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I even began taking the money, primarily due to the fact that I was much too useful to let a little thing like guilt get in the method of common sense. I would have been just another fifteen-year-old catholic schoolgirl, doing her research, doing her nails, doing the little ridiculous things that little women do.
I had not been a little woman in a long period of time though.
Deke didn't mind, he stated that was a great thing due to the fact that he might in fact charge more, particularly if the person I was going with selected 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 'd been doing it for nearly 2 months already, and I 'd misplaced the number of people I 'd had sex with. I didn't would like to know, however it had to be a lot. I 'd made a lot of money too. Way too much for a ninth grader to spend, even after Deke took his cut. He charged 300 dollars an hour for me, or 500 dollars for 2. Picking me up at school was worth an additional 200, which I thought was ridiculous, but you 'd marvel the number of people wanted precisely that. Like it proved beyond a doubt that they were getting the real deal, an underage whore to draw and fuck . These were all older men too, like my daddy's age, or more often even older, in their 40's and 50's mainly. He said that was generous because he was my manager, my representative, my security guy, my marketing and transportation all rolled into one. He bought my clothes and the stuff I need to work, like prophylactics and lube and scrap like that. It was more like acting than anything else because I had to really like these guys for an hour or 2. I had to act younger in some cases too, as a little girl perhaps eleven or twelve years old; however never older. I liked acting though and I think I had a genuine skill for it.
The guys enjoyed me for a little bit, although some of them loved 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 lonesome because I knew it wasn't actually me they liked, mostly I felt a little more secure that way. Like a man who liked me wouldn't hurt me, you know? 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 different name, their daughter's name, or a niece or the little woman next door perhaps.
I might close my eyes and envision the man who was making love to me actually was my dad. I could talk to him, tell him I loved him, how he made me feel unique and full-grown and liked. I was falling in love, in grown-up love, and I couldn't assist it.
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