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It ends up I liked being an escort, much more than I thought I would anyhow. I even started taking the cash, primarily due to the fact that I was much too practical to let a little thing like guilt get in the way of common sense. However then, if I had the sound judgment 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 ridiculous things that little women do.
I hadn't been a little girl in a very long time though.
Deke didn't mind, he stated that was a good thing due to the fact that he might actually charge more, particularly if the person I was going with picked me up at school. That benefit turned out to be worth a couple of hundred dollars extra, although I didn't truly like it.
Method too much for a ninth grader to spend, even after Deke took his cut. Choosing me up at school was worth an additional 200, which I believed was outrageous, but you 'd be shocked how lots of guys desired exactly that. Like it showed beyond a doubt that they were getting the genuine deal, an minor slut to fuck and suck . These were all older people too, like my daddy's age, or more often even older, in their 40's and 50's mostly. They had a lot of cash to invest and it was the ideas that truly flushed my bank account. Deke gave me 30% and kept 70% for himself. He said that was generous since he was my manager, my representative, my security guy, my marketing and transportation all rolled into one. He bought my clothing and the stuff I require 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. It was more like acting than anything else given that I had to in fact like these guys for an hour or 2. I had to act younger often too, as a little girl perhaps eleven or twelve years old; but never ever older. I liked acting though and I think I had a real talent for it.
The guys liked me for a little bit, although some of them liked me for genuine and asked me if I 'd marry 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 lonesome because I understood it wasn't really me they liked, mainly I felt a little much safer that way. Like a person who liked me wouldn't harm me, you know? 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 girl next door perhaps.
I might close my eyes and envision the man who was making love to me actually was my papa. I could speak to him, tell him I enjoyed him, how he made me feel unique and developed and liked. And somewhere, somehow along that flight, I 'd started to think it. I 'd go house and see my real daddy and almost forget that it hadn't been him that I 'd fucked an hour or 2 prior to. But I was falling in love, in developed love, and I could not help it. It was programmed into me, growing up not as his child but as his better half. We 'd done everything but skilled our relationship, I thought, and he needed to feel the same way. Didn't he?
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