that little ladies do.
I had not been a little woman in a long period of time though.
I only worked 3 or 4 nights a week anyway, since I needed to be house by 9 pm on school nights and 10 o'clock on weekends. But Deke didn't mind, he stated that was a advantage because he might really charge more, particularly if the person I was going with selected me up at school. That privilege ended up being worth a number of hundred dollars extra, although I didn't really like it. I was constantly afraid someone would see me entering a weird automobile, a different unusual cars and truck each time, and question what was going on.
I 'd been doing it for nearly 2 months already, and I 'd lost track of the number of people I 'd had sex with. I didn't want to know, however it had to be a lot. I 'd made a lot of money too. Way too much 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. Picking me up at school was worth an extra 200, which I thought was ridiculous, but you 'd marvel how many people desired exactly that. Like it proved beyond a doubt that they were getting the real offer, an underage slut to fuck and draw . These were all older men too, like my daddy's age, or regularly even older, in their 40's and 50's mostly. They had a lot of money to invest and it was the suggestions that actually flushed my checking account. Deke gave me 30% and kept 70% for himself. He stated that was generous because he was my supervisor, my representative, my security person, my advertising and transportation all rolled into one. He purchased my clothing and the stuff I need to work, like condoms and lube and scrap like that. He did all the work if you listened to him inform it, and all I did was lay there and get rich. However that wasn't real. It was more like acting than anything else since I had to in fact like these people for an hour or two. I had to act younger sometimes too, as a little girl maybe eleven or twelve years old; but never ever older. None of the men paying for me wanted a woman, simply a woman, 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 talent for the sex things anyhow, no doubt about that, and the more I did it the much better I got.
Mary Magdalene had actually been a whore. That's where I took my comfort and she 'd become my tutelary saint. I 'd felt truly guilty in the beginning, but that had actually gone away when I realized I wasn't hurting anybody. The men loved me for a little bit, although a few of them enjoyed me genuine and asked me if I 'd wed them, or at least come back to their cities and cope 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 because I understood it wasn't truly me they liked, mainly I felt a little more secure that way. Like a guy who liked me would not hurt me, you know? 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 desired to call me by a different name, their child's name, or a niece or the little lady next door maybe.
I might close my eyes and picture the man who was making love to me actually was my papa. I could talk with him, inform him I liked him, how he made me feel full-grown and unique and liked. And somewhere, in some way along that flight, I 'd begun to think it. I 'd go house and see my real daddy and almost forget that it had not been him that I 'd fucked an hour or two before. However I was falling in love, in full-grown love, and I could not assist it. It was programmed into me, maturing not as his child but as his better half. We 'd done whatever but skilled our relationship, I thought, and he needed to feel the same way. Didn't he?
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