Chapter 3

It turns out I liked being an escort, much more than I thought I would anyway. I even started taking the money, mostly because I was much too practical to let a little thing like guilt get in the way of common sense. But then, if I had common sense I wouldn't 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 girl in a long time though.

I only worked three or four nights a week anyway, since I had to be home by 9pm on school nights and ten o'clock on weekends. But Deke didn't mind, he said that was a good thing because he could actually charge more, especially if the guy I was going with picked me up at school. That privilege turned out to be worth a couple hundred dollars extra, although I didn't really like it. I was always afraid someone would see me getting into a strange car, a different strange car every time, and wonder what was going on.

I'd been doing it for almost two months already, and I'd lost track of how many guys I'd had sex with. I didn't want to know, but it had to be a lot. I'd made a lot of money too. Way too much for a ninth grader to spend, even after Deke took his cut. He charged 300 dollars an hour for me, or 500 dollars for two. Picking me up at school was worth an extra 200, which I thought was ridiculous, but you'd be surprised how many guys wanted exactly that. Like it proved beyond a doubt that they were getting the real deal, an underage whore to fuck and suck.

These were all older guys too, like my dad's age, or more often even older, in their 40's and 50's mostly. They had a lot of money to spend and it was the tips that really flushed my bank account. Deke gave me 30% and kept 70% for himself. He said that was generous because he was my manager, my agent, my security guy, my advertising and transportation all rolled into one. He bought my clothes and the stuff I need to work, like condoms and lube and junk like that. He did all the work, if you listened to him tell it, and all I did was lay there and get rich.

But that wasn't true. It was more like acting than anything else, since I had to actually like these guys for an hour or two. I had to act younger sometimes too, like a little girl maybe eleven or twelve years old; but never older. None of the men paying for me wanted a woman, just a girl, and knowing that I really was just 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 anyway, no doubt about that, and the more I did it the better I got.

Mary Magdalene had been a whore. That's where I took my comfort and she'd become my patron saint. I'd felt really guilty at first, but that had gone away when I realized I wasn't hurting anyone. The men loved me for a little bit, although some of them loved me for real and asked me if I'd marry them, or at least come back to their cities and live with them. But 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 because I knew it wasn't really me they liked, mostly I felt a little safer that way.

Like a guy who loved me wouldn't hurt me, you know?

I was in love with my dad. That had changed too and I don't know 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 wanting me to call them Daddy while we did it. Some of them wanted to call me by a different name, their daughter's name, or a niece or the little girl next door maybe. But a lot of them didn't mind calling me Samantha either, and that bothered me at first, but then it didn't and I started liking it.

I could close my eyes and imagine the man who was making love to me really was my dad. I could talk to him, tell him I loved him, how he made me feel special and grown up and loved. And somewhere, somehow along that ride, I'd started to believe it. I'd go home and see my real dad and almost forget that it hadn't been him that I'd fucked an hour or two before. But I was falling in love, in grown-up love, and I couldn't help it. It was programmed into me, growing up not as his daughter but as his wife. We'd done everything but consummate our relationship, I thought, and he had to feel the same way. Didn't he?

"You think I could be a doctor someday, Daddy?" I looked up at him. He was reading some boring report, so I kept talking. "I've been trying to think of what I want to do."

"A doctor? Sure you can do that. You're smart enough," he smiled down at me. "You can be anything you like, Princess."

I was lying on the sofa with my head on his lap with my legs curled up, tucked inside my big t-shirt so that it stretched even more. I liked it like that and this was the way we'd watched movies together for as long as I could remember.

"Yeah, but it sounds hard," I frowned a little. We were watching City of Angels, with Meg Ryan. It was one of my favorite movies, even though I always cried when I watched it.

"Well, if it wasn't hard, everybody'd be a doctor." Daddy stroked my hair and I shifted my head a little.

"Do you like being an engineer?" I asked him.

"Mostly." He finally put down his report.

"Do you ever wish you did something else?" I turned onto my back so I could just look at him, stretching my long legs out from under my suddenly loose t-shirt.

"Like what?" he wondered, looking into my eyes and smiling.

"Like, I don't know," I giggled. "What did you want to do when you were a kid?"

"I wanted to be an astronaut," he said. "When I was your age they were still going to the moon, playing golf and collecting rocks."

"They played golf on the moon?" I laughed at that.

"Yeah, they had a little car too," Daddy nodded. "We all wanted to be astronauts, even the girls."

"Who was your first girlfriend?" I asked him.

"My first one?" He made a little face. "Ummm..." he had to think about it for a second. "Brittany Hanson."

"What did she look like?"

"Uh, well, she was fifteen..."

"Like me?" I smiled.

"Like you, yeah, she even looked like you a little." He played with my hair, twisting it around his fingers.

"Really?"

"Yeah, not as pretty though," Daddy nodded. "And not as grown up or anything."

"Grown up how?" I narrowed my eyes a little.

"Well..." he shrugged. "I don't know."

"You do too. Come on." I gave him a little pinch in the ribs. He was just wearing some Docker slacks and an old Izod polo shirt. He looked like an engineer.

"I guess kids changed since I was your age," he sighed softly. "I don't remember any girls like you."

"I wish I'd known you when you were fifteen," I told him, keeping my fingers where I'd pinched him, just rubbing his body. "Do you think you'd have liked me back then?"

"Uh..." he cleared his throat. "I'm a little prejudiced, I think," he said with a chuckle. "I'd have to like you."

"No! I'm serious." I liked talking to my dad this way and we did it sometimes, at least until he got uncomfortable with it. I never really understood that about him though, I thought it was interesting.

"Would I like you?" He sort of rocked his head side to side. "Maybe like a sister."

"What?" I laughed at him. "Daddy! Okay, would you go out with me? I mean, if we weren't related or anything."

"I never thought about it, Princess."

"Well, think about it now," I said. "Would you?"

"Uh, I guesssmmmaybe ... I wasn't very good at talking to girls," he blushed and I thought it made him seriously cute.

"What if I talked to you?" I grinned up at him.

"I'd talk back," he laughed. "I wasn't totally shy."

"How about now?" I asked him, feeling a little warmer for some reason.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, if we weren't related, would you talk to me? Like if we just met?"

"Uh, Sam..." Daddy was just about at that point where he got uncomfortable.

"Like if I said hi at the mall or something..." I watched his face. "Would you talk to me?"

"I'd say I'm a little to old to be talking to fifteen-year-old girls at the mall." He rubbed his nose. "I think I'm going to get something to drink, you want some juice?" He started moving a little, forcing me to sit up.

"No, that's okay," I shook my head, sitting up and looking down to see that my t-shirt had been pulled up, exposing my pink panties. I pulled it back down quickly and watched my dad get up.

"I could make some popcorn," he suggested.

"Nah, I'm just gonna go to bed," I told him. I got up and gave him a kiss on the cheek, standing tip-toe. "Night, Daddy."

"Goodnight, Sammy," he smiled at me.

I flopped on my bed, wondering what my dad would really do if a girl like me started talking to him. Well, who was I fooling? I was wondering what he'd say if I started talking to him, and if I wasn't his daughter and he didn't know me at all. What would I say to him, what would he say back? I couldn't even imagine it, as much as I wanted to. It was like trying to step outside the world.

That's the weird part. When I was home, actually with my dad, I wasn't that actress anymore. I mean, I thought sometimes I could seduce him or something. I really wanted to, but only when I was working, only when I was in that other place. At home I couldn't think about it. He became my dad, like a normal dad, and I still loved him, I still wanted him, but ... I don't know. It's hard to explain.

I felt like two different people, well, obviously, but not just with work, being a whore. I was two different people with my dad too. When I was working, when we were apart, I wanted him. I wanted to do things to him, the things my mom would never have done. I wanted to show him how much I loved him in that way, the secret and forbidden way.

At home I went back to being his daughter though and I his wife too, sorta, and I loved him that way. A non-romantic way. I cared for him. I protected him. I cooked and cleaned and nagged him and I was happiest then. I had my little dreams of being his wife sometimes, of sleeping in his big bed with my arm over his stomach, listening to him snore softly. But there wasn't any sex in it. My mind wouldn't go there, see? It just wouldn't, and that seemed to be a strange, frustrating experience that I didn't understand.

"You let him touch you?" Debbie Tyler asked, sounding suitably shocked.

"Uh-huh!" Heather Corman was all smiles. She had a real boyfriend and she liked to give us all the details of her make-out sessions with the guy.

I didn't mind school, but it was sort of boring. I had a lot of friends and no enemies or anything. I was pretty popular, being both very pretty and very smart. I felt like a big sister usually, hanging out with the other catholic schoolgirls at Our Lady of Lourdes. I was just more grown-up then they were, but I had a lot of patience because what else was I going to do? I'd sorta gotten stuck with being older than my age.

"Did you touch him too?" Jennifer asked. She was my best friend and pretty cool mostly. She was dying to lose her virginity and I kept trying to protect her from getting hurt the way I'd been when I lost mine.

"Yeah," Heather giggled. "He was big too, like this..." She held her hands about five inches apart.

"Wow!" I smiled at her. "That's pretty big."

"Yeah," she nodded happily.

"You gonna do it with him?" Debbie looked around, lowering her voice because we were in the middle of the cafeteria. "You gonna let him put it in you?"

"Maybe." Heather wiggled her eyebrows.

"I heard it hurts the first time," Jen said, and she glanced at me because I'd been the one who told her. But nobody else knew I'd had a lot more sex than they did, it was our secret.

"How old is he?" I asked. Heather was just barely fifteen and pretty cute, with curly brown hair and a nice smile. She looked like she wanted sex, or at least she looked that way to me. Like she was always wiggling and couldn't sit still.

"Almost seventeen already," Heather smiled at me. "He goes to Century." It was the new public high school, built in 2000 so it got named that, instead of after a dead politician.

"Did he say he loves you yet?" I asked, not really wanting to sound mean, but maybe it did.

"He does love me!" Heather made a little face.

"Okay," I shrugged.

"I wish I had a boyfriend," Debbie sighed.

Debbie was tall and skinny, with black hair and deep eyes. She wasn't really pretty, but if I had to guess, I'd bet that when she was like 18 or 19 maybe, she'd be the prettiest out of all of us. She just needed more time. I'd grown up fast between the time I was thirteen and fifteen, almost full grown pretty much, and I was lucky that way I suppose. But sometimes I wished I was more like Debbie, still waiting, still wondering what I was going to look like when I was older.

"You'll get one," Heather said. "And the first time you make-out with him ... Mmmm..." she giggled. "It's great!"

"You got birth control pills?" Jen asked.

"No." Heather gave Jen sort of a blank look.

"My mom got me some," Jen said. "I had to see the doctor."

"Why?" Debbie asked.

"Why did I see the doctor?" Jen looked at her.

"No! Why do you take birth control pills?" Debbie made a face like Jen was being dumb.

"Cause my mom wants me too," Jenny shrugged.

"Your parents are weird anyway," I laughed.

Jen was cute, a little shorter then me, with yellow blonde hair and green eyes, round with a little baby fat on her hips and some nice little boobs that seemed a little bigger every week. She was growing and I liked her a lot. We'd been best friends for a long time.

"Yeah, no doubt," Jen nodded at me. "It's like they want me to have sex or something."

"They just don't want you to get pregnant, that's all," I shrugged.

"I heard if a guy doesn't shoot his stuff inside its okay," Heather said.

"Yeah," Debbie nodded.

"But then where does he do it? In his hand or something?" Heather was looking around.

"Never heard of a Kleenex?" Jen laughed at her.

"In your mouth," I said, not really thinking about it.

"Ewww..." Debbie stared at me.

"That's pretty gross," Heather giggled nervously.

"Yeah," I nodded, rolling my eyes a little. "It makes your boobs big though."

"Really?" Debbie looked at my breasts, which were pretty big.

When they'd started growing and I'd almost started worrying that they'd never stop. I think they had now and the last bra I'd bought was a 32C cup and that was about as big as I wanted, believe me. Having big tits is nice and all, but too big is just plain weird and being in ninth grade, a C cup was definitely pushing it, you know?

"Yeah, really. Look at me," I laughed, teasing them.

"No way!" Heather stared at me. "You didn't do ... that! Did you?"

I didn't say anything, I just smiled and sipped my chocolate milk out of the straw.

"She didn't, did she?" Heather looked at Jen and she didn't say anything either.

"No." Heather looked at Debbie and they were both shaking their heads at each other. "Sammy never did that stuff."

That was one of the advantages of looking like an angel; people had a hard time believing I could be a little devil when I wanted to be. But sitting there in my school uniform probably made it hard to imagine me letting a guy cum in my mouth. Especially a big black guy, like Deke. I spent the rest of lunch pretending to listen to my friends, but mostly I was just missing my boyfriend, even if he was a pimp.