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It turns out I liked being an escort, far more than I thought I would anyhow. I even began taking the money, primarily since I was much too useful to let a little thing like regret get in the way of good sense. Then, if I had the typical sense I wouldn't 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 silly things that little ladies do.
I hadn't been a little girl in a long time.
I only worked 3 or four nights a week anyway, since I needed to be home by 9 pm on school nights and ten o'clock on weekends. Deke didn't mind, he stated that was a good thing since he could really charge more, especially if the guy I was going with chosen me up at school. That benefit ended up being worth a couple of hundred dollars extra, although I didn't really like it. I was constantly scared someone would see me entering into a strange cars and truck, a different unusual automobile every time, and wonder what was going on.
Method 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 believed was ridiculous, but you 'd be surprised how many guys wanted precisely that. Like it showed beyond a doubt that they were getting the genuine deal, an minor slut to fuck and suck . These were all older people too, like my father's age, or more typically even older, in their 40's and 50's mostly. He said that was generous since he was my manager, my agent, my security guy, my advertising and transport all rolled into one. He bought my clothes and the stuff I need to work, like prophylactics and lube and junk like that. It was more like acting than anything else because I had to really like these men for an hour or two. I had to act more youthful sometimes too, as a little lady possibly eleven or twelve years old; however never older. I liked acting though and I believe I had a real skill for it.
Mary Magdalene had been a slut. That's where I took my convenience and she 'd become my tutelary saint. I 'd felt truly guilty in the beginning, but that had disappeared when I recognized I wasn't harming anyone. The men loved me for a little bit, although a few of them enjoyed me for real and asked me if I 'd wed them, or a minimum of come back to their cities and deal 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 due to the fact that I understood it wasn't actually me they liked, mainly I felt a little safer that way. Like a man who enjoyed me would not harm me, you understand? 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 various name, their child's name, or a niece or the little girl next door perhaps.
I might close my eyes and envision the man who was making love to me truly was my daddy. I could talk with him, inform him I enjoyed him, how he made me feel grown-up and special and loved. And someplace, somehow along that ride, I 'd started to believe it. I 'd go house and see my real papa and nearly forget that it had not been him that I 'd fucked an hour or two prior to. However I was falling in love, in grown-up love, and I couldn't help it. It was set into me, maturing not as his daughter however as his better half. We 'd done everything however practiced our relationship, I thought, and he needed to feel the same way. Didn't he?
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