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I even began taking the money, mostly because 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 ridiculous things that little women do.
I hadn't been a little girl in a long time.
Deke didn't mind, he stated that was a good thing because he could in fact charge more, especially if the person I was going with chosen me up at school. That privilege 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 lost track of how many guys I 'd had sex with. I didn't want to know, however it needed to be a lot. I 'd made a great deal of cash too. Method excessive for a ninth grader to spend, even after Deke took his cut. He charged 300 dollars an hour for me, or 500 dollars for two. Picking me up at school was worth an extra 200, which I believed was absurd, but you 'd marvel how many men desired exactly that. Like it proved beyond a doubt that they were getting the genuine offer, an underage whore to fuck and draw . These were all older men too, like my dad's age, or more often even older, in their 40's and 50's primarily. He said that was generous because he was my manager, my representative, my security guy, my advertising and transportation all rolled into one. He purchased my clothing and the stuff I require to work, like prophylactics 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 girl maybe eleven or twelve years old; however never older. I liked acting though and I believe I had a genuine skill for it.
The guys enjoyed 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 lonely because I knew it wasn't really me they liked, mostly I felt a little safer that way. Like a person who liked me wouldn't harm me, you know? I was in love with my father. That had altered too and I do not understand if one thing pertained to the other precisely, but I don't believe in coincidence either. I 'd made love with like fifty guys or something, most of them desiring me to call them Daddy while we did it. A few of them wished to call me by a different name, their daughter's name, or a niece or the little lady next door maybe. However a great deal of them didn't mind calling me Samantha either, which bothered me in the beginning, however then it didn't and I began liking it.
I could close my eyes and think of the man who was making love to me truly was my papa. I might talk to him, inform him I loved him, how he made me feel full-grown and special and enjoyed. I was falling in love, in grown-up love, and I couldn't help it.
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