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I even started taking the cash, mainly since I was much too useful to let a little thing like regret get in the method 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 women do.
I had not been a little lady in a very long time though.
I only worked three or four nights a week anyway, since I had to be house by 9 pm on school nights and ten o'clock on weekends. But Deke didn't mind, he stated that was a advantage due to the fact that he could really charge more, especially if the man I was choosing selected me up at school. That advantage ended up being worth a couple of hundred dollars extra, although I didn't actually like it. I was always afraid somebody would see me entering a weird vehicle, a various weird car whenever, and question what was going on.
Way too much for a ninth grader to invest, even after Deke took his cut. Choosing me up at school was worth an extra 200, which I thought was absurd, but you 'd be surprised how many men wanted 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 people too, like my father's age, or more typically even older, in their 40's and 50's mostly. He stated that was generous since he was my supervisor, my representative, my security guy, my advertising and transportation all rolled into one. He purchased my clothes and the stuff I require to work, like condoms and lube and scrap like that. It was more like acting than anything else because I had to actually like these people for an hour or two. I had to act younger often too, as a little girl maybe eleven or twelve years old; however never older. I liked acting though and I think I had a real talent for it.
The men enjoyed 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 lonesome due to the fact that I understood it wasn't truly me they liked, mainly I felt a little more secure that way. Like a man who loved me would not hurt 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 wanted to call me by a different name, their daughter's name, or a niece or the little lady next door perhaps.
I could close my eyes and imagine the man who was making love to me actually was my papa. I could talk to him, tell him I loved him, how he made me feel full-grown and unique and enjoyed. And somewhere, in some way along that ride, I 'd started to believe it. I 'd go house and see my real daddy and almost forget that it had not been him that I 'd fucked an hour or 2 before. I was falling in love, in grown-up love, and I could not assist it. It was set into me, maturing not as his daughter but as his better half. We 'd done whatever but practiced our relationship, I thought, and he needed to feel the same way. Didn't he?
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