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It turns out I liked being an escort, far more than I thought I would anyway. I even started taking the money, mainly since I was much too practical to let a little thing like regret get in the way of sound judgment. However then, if I had the sound judgment I would not have actually been an escort either. I would have been simply another fifteen-year-old catholic schoolgirl, doing her research, doing her nails, doing the little ridiculous things that little women do.
I had not been a little woman in a long time.
Deke didn't mind, he stated that was a good thing because he might in fact charge more, particularly 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 really like it.
Method too much for a ninth grader to spend, even after Deke took his cut. Selecting me up at school was worth an extra 200, which I believed was absurd, however you 'd be shocked how lots of guys wanted exactly that. Like it showed beyond a doubt that they were getting the real deal, an underage slut to suck and fuck . These were all older guys too, like my daddy's age, or more often even older, in their 40's and 50's mostly. He said that was generous because he was my manager, my representative, my security person, my advertising and transportation all rolled into one. He purchased my clothing and the stuff I need to work, like condoms and lube and junk like that. It was more like acting than anything else since I had to in fact like these men for an hour or 2. I had to act more youthful often too, as a little woman possibly eleven or twelve years old; but never older. I liked acting though and I believe I had a real skill for it.
Mary Magdalene had been a whore. That's where I took my comfort and she 'd become my tutelary saint. I 'd felt really guilty at first, but that had actually disappeared when I realized I wasn't hurting anyone. The men enjoyed me for a bit, although some of them liked me genuine and asked me if I 'd wed them, or at least return 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 since I knew it wasn't really me they liked, primarily I felt a little more secure that way. Like a person who loved me wouldn't hurt me, you understand? I loved my father. That had actually altered too and I do not know if something related to the other exactly, but I do not believe in coincidence either. I 'd made love with like fifty guys or something, most of them wanting me to call them Daddy while we did it. Some of them wanted to call me by a various name, their child's name, or a niece or the little woman next door possibly. But a lot of them didn't mind calling me Samantha either, which troubled me in the beginning, however then it didn't and I began liking it.
I might close my eyes and think of the male who was making love to me really was my papa. I could talk to him, inform him I loved him, how he made me feel special and grown-up and enjoyed. I was falling in love, in grown-up love, and I couldn't assist it.
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