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I even began taking the cash, mostly because I was much too practical to let a little thing like regret get in the way of common 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.
Deke didn't mind, he said that was a excellent thing due to the fact that he could actually charge more, particularly if the person I was going with picked me up at school. That advantage turned out to be worth a couple of hundred dollars additional, although I didn't truly like it.
I 'd been doing it for almost two months currently, and I 'd lost track of the number of men I 'd had sex with. I didn't want to know, but it needed to be a lot. I 'd made a great deal of money too. Way too much for a ninth grader to invest, even after Deke took his cut. He charged 300 dollars an hour for me, or 500 dollars for two. Choosing me up at school was worth an extra 200, which I believed was ludicrous, but you 'd marvel how many guys desired exactly that. Like it showed beyond a doubt that they were getting the genuine deal, an underage whore to fuck and draw . These were all older guys too, like my dad's age, or more often even older, in their 40's and 50's primarily. He stated that was generous because he was my manager, my representative, my security man, my marketing and transport all rolled into one. He purchased my clothes and the things I need to work, like prophylactics 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 two. I had to act younger in some cases too, as a little girl maybe eleven or twelve years old; but never older. I liked acting though and I think I had a genuine skill for it.
The males loved me for a little bit, although some of them liked 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 brief time we were together, that's all, and while part of me felt lonely since I understood it wasn't actually me they liked, primarily I felt a little safer that method. Like a man who loved me wouldn't hurt me, you understand? I loved my dad. That had changed too and I don't know if one thing related to the other specifically, but I do not believe in coincidence either. I 'd made love with like fifty men or something, most 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 possibly. But a great deal of them didn't mind calling me Samantha either, which bothered me at first, however then it didn't and I began liking it.
I could close my eyes and envision the male who was making love to me truly was my dad. I might 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 help it.
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