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I even started taking the money, mostly due to the fact that I was much too practical to let a little thing like guilt get in the method of common sense. I would have been simply another fifteen-year-old catholic schoolgirl, doing her homework, doing her nails, doing the little silly things that little women do.
I had not been a little woman in a very long time though.
Deke didn't mind, he said that was a great thing because he might in fact charge more, especially if the man I was going with selected me up at school. That advantage 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 spend, even after Deke took his cut. Picking me up at school was worth an extra 200, which I believed was outrageous, however you 'd be shocked how lots of guys wanted precisely that. Like it proved beyond a doubt that they were getting the real offer, an minor slut to fuck and draw . These were all older guys too, like my daddy's age, or more often even older, in their 40's and 50's mainly. They had a lot of money to spend and it was the ideas that really flushed my bank account. Deke gave me 30% and kept 70% for himself. He stated that was generous because he was my supervisor, my agent, my security person, my advertising and transportation all rolled into one. He purchased my clothing and the stuff I need to work, like prophylactics and lube and scrap like that. He did all the work if you listened to him tell it, and all I did was lay there and get rich. It was more like acting than anything else because I had to in fact like these men for an hour or two. I had to act more youthful often too, as a little girl maybe eleven or twelve years old; however never ever older. I liked acting though and I think I had a real skill for it.
The men enjoyed me for a little bit, although some of them liked me for real and asked me if I 'd marry 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 because I knew it wasn't really me they liked, mainly I felt a little much safer that way. Like a person who loved me would not hurt me, you know? I loved my dad. That had altered too and I don't know if something had to do with the other precisely, but I don't believe in coincidence either. I 'd had sex with like fifty men or something, most 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 lady next door perhaps. But a lot of them didn't mind calling me Samantha either, which bothered me at first, however then it didn't and I began liking it.
I could close my eyes and imagine the man who was making love to me truly was my dad. I might talk to him, inform him I enjoyed him, how he made me feel grown-up and special and liked. And someplace, somehow along that trip, 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 two prior to. However I was falling in love, in grown-up love, and I could not help it. It was programmed into me, maturing not as his daughter but as his partner. We 'd done everything but practiced our relationship, I believed, and he had to feel the same way. Didn't he?
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