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I even began taking the money, mostly due to the fact that I was much too practical to let a little thing like regret get in the way of typical sense. I would have been simply 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 woman in a long time.
I only worked 3 or four nights a week anyway, since I needed to be home by 9 pm on school nights and ten o'clock on weekends. Deke didn't mind, he stated that was a good thing due to the fact that he could really charge more, specifically if the person 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 actually like it. I was always afraid somebody would see me entering into a weird vehicle, a different strange vehicle each time, and question what was going on.
Method too much for a ninth grader to invest, even after Deke took his cut. Picking me up at school was worth an extra 200, which I believed was ludicrous, however you 'd be surprised how many people wanted precisely that. Like it proved beyond a doubt that they were getting the genuine offer, an underage slut 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 primarily. 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 clothes and the stuff I need to work, like condoms and lube and scrap like that. It was more like acting than anything else because I had to in fact like these people for an hour or 2. I had to act younger in some cases too, as a little lady possibly eleven or twelve years old; but never older. I liked acting though and I believe I had a genuine talent for it.
The men liked me for a little bit, although some of them loved me for genuine 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 more secure that way. Like a person who enjoyed me would not injure me, you understand? I was in love with my papa. That had actually altered too and I don't understand if one thing had to do with the other precisely, however I do not believe in coincidence either. I 'd made love with like fifty people or something, the majority of them wanting me to call them Daddy while we did it. Some of them wished to call me by a different name, their child's name, or a niece or the little lady next door maybe. A lot of them didn't mind calling me Samantha either, and that bothered me at initially, but then it didn't and I started liking it.
I could close my eyes and imagine the man who was making love to me really was my father. I might speak with him, tell him I liked him, how he made me feel special and full-grown and liked. And somewhere, somehow along that flight, I 'd begun to believe it. I 'd go house and see my real dad and nearly forget that it hadn't been him that I 'd fucked an hour or two before. But I was falling in love, in developed love, and I could not assist it. It was set into me, growing up not as his daughter but as his partner. We 'd done everything but practiced our relationship, I thought, and he needed to feel the same way. Didn't he?
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