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I even started taking the money, primarily since 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 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 good thing because he might really charge more, specifically if the guy 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 actually 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 extra 200, which I believed was absurd, but you 'd be shocked how lots of guys wanted precisely that. Like it proved beyond a doubt that they were getting the real offer, an underage slut to fuck and suck . 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 since he was my manager, my agent, my security person, my marketing and transportation all rolled into one. He purchased my clothes and the stuff I need to work, like prophylactics and lube and junk like that. It was more like acting than anything else given that I had to in fact like these men for an hour or two. I had to act younger often too, as a little lady possibly 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 loved me for real and asked me if I 'd marry 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 due to the fact that I understood it wasn't actually me they liked, primarily I felt a little safer that method. Like a guy who enjoyed me wouldn't harm me, you know? I 'd had sex with like fifty men or something, many 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 lady next door maybe.
I might close my eyes and think of the man who was making love to me actually was my daddy. I might talk with him, tell him I enjoyed him, how he made me feel special and full-grown and loved. And someplace, somehow along that trip, I 'd started to believe it. I 'd go home and see my real dad and almost forget that it had not been him that I 'd fucked an hour or 2 prior to. I was falling in love, in grown-up love, and I could not help it. It was set into me, growing up not as his daughter but as his better half. We 'd done everything but consummate our relationship, I believed, and he had to feel the same way. Didn't he?
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