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I even started taking the money, mostly since I was much too practical to let a little thing like regret get in the way of common sense. I would have been just 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 girl in a long period of time though.
Deke didn't mind, he said that was a good thing since he might actually charge more, particularly if the guy I was going with selected me up at school. That opportunity turned out to be worth a couple of hundred dollars extra, although I didn't actually like it.
Way too much for a ninth grader to spend, even after Deke took his cut. Picking me up at school was worth an extra 200, which I thought was absurd, but you 'd be surprised how numerous men desired precisely that. Like it proved beyond a doubt that they were getting the real deal, an underage whore to fuck and draw . These were all older guys too, like my father's age, or more typically even older, in their 40's and 50's primarily. He said that was generous since he was my supervisor, my representative, my security person, my marketing and transport all rolled into one. He purchased my clothes and the stuff I need to work, like prophylactics and lube and scrap like that. It was more like acting than anything else since I had to really like these guys for an hour or two. I had to act more youthful in some cases too, as a little lady maybe eleven or twelve years old; but never older. I liked acting though and I believe I had a genuine talent for it.
The men enjoyed me for a little bit, although some of them loved 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 short time we were together, that's all, and while part of me felt lonesome since I understood it wasn't really me they liked, primarily I felt a little much safer that method. Like a man who liked me would not injure me, you know? I was in love with my father. That had altered too and I don't understand if something involved the other specifically, but I do not 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. Some of them wanted to call me by a different name, their daughter's name, or a niece or the little girl next door perhaps. But a great deal of them didn't mind calling me Samantha either, which bothered me initially, however then it didn't and I began liking it.
I could close my eyes and envision the man who was making love to me truly was my father. I could talk to him, tell him I loved him, how he made me feel special and full-grown and enjoyed. And someplace, somehow along that flight, I 'd started to believe it. I 'd go house and see my real daddy and almost forget that it hadn't been him that I 'd fucked an hour or two before. I was falling in love, in full-grown love, and I couldn't help it. It was configured into me, growing up not as his daughter but as his wife. We 'd done whatever however practiced our relationship, I believed, and he had to feel the same way. Didn't he?
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