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I even started taking the money, mostly because I was much too useful to let a little thing like regret get in the method of typical sense. I would have been just another fifteen-year-old catholic schoolgirl, doing her research, doing her nails, doing the little silly things that little ladies do.
I had not been a little girl in a long time.
Deke didn't mind, he said that was a good thing due to the fact that he might actually charge more, particularly if the man I was going with picked me up at school. That opportunity turned out to be worth a couple of hundred dollars extra, although I didn't truly like it.
Way 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 believed was absurd, but you 'd be stunned how many people wanted exactly that. Like it proved beyond a doubt that they were getting the genuine deal, an minor whore to draw and fuck . These were all older guys too, like my papa's age, or more often even older, in their 40's and 50's mainly. He said that was generous since he was my manager, my representative, my security man, my advertising and transport all rolled into one. He bought my clothing and the stuff I need to work, like condoms and lube and junk like that. It was more like acting than anything else considering that I had to really like these men for an hour or 2. I had to act more youthful sometimes too, as a little girl maybe eleven or twelve years old; but never ever older. I liked acting though and I believe I had a real talent for it.
The men loved 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 brief time we were together, that's all, and while part of me felt lonesome since I understood it wasn't really me they liked, primarily I felt a little safer that method. Like a man who enjoyed me would not hurt me, you know? I 'd had sex with like fifty guys or something, most of them wanting me to call them Daddy while we did it. Some of them desired to call me by a different name, their daughter's name, or a niece or the little girl next door perhaps.
I could close my eyes and picture the guy who was making love to me truly was my papa. I might talk to him, inform him I liked him, how he made me feel unique and full-grown and enjoyed. I was falling in love, in grown-up love, and I could not assist it.
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