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I even began taking the money, mainly since I was much too practical to let a little thing like guilt get in the way of typical sense. I would have been simply another fifteen-year-old catholic schoolgirl, doing her research, doing her nails, doing the little ridiculous things that little girls do. I hadn't been a little woman in a very long time though. Deke didn't mind, he said that was a excellent thing since he could really charge more, especially if the guy I was going with chosen me up at school. That benefit turned out to be worth a couple of hundred dollars extra, although I didn't actually like it.

I 'd been doing it for almost two months already, and I 'd lost track of the number of guys I 'd made love with. I didn't want to know, but it had to be a lot. I 'd made a lot of cash too. Method 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. Selecting me up at school was worth an additional 200, which I thought was absurd, but you 'd marvel how many people wanted exactly that. Like it proved beyond a doubt that they were getting the real deal, an underage slut to fuck and suck . These were all older guys too, like my father's age, or more frequently even older, in their 40's and 50's mainly. He stated that was generous since he was my supervisor, my agent, my security man, my advertising and transportation all rolled into one. He purchased my clothing and the things I need 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 guys for an hour or two. I had to act more youthful in some cases too, as a little girl perhaps eleven or twelve years old; however never ever older. I liked acting though and I believe I had a genuine talent for it.

The guys liked me for a little bit, although some of them enjoyed 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 due to the fact that I knew it wasn't really me they liked, mostly I felt a little much safer that way. Like a man who loved me would not injure me, you know? I 'd had sex with like fifty people 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 could close my eyes and picture the man who was making love to me truly was my papa. I could talk to him, tell him I liked him, how he made me feel unique and developed and enjoyed. And someplace, somehow along that trip, I 'd begun to believe it. I 'd go house and see my real dad and nearly forget that it had not been him that I 'd fucked an hour or two prior to. I was falling in love, in developed love, and I could not assist it. It was configured into me, growing up not as his child but as his partner. 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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