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I even began taking the money, mostly 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 homework, doing her nails, doing the little ridiculous things that little ladies do.
I hadn't been a little lady in a long time though.
I just worked three or four nights a week anyhow, because I needed to be home by 9 pm on school nights and 10 o'clock on weekends. But Deke didn't mind, he stated that was a good idea due to the fact that he might in fact charge more, particularly if the guy I was going with chosen me up at school. That opportunity ended up being worth a couple of hundred dollars additional, although I didn't truly like it. I was always afraid someone would see me entering a strange vehicle, a different odd cars and truck each time, and question what was going on.
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 ridiculous, but you 'd be surprised how many guys wanted exactly that. Like it showed beyond a doubt that they were getting the genuine offer, an underage slut to fuck and suck . These were all older guys too, like my father's age, or more frequently 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 manager, my agent, my security person, my advertising and transport all rolled into one. He purchased my clothes and the stuff I need to work, like condoms and lube and scrap like that. He did all the work if you listened to him inform it, and all I did was lay there and get rich. It was more like acting than anything else given that I had to actually like these people for an hour or two. I had to act more youthful in some cases too, as a little woman perhaps eleven or twelve years old; but never older. I liked acting though and I believe I had a genuine talent 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 lonely because I understood it wasn't really me they liked, mostly I felt a little much safer that method. Like a person who liked me would not injure me, you understand? I 'd had sex with like fifty guys or something, most of them desiring me to call them Daddy while we did it. Some of them desired to call me by a various name, their daughter's name, or a niece or the little woman next door possibly.
I could close my eyes and imagine the man who was making love to me actually was my father. I could speak to him, inform him I enjoyed him, how he made me feel special and full-grown and loved. And someplace, in some way along that flight, I 'd begun to believe it. I 'd go home and see my real dad and almost forget that it hadn't been him that I 'd fucked an hour or more before. But I was falling in love, in grown-up love, and I could not help it. It was configured into me, growing up not as his child but as his spouse. We 'd done whatever however consummate our relationship, I believed, and he had to feel the same way. Didn't he?
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