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It ends up I liked being an escort, far more than I thought I would anyhow. I even started taking the money, mostly because I was much too useful to let a little thing like regret get in the way of good sense. But then, if I had the sound judgment 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 hadn't been a little woman in a very long time though.
Deke didn't mind, he said that was a good thing due to the fact that he could actually charge more, particularly if the person I was going with selected me up at school. That benefit turned out to be worth a couple of hundred dollars additional, although I didn't truly like it.
I 'd been doing it for almost 2 months currently, and I 'd lost track of the number of men I 'd made love with. I didn't need 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 2. Picking me up at school deserved an additional 200, which I thought was ridiculous, but you 'd marvel how many people desired precisely that. Like it proved beyond a doubt that they were getting the genuine deal, an minor slut to draw and fuck . These were all older people too, like my papa's age, or more often even older, in their 40's and 50's primarily. He said that was generous because he was my manager, my agent, my security guy, my marketing and transportation all rolled into one. He purchased my clothes and the things I need to work, like condoms and lube and junk like that. It was more like acting than anything else because I had to actually like these men for an hour or two. I had to act more youthful sometimes too, as a little woman perhaps eleven or twelve years old; but never ever older. I liked acting though and I think I had a real talent for it.
Mary Magdalene had actually been a slut. That's where I took my convenience and she 'd become my patron saint. I 'd felt truly guilty at first, however that had actually gone away when I understood I wasn't harming anybody. The men enjoyed me for a bit, although some of them liked me genuine and asked me if I 'd marry them, or a minimum of return 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 actually me they liked, mostly I felt a little more secure that method. Like a guy who liked me wouldn't harm me, you understand? I 'd had sex with like fifty people 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 daughter's name, or a niece or the little woman next door perhaps.
I might close my eyes and think of the man who was making love to me truly was my daddy. I might talk with him, tell him I loved him, how he made me feel unique and full-grown and liked. And someplace, somehow along that flight, I 'd begun to think it. I 'd go home and see my real father and practically forget that it hadn't been him that I 'd fucked an hour or 2 before. However I was falling in love, in developed love, and I could not assist it. It was configured into me, growing up not as his child however as his better half. We 'd done everything but consummate our relationship, I believed, and he needed to feel the same way. Didn't he?
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