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It turns out 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 guilt get in the way of sound judgment. However then, if I had the good sense I would not have been an escort either. I would have been simply another fifteen-year-old catholic schoolgirl, doing her research, doing her nails, doing the little ridiculous things that little girls do.
I had not been a little woman in a long period of time though.
I just worked three or 4 nights a week anyway, because I had to be house by 9 pm on school nights and 10 o'clock on weekends. Deke didn't mind, he said that was a good thing because he could in fact charge more, specifically if the guy I was going with selected me up at school. That privilege turned out to be worth a number of hundred dollars additional, although I didn't actually like it. I was always afraid someone would see me getting into a odd car, a different odd vehicle every time, and question what was going on.
Way too much for a ninth grader to invest, even after Deke took his cut. Selecting me up at school was worth an extra 200, which I thought was ludicrous, however you 'd be shocked how many men desired exactly that. Like it showed beyond a doubt that they were getting the genuine offer, an underage whore to fuck and suck . These were all older people too, like my papa's age, or more frequently even older, in their 40's and 50's mainly. He said that was generous because he was my manager, my representative, my security man, my advertising and transport all rolled into one. He bought my clothes and the stuff I require to work, like condoms and lube and scrap like that. That wasn't true. It was more like acting than anything else given that I had to really like these guys for an hour or two. I had to act more youthful in some cases too, as a little girl possibly eleven or twelve years of ages; but never ever older. None of the men paying for me desired a female, simply a woman, and knowing 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 talent for the sex things anyhow, no doubt about that, and the more I did it the better I got.
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 really me they liked, primarily I felt a little more secure that method. Like a guy who enjoyed me wouldn't injure me, you understand? I 'd had sex with like fifty men or something, most 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 possibly.
I could close my eyes and think of the man who was making love to me truly was my dad. I might speak with him, tell him I liked him, how he made me feel full-grown and special and loved. And someplace, in some way along that flight, I 'd begun to think it. I 'd go home and see my real papa and nearly forget that it had not been him that I 'd fucked an hour or two prior to. However I was falling in love, in grown-up love, and I couldn't help it. It was configured into me, growing up not as his daughter but as his partner. We 'd done whatever but practiced our relationship, I believed, and he had to feel the same way. Didn't he?
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