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I even began taking the cash, mainly because I was much too practical 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 homework, doing her nails, doing the little silly things that little ladies do.
I hadn't been a little girl in a long time.
I just worked three or 4 nights a week anyhow, since I needed to be home by 9 pm on school nights and ten o'clock on weekends. However Deke didn't mind, he said that was a good idea since he could really charge more, especially if the man I was going with chosen me up at school. That benefit turned out to be worth a number of hundred dollars extra, although I didn't truly like it. I was always scared someone would see me entering a weird cars and truck, a different odd cars and truck every time, and wonder what was going on.
Method too much for a ninth grader to spend, even after Deke took his cut. Selecting me up at school was worth an additional 200, which I thought was ludicrous, but you 'd be shocked how many people desired precisely that. Like it proved beyond a doubt that they were getting the genuine deal, an underage whore to draw and fuck . These were all older guys too, like my dad's age, or more frequently even older, in their 40's and 50's mainly. They had a great deal of money to invest and it was the tips that actually flushed my savings account. Deke offered me 30% and kept 70% for himself. He said that was generous since he was my manager, my representative, my security guy, my marketing and transport all rolled into one. He purchased 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. It was more like acting than anything else since I had to really like these people for an hour or two. I had to act more youthful sometimes too, as a little woman possibly eleven or twelve years old; but never ever older. I liked acting though and I believe I had a genuine talent for it.
The guys liked me for a little bit, although some of them liked 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 lonely because I understood it wasn't truly me they liked, mainly I felt a little more secure that way. Like a man who liked me would not hurt me, you know? I 'd had sex with like fifty people 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 lady next door maybe.
I might close my eyes and picture the man who was making love to me actually was my daddy. I could talk with him, tell him I liked him, how he made me feel full-grown and unique and enjoyed. And somewhere, somehow along that ride, I 'd begun to believe it. I 'd go home and see my real father and nearly forget that it hadn't been him that I 'd fucked an hour or two before. However I was falling in love, in grown-up love, and I couldn't assist it. It was configured into me, growing up not as his child however as his wife. We 'd done whatever however skilled our relationship, I believed, and he needed to feel the same way. Didn't he?
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