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I even started taking the money, mostly since 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 homework, doing her nails, doing the little ridiculous things that little girls do.
I hadn't been a little girl in a long time though.
Deke didn't mind, he stated that was a great thing because he could actually 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 actually like it.
Way too much for a ninth grader to spend, even after Deke took his cut. Choosing me up at school was worth an extra 200, which I believed was absurd, but you 'd be shocked how numerous men wanted precisely that. Like it proved beyond a doubt that they were getting the real deal, an underage slut to draw and fuck . These were all older men too, like my dad's age, or more frequently even older, in their 40's and 50's mainly. He stated that was generous because he was my supervisor, my agent, my security guy, my marketing and transportation all rolled into one. He purchased my clothes and the things I require to work, like condoms and lube and scrap like that. However that wasn't true. It was more like acting than anything else since I needed to actually like these guys for an hour or more. I had to act more youthful in some cases too, as a little woman perhaps eleven or twelve years old; however never older. None of the men spending for me desired a female, just a girl, and knowing that I really was simply fifteen, that was the kicker for them. I liked acting though and I think I had a genuine talent for it. I had a talent for the sex stuff anyhow, no doubt about that, and the more I did it the better I got.
The males loved me for a little bit, although some of them enjoyed 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 lonely since I understood it wasn't actually me they liked, mainly I felt a little safer that method. Like a guy who liked me wouldn't injure me, you know? I 'd had sex with like fifty people or something, many of them wanting me to call them Daddy while we did it. Some of them desired to call me by a different name, their child's name, or a niece or the little lady next door possibly.
I could close my eyes and imagine the man who was making love to me really was my daddy. I could talk to him, tell him I enjoyed him, how he made me feel special and full-grown and loved. And somewhere, in some way along that trip, I 'd started to believe it. I 'd go home and see my real daddy and nearly forget that it had not been him that I 'd fucked an hour or two prior to. I was falling in love, in full-grown love, and I couldn't assist it. It was set into me, maturing not as his daughter but as his better half. We 'd done everything but consummate our relationship, I thought, and he needed to feel the same way. Didn't he?
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