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It turns out I liked being an escort, far more than I thought I would anyhow. I even started taking the cash, mainly due to the fact that I was much too practical to let a little thing like guilt get in the way of good sense. However then, if I had the common 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 women do.
I hadn't been a little lady in a long time.
I only worked three or four nights a week anyhow, 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 since he could actually charge more, especially if the guy I was going with selected me up at school. That opportunity ended up being worth a number of hundred dollars additional, although I didn't really like it. I was always afraid someone would see me getting into a weird car, a different strange automobile each time, and wonder what was going on.
Way too much for a ninth grader to spend, even after Deke took his cut. Picking me up at school was worth an extra 200, which I thought was absurd, however you 'd be surprised how numerous men desired exactly that. Like it proved beyond a doubt that they were getting the genuine deal, an minor whore to fuck and draw . These were all older guys too, like my father's age, or more frequently even older, in their 40's and 50's primarily. He said that was generous due to the fact that he was my supervisor, my agent, my security person, my marketing and transport all rolled into one. He bought my clothing and the stuff 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 really like these guys for an hour or two. I had to act younger in some cases too, as a little lady perhaps eleven or twelve years old; however never older. I liked acting though and I believe I had a real talent for it.
Mary Magdalene had been a slut. 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 gone away when I realized I wasn't harming anybody. The men liked me for a little bit, although a few of them loved me for real and asked me if I 'd marry them, or a minimum of come back 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 lonesome because I knew it wasn't really me they liked, mainly I felt a little more secure that way. Like a man who liked me would not harm me, you understand? I 'd had sex with like fifty guys or something, many of them desiring me to call them Daddy while we did it. Some of them wanted to call me by a different name, their daughter's name, or a niece or the little girl next door perhaps.
I could close my eyes and envision the man who was making love to me really was my daddy. I might talk with him, inform him I enjoyed him, how he made me feel unique and developed and liked. And someplace, somehow along that flight, I 'd begun to think it. I 'd go home and see my genuine father and practically forget that it had not been him that I 'd fucked an hour or two before. I was falling in love, in grown-up love, and I couldn't assist it. It was programmed into me, growing up not as his daughter but as his spouse. We 'd done whatever however practiced our relationship, I believed, and he needed to feel the same way. Didn't he?
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