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I even started taking the cash, mostly due to the fact that I was much too practical to let a little thing like guilt get in the method of typical sense. 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 long time.
I just worked three or four nights a week anyway, considering that I had to be home by 9 pm on school nights and 10 o'clock on weekends. Deke didn't mind, he said that was a great thing since he could really charge more, particularly if the man I was going with picked me up at school. That privilege ended up being worth a number of hundred dollars extra, although I didn't actually like it. I was always afraid someone would see me entering a strange car, a various weird cars and truck each time, and wonder what was going on.
I 'd been doing it for practically 2 months currently, and I 'd lost track of the number of people I 'd had sex with. I didn't want to know, but it had to be a lot. I 'd made a great deal of cash too. Method 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 additional 200, which I thought was ridiculous, however you 'd be surprised how many people wanted exactly that. Like it showed beyond a doubt that they were getting the real offer, an minor slut to draw and fuck . These were all older men too, like my papa's age, or more frequently even older, in their 40's and 50's mostly. They had a great deal of money to invest and it was the pointers that truly flushed my savings account. Deke gave me 30% and kept 70% for himself. He stated that was generous because he was my manager, my representative, my security guy, my marketing and transport all rolled into one. He bought my clothes 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. That wasn't true. It was more like acting than anything else since I had to really like these people for an hour or more. I needed to act younger sometimes too, as a little lady maybe eleven or twelve years old; but never older. None of the men spending for me desired a woman, simply a girl, and knowing that I truly was simply fifteen, that was the kicker for them. I liked acting though and I believe I had a genuine talent for it. I had a skill for the sex things anyhow, no doubt about that, and the more I did it the much better I got.
The males loved me for a little bit, although some of them loved me for real 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 knew it wasn't really me they liked, primarily I felt a little safer that way. Like a man who loved me would not hurt me, you understand? I was in love with my papa. That had changed too and I don't know if something involved the other exactly, but I do not believe in coincidence either. I 'd made love with like fifty men or something, the majority of them wanting me to call them Daddy while we did it. Some of them wanted to call me by a various name, their child's name, or a niece or the little woman next door perhaps. However a great deal of them didn't mind calling me Samantha either, which troubled me initially, but then it didn't and I started liking it.
I could close my eyes and think of the man who was making love to me truly was my father. I might talk with him, tell him I enjoyed him, how he made me feel developed and special and enjoyed. And somewhere, somehow along that ride, I 'd started to believe it. I 'd go home and see my real papa and practically forget that it hadn't been him that I 'd fucked an hour or 2 before. But I was falling in love, in developed love, and I couldn't assist it. It was set into me, maturing not as his child but as his other half. We 'd done whatever but skilled our relationship, I thought, and he had to feel the same way. Didn't he?
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