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I even started taking the money, primarily since I was much too practical to let a little thing like guilt get in the method of common sense. I would have been simply another fifteen-year-old catholic schoolgirl, doing her homework, doing her nails, doing the little ridiculous things that little girls do.
I hadn't been a little girl in a long time.
Deke didn't mind, he stated that was a excellent thing since he could actually charge more, especially if the man I was going with picked me up at school. That opportunity turned out to be worth a couple of hundred dollars extra, although I didn't truly like it.
I 'd been doing it for practically two months currently, and I 'd misplaced the number of men I 'd made love with. I didn't want to know, however it had to be a lot. I 'd made a lot of cash too. Way 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. Picking me up at school deserved an extra 200, which I thought was absurd, however you 'd be surprised how many men wanted precisely that. Like it showed beyond a doubt that they were getting the real offer, an minor whore to fuck and suck . These were all older guys too, like my papa's age, or more typically even older, in their 40's and 50's primarily. He stated that was generous since he was my manager, my representative, my security guy, my advertising and transportation all rolled into one. He purchased my clothes and the stuff I need to work, like condoms and lube and junk like that. However that wasn't real. It was more like acting than anything else considering that I had to in fact like these men for an hour or more. I needed to act younger sometimes too, as a little girl possibly eleven or twelve years old; but never older. None of the men paying for me desired a woman, simply a lady, and knowing that I actually was simply fifteen, that was the kicker for them. I liked acting though and I believe I had a real skill for it. I had a skill for the sex things anyhow, no doubt about that, and the more I did it the better I got.
The men loved me for a little bit, although some of them enjoyed 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 brief time we were together, that's all, and while part of me felt lonesome since I knew it wasn't actually me they liked, primarily I felt a little much safer that way. Like a man who enjoyed me wouldn't harm me, you understand? I 'd had sex with like fifty guys or something, most of them desiring me to call them Daddy while we did it. Some of them desired to call me by a different name, their child's name, or a niece or the little girl next door perhaps.
I might close my eyes and envision the man who was making love to me really was my father. I might speak with him, inform him I loved him, how he made me feel special and developed and liked. And somewhere, in some way along that trip, I 'd started to think it. I 'd go home and see my genuine daddy and nearly forget that it had not been him that I 'd fucked an hour or more before. I was falling in love, in full-grown love, and I couldn't assist it. It was configured into me, maturing not as his child but as his wife. 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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