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I even began taking the money, primarily because I was much too useful to let a little thing like regret get in the way of common 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 ladies do.
I had not been a little lady in a long time.
Deke didn't mind, he stated that was a great thing because he could really charge more, especially if the man I was going with picked me up at school. That privilege turned out to be worth a couple of hundred dollars extra, although I didn't truly like it.
Method too much for a ninth grader to invest, even after Deke took his cut. Choosing me up at school was worth an extra 200, which I thought was outrageous, but you 'd be surprised how many men wanted exactly that. Like it proved beyond a doubt that they were getting the genuine deal, an minor whore to fuck and draw . These were all older men too, like my papa's age, or more frequently even older, in their 40's and 50's mostly. He stated that was generous because he was my manager, my agent, my security person, my advertising and transportation all rolled into one. He bought my clothing and the things I need to work, like prophylactics and lube and junk like that. It was more like acting than anything else since I had to actually like these men for an hour or 2. I had to act more youthful sometimes too, as a little girl perhaps 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 enjoyed 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 short time we were together, that's all, and while part of me felt lonesome because I understood it wasn't actually me they liked, mostly I felt a little safer that method. Like a person who enjoyed me wouldn't hurt me, you understand? I was in love with my dad. That had changed too and I do not know if one thing related to the other exactly, but I don't believe in coincidence either. I 'd made love with like fifty guys or something, the majority 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 girl next door maybe. A lot of them didn't mind calling me Samantha either, and that bothered me at first, however then it didn't and I began liking it.
I could close my eyes and envision the man who was making love to me really was my papa. I could speak with him, inform him I enjoyed him, how he made me feel special and developed and loved. And somewhere, somehow along that flight, I 'd begun to think it. I 'd go home and see my genuine dad and almost forget that it had not been him that I 'd fucked an hour or 2 prior to. I was falling in love, in grown-up love, and I couldn't help it. It was configured into me, growing up not as his child however as his spouse. We 'd done whatever however skilled our relationship, I believed, and he had to feel the same way. Didn't he?
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