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It turns out I liked being an escort, a lot more than I thought I would anyhow. I even started taking the cash, mainly since I was much too practical to let a little thing like guilt obstruct of sound judgment. Then, if I had the common sense I would not have actually been an escort either. I would have been simply another fifteen-year-old catholic schoolgirl, doing her homework, doing her nails, doing the little silly things that little girls do.
I hadn't been a little lady in a long time.
Deke didn't mind, he stated that was a excellent thing due to the fact that he might actually charge more, particularly if the person I was going with selected me up at school. That opportunity turned out to be worth a couple of hundred dollars additional, although I didn't truly like it.
Way too much for a ninth grader to spend, even after Deke took his cut. Selecting me up at school was worth an additional 200, which I believed was ridiculous, but you 'd be surprised how many men desired precisely that. Like it showed beyond a doubt that they were getting the genuine deal, an underage whore to fuck and suck . These were all older people too, like my dad's age, or more often even older, in their 40's and 50's primarily. He said that was generous since he was my supervisor, my agent, my security man, my marketing and transport all rolled into one. He bought my clothes and the things I require to work, like condoms and lube and scrap like that. It was more like acting than anything else given that I had to in fact like these people for an hour or 2. I had to act more youthful sometimes 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.
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 lonely because I understood it wasn't truly me they liked, primarily I felt a little more secure that way. Like a person who liked me would not injure me, you understand? I loved my dad. That had actually changed too and I don't understand if one thing involved the other exactly, but I do not believe in coincidence either. I 'd had sex with like fifty guys or something, most of them wanting me to call them Daddy while we did it. A few of them wished to call me by a different name, their daughter's name, or a niece or the little girl next door perhaps. A lot of them didn't mind calling me Samantha either, and that troubled me at first, but then it didn't and I began liking it.
I could close my eyes and picture the guy who was making love to me really was my father. I could talk to him, tell him I enjoyed him, how he made me feel developed and unique and liked. I was falling in love, in grown-up love, and I could not assist it.
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