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It turns out I liked being an escort, far more than I believed I would anyway. I even began taking the cash, primarily due to the fact that I was much too practical to let a little thing like regret obstruct of good sense. But then, if I had the common sense I wouldn't 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 had not been a little girl in a long time.
Deke didn't mind, he said that was a good thing due to the fact that he might actually charge more, specifically if the man I was going with chosen me up at school. That benefit turned out to be worth a couple of hundred dollars extra, although I didn't actually like it.
Way too much for a ninth grader to spend, even after Deke took his cut. Picking me up at school was worth an additional 200, which I believed was absurd, however you 'd be surprised how many guys wanted exactly that. Like it proved beyond a doubt that they were getting the real offer, an underage slut to fuck and suck . These were all older men too, like my papa's age, or more typically even older, in their 40's and 50's primarily. He stated that was generous because he was my supervisor, my representative, my security man, my marketing and transport all rolled into one. He purchased my clothing and the things I need to work, like prophylactics and lube and scrap like that. It was more like acting than anything else because I had to in fact like these men for an hour or 2. I had to act more youthful often too, as a little girl possibly eleven or twelve years old; however never older. I liked acting though and I believe I had a genuine talent for it.
Mary Magdalene had been a slut. That's where I took my comfort and she 'd become my tutelary saint. I 'd felt truly guilty at first, but that had disappeared when I understood I wasn't injuring anyone. The men liked me for a little bit, although a few of them loved me genuine and asked me if I 'd marry them, or at least come back to their cities and cope with them. They were in love with who I pretended to be for that brief time we were together, that's all, and while part of me felt lonesome due to the fact that I understood it wasn't truly me they liked, mostly I felt a little more secure that way. Like a person who loved me would not harm me, you know? I loved my daddy. That had changed too and I don't understand if something had to do with the other precisely, but I do not believe in coincidence either. I 'd made love with like fifty men or something, most of them desiring me to call them Daddy while we did it. A few of them wished to call me by a different name, their child's name, or a niece or the little lady next door perhaps. However a lot of them didn't mind calling me Samantha either, which troubled me at first, but then it didn't and I started liking it.
I might close my eyes and envision the male who was making love to me actually was my papa. I might talk to him, inform him I liked him, how he made me feel grown-up and unique and loved. I was falling in love, in full-grown love, and I could not help it.
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