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It ends up I liked being an escort, far more than I thought I would anyhow. I even started taking the money, mainly due to the fact that I was much too practical to let a little thing like regret obstruct of good sense. Then, if I had the common sense I wouldn't have 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 girls do.
I hadn't been a little woman in a very long time though.
Deke didn't mind, he stated that was a excellent thing due to the fact that he might actually charge more, particularly if the guy I was going with picked me up at school. That privilege turned out to be worth a couple of hundred dollars additional, although I didn't actually like it.
Way 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 thought was ludicrous, but you 'd be stunned how many people wanted precisely that. Like it proved beyond a doubt that they were getting the real offer, an underage slut to suck and fuck . These were all older people too, like my daddy's age, or more often even older, in their 40's and 50's primarily. He said that was generous since he was my manager, my agent, my security guy, my marketing and transportation all rolled into one. He purchased my clothes and the stuff I need to work, like prophylactics and lube and scrap like that. It was more like acting than anything else given that I had to in fact like these people for an hour or two. I had to act younger sometimes too, as a little woman maybe eleven or twelve years old; but never older. I liked acting though and I think I had a genuine skill for it.
The guys loved me for a little bit, although some of them loved 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 short time we were together, that's all, and while part of me felt lonesome since I understood it wasn't truly me they liked, mainly I felt a little much safer that way. Like a man who liked me wouldn't harm me, you understand? I was in love with my daddy. That had altered too and I don't understand if one thing had to do with the other precisely, but I don't believe in coincidence either. I 'd had sex with like fifty guys or something, most of them desiring me to call them Daddy while we did it. A few of them wished to call me by a different name, their child's name, or a niece or the little woman next door perhaps. But a lot of them didn't mind calling me Samantha either, which troubled me initially, but then it didn't and I began liking it.
I might close my eyes and think of the guy who was making love to me actually was my dad. I might talk to him, tell him I liked him, how he made me feel unique and developed and enjoyed. I was falling in love, in grown-up love, and I could not help it.
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