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It ends up I liked being an escort, far more than I thought I would anyway. I even began taking the money, mainly because I was much too useful to let a little thing like regret 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 just another fifteen-year-old catholic schoolgirl, doing her research, doing her nails, doing the little ridiculous things that little ladies do.
I had not been a little lady in a long time.
I just worked 3 or 4 nights a week anyway, since I needed to be home by 9 pm on school nights and 10 o'clock on weekends. 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 chosen me up at school. That opportunity ended up being worth a number of hundred dollars extra, although I didn't truly like it. I was constantly scared someone would see me entering a unusual car, a various strange cars and truck every time, and wonder what was going on.
Method too much for a ninth grader to invest, even after Deke took his cut. Choosing me up at school was worth an extra 200, which I believed was ridiculous, but you 'd be shocked how lots of guys desired precisely that. Like it showed beyond a doubt that they were getting the genuine offer, an minor whore to fuck and suck . These were all older guys too, like my dad's age, or more frequently even older, in their 40's and 50's mainly. He said that was generous since he was my manager, my agent, my security guy, my advertising and transport all rolled into one. He purchased my clothes and the stuff I require to work, like condoms and lube and scrap like that. It was more like acting than anything else considering that I had to really 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 older. I liked acting though and I believe I had a real skill for it.
Mary Magdalene had been a whore. That's where I took my convenience and she 'd become my patron saint. I 'd felt really guilty in the beginning, but that had actually disappeared when I understood I wasn't hurting anybody. The men loved me for a little bit, although a few of them liked me for real and asked me if I 'd marry them, or a minimum of return to their cities and live with them. However they loved 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, mostly I felt a little much safer that way. Like a guy who liked me would not hurt 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 desired to call me by a different name, their daughter's name, or a niece or the little girl next door possibly.
I might close my eyes and picture the guy who was making love to me truly was my dad. I might talk to him, inform him I liked him, how he made me feel grown-up and unique and enjoyed. I was falling in love, in grown-up love, and I couldn't help it.
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