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It ends up I liked being an escort, a lot more than I believed I would anyway. I even started taking the money, mainly because I was much too practical to let a little thing like regret get in the way of good sense. Then, if I had the common sense I would not have been an escort either. I would have been simply another fifteen-year-old catholic schoolgirl, doing her homework, doing her nails, doing the little ridiculous things that little ladies do.
I hadn't been a little lady in a long time.
Deke didn't mind, he stated that was a good thing since he could in fact charge more, especially if the guy I was going with chosen me up at school. That privilege turned out to be worth a couple of hundred dollars additional, although I didn't actually like it.
I 'd been doing it for practically 2 months already, and I 'd lost track of how many people I 'd had sex with. I didn't need to know, but it needed to be a lot. I 'd made a lot of money too. Way too much for a ninth grader to invest, 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 extra 200, which I believed was ridiculous, but you 'd marvel the number of people wanted exactly that. Like it showed beyond a doubt that they were getting the real deal, an underage whore to fuck and suck . These were all older people too, like my dad's age, or more often even older, in their 40's and 50's primarily. He stated that was generous since he was my manager, my agent, my security person, my marketing and transport all rolled into one. He bought my clothing and the stuff I need to work, like condoms and lube and scrap like that. It was more like acting than anything else since I had to in fact like these guys for an hour or two. I had to act younger in some cases too, as a little girl perhaps eleven or twelve years old; but never ever older. I liked acting though and I believe I had a genuine skill for it.
The guys loved me for a little bit, although some of them enjoyed me for genuine 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 since I understood it wasn't actually me they liked, mainly I felt a little much safer that method. Like a person who loved me would not injure me, you understand? I was in love with my papa. That had altered too and I don't understand if something pertained to the other precisely, however I don't believe in coincidence either. 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 wanted to call me by a various name, their daughter's name, or a niece or the little lady next door maybe. A lot of them didn't mind calling me Samantha either, and that troubled me at initially, but then it didn't and I began liking it.
I could close my eyes and envision the man who was making love to me really was my dad. I might speak with him, inform him I enjoyed him, how he made me feel special and developed and loved. And somewhere, in some way along that trip, I 'd started to think it. I 'd go house and see my real father and almost forget that it had not been him that I 'd fucked an hour or 2 before. But I was falling in love, in developed love, and I couldn't help it. It was set into me, maturing not as his daughter however as his better half. We 'd done whatever however practiced our relationship, I thought, and he needed to feel the same way. Didn't he?
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