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It ends up I liked being an escort, a lot more than I believed I would anyway. I even began taking the money, mostly since I was much too practical to let a little thing like regret obstruct of good sense. But then, if I had the good 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 silly things that little women do.
I had not been a little lady in a long time.
Deke didn't mind, he stated that was a great thing because he might in fact charge more, especially if the guy I was going with picked me up at school. That opportunity 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. Picking me up at school was worth an extra 200, which I believed was outrageous, but you 'd be shocked how lots of men wanted precisely that. Like it proved beyond a doubt that they were getting the real offer, an minor slut to suck and fuck . These were all older men too, like my dad's age, or more typically even older, in their 40's and 50's mostly. He said that was generous because he was my supervisor, my representative, my security person, my marketing and transport all rolled into one. He purchased my clothes and the things I require to work, like prophylactics and lube and junk like that. That wasn't true. It was more like acting than anything else because I needed to in fact like these guys for an hour or more. I needed to act younger often too, as a little lady perhaps eleven or twelve years old; but never ever older. None of the men paying for me desired a female, simply a girl, and understanding that I truly was simply fifteen, that was the kicker for them. I liked acting though and I think I had a real talent for it. I had a talent for the sex stuff anyhow, no doubt about that, and the more I did it the much better I got.
The guys loved me for a little bit, although some of them enjoyed me for real 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 brief time we were together, that's all, and while part of me felt lonely because I understood it wasn't truly me they liked, mostly I felt a little more secure that way. Like a man who liked me would not injure me, you know? I 'd had sex with like fifty guys or something, many of them wanting me to call them Daddy while we did it. Some of them desired to call me by a various name, their child's name, or a niece or the little woman next door perhaps.
I might close my eyes and envision the guy who was making love to me actually was my father. I could talk to him, inform him I enjoyed him, how he made me feel unique and grown-up and loved. I was falling in love, in full-grown love, and I couldn't help it.
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