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I even started taking the cash, mostly because I was much too practical to let a little thing like regret get in the method of typical sense. I would have been just another fifteen-year-old catholic schoolgirl, doing her research, doing her nails, doing the little ridiculous things that little women do. I hadn't been a little girl in a long time. Deke didn't mind, he said that was a good thing due to the fact that he might actually charge more, especially if the guy I was going with chosen me up at school. That advantage turned out to be worth a couple of hundred dollars extra, although I didn't truly like it.

Way too much for a ninth grader to spend, even after Deke took his cut. Choosing me up at school was worth an extra 200, which I believed was absurd, but you 'd be shocked how lots of people wanted precisely that. Like it proved beyond a doubt that they were getting the real deal, an minor slut to fuck and draw . These were all older people too, like my dad's age, or more typically even older, in their 40's and 50's mostly. He stated that was generous because he was my supervisor, my agent, my security guy, my advertising and transportation all rolled into one. He purchased my clothing and the things I require to work, like condoms and lube and scrap like that. It was more like acting than anything else because I had to actually like these people for an hour or 2. I had to act younger sometimes too, as a little lady possibly eleven or twelve years old; however never older. I liked acting though and I think I had a genuine skill for it.

The males loved me for a little bit, although some of them liked 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 knew it wasn't really me they liked, mostly I felt a little safer that way. Like a man who loved me would not injure me, you know? I loved my papa. That had changed too and I don't know if one thing had to do with the other specifically, however I don't believe in coincidence either. I 'd had sex with like fifty people or something, the majority of them desiring 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 woman next door possibly. A lot of them didn't mind calling me Samantha either, and that bothered me at initially, however 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 father. I might talk with him, tell him I loved him, how he made me feel full-grown and unique and liked. And someplace, somehow along that ride, I 'd begun to believe it. I 'd go house and see my real dad and nearly forget that it hadn't been him that I 'd fucked an hour or more before. I was falling in love, in grown-up love, and I couldn't help it. It was set into me, growing up not as his daughter but as his other half. We 'd done whatever however consummate our relationship, I thought, and he needed to feel the same way. Didn't he?

 

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