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It turns out I liked being an escort, much more than I believed I would anyway. I even started taking the money, mainly due to the fact that I was much too useful to let a little thing like regret obstruct of sound judgment. Then, if I had the typical sense I wouldn't have been an escort either. I would have been just another fifteen-year-old catholic schoolgirl, doing her research, doing her nails, doing the little ridiculous things that little women do.
I hadn't been a little lady in a long time.
Deke didn't mind, he stated that was a great thing due to the fact that he could actually charge more, especially if the man 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 actually like it.
Method too much for a ninth grader to invest, even after Deke took his cut. Choosing me up at school was worth an additional 200, which I thought was ludicrous, however you 'd be stunned how many men wanted exactly that. Like it proved beyond a doubt that they were getting the real deal, an minor whore to fuck and suck . These were all older guys too, like my father's age, or more frequently even older, in their 40's and 50's mostly. They had a great deal of money to invest and it was the pointers that actually flushed my savings account. Deke offered me 30% and kept 70% for himself. He stated that was generous due to the fact that he was my supervisor, my agent, my security man, my advertising and transportation all rolled into one. He bought my clothes and the stuff I need to work, like condoms and lube and junk like that. He did all the work if you listened to him tell it, and all I did was lay there and get rich. It was more like acting than anything else since I had to actually like these people for an hour or two. I had to act younger often too, as a little girl maybe eleven or twelve years old; but never older. I liked acting though and I believe I had a genuine skill for it.
Mary Magdalene had been a slut. That's where I took my convenience and she 'd become my tutelary saint. I 'd felt truly guilty at first, but that had disappeared when I recognized I wasn't harming anyone. The men enjoyed me for a bit, although some of them liked me for real and asked me if I 'd wed them, or a minimum of come back to their cities and live with them. But they loved 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 truly me they liked, primarily I felt a little more secure that way. Like a man who loved me wouldn't injure me, you know? 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 lady next door perhaps.
I could close my eyes and picture the man who was making love to me truly was my father. I could speak with him, tell him I liked him, how he made me feel unique and developed and enjoyed. And somewhere, in some way along that flight, I 'd begun to believe it. I 'd go house and see my real papa and practically forget that it hadn't been him that I 'd fucked an hour or more prior to. However I was falling in love, in full-grown love, and I couldn't assist it. It was configured into me, growing up not as his daughter but as his partner. 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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