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It turns out I liked being an escort, a lot more than I believed I would anyhow. I even started taking the cash, primarily since I was much too practical to let a little thing like guilt obstruct of good sense. 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 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 because he could in fact charge more, especially if the man I was going with chosen me up at school. That benefit turned out to be worth a couple of hundred dollars extra, although I didn't actually like it.
Way too much for a ninth grader to invest, even after Deke took his cut. Selecting me up at school was worth an additional 200, which I thought was outrageous, however you 'd be surprised how numerous people wanted exactly that. Like it showed beyond a doubt that they were getting the real offer, an underage whore to fuck and suck . These were all older people too, like my father's age, or more often even older, in their 40's and 50's primarily. He said that was generous because he was my manager, my representative, my security person, my advertising and transport all rolled into one. He bought my clothing and the things I require to work, like condoms and lube and junk like that. It was more like acting than anything else because I had to really like these guys for an hour or two. I had to act younger in some cases too, as a little girl maybe eleven or twelve years old; but never older. I liked acting though and I think I had a real skill for it.
The guys liked me for a little bit, although some of them enjoyed me for genuine and asked me if I 'd wed 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 since I understood it wasn't really me they liked, mostly I felt a little more secure that method. Like a man who enjoyed me wouldn't injure me, you understand? I 'd had sex with like fifty people or something, many of them wanting me to call them Daddy while we did it. Some of them desired to call me by a different name, their child's name, or a niece or the little lady next door maybe.
I might close my eyes and think of the man who was making love to me actually was my dad. I might talk to him, tell him I enjoyed him, how he made me feel developed and special and liked. And someplace, somehow along that ride, I 'd started to believe it. I 'd go home and see my genuine daddy and nearly forget that it hadn't been him that I 'd fucked an hour or 2 before. But I was falling in love, in full-grown love, and I could not assist it. It was programmed into me, maturing not as his child however as his better half. We 'd done everything however skilled our relationship, I thought, and he needed to feel the same way. Didn't he?
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