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I even began taking the cash, primarily because I was much too practical to let a little thing like guilt get in the way of common sense. I would have been just another fifteen-year-old catholic schoolgirl, doing her research, doing her nails, doing the little ridiculous things that little ladies do.
I hadn't been a little woman in a long period of time though.
I just worked 3 or 4 nights a week anyhow, given that I needed to be house by 9 pm on school nights and 10 o'clock on weekends. Deke didn't mind, he said that was a excellent thing since he could in fact 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 additional, although I didn't truly like it. I was constantly afraid somebody would see me entering into a unusual vehicle, a different unusual automobile every time, and question what was going on.
Method too much for a ninth grader to invest, even after Deke took his cut. Picking me up at school was worth an additional 200, which I believed was outrageous, but you 'd be surprised how many men wanted exactly that. Like it showed beyond a doubt that they were getting the real deal, an minor slut to draw and fuck . These were all older guys too, like my dad's age, or more often even older, in their 40's and 50's mostly. He said that was generous due to the fact that he was my manager, my representative, my security man, my advertising and transportation all rolled into one. He bought my clothing and the stuff I require to work, like prophylactics and lube and junk like that. It was more like acting than anything else given that I had to actually like these people for an hour or two. I had to act more youthful sometimes too, as a little girl perhaps eleven or twelve years old; however never older. I liked acting though and I believe I had a real skill for it.
The males 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 because I knew it wasn't actually me they liked, mostly I felt a little more secure that way. Like a guy who enjoyed me would not hurt me, you know? I was in love with my father. That had changed too and I do not understand if something related to the other specifically, but I do not believe in coincidence either. I 'd made love with like fifty men or something, most of them desiring me to call them Daddy while we did it. A few of them wished to call me by a different name, their daughter's name, or a niece or the little girl next door perhaps. But a lot of them didn't mind calling me Samantha either, which bothered me initially, but then it didn't and I began liking it.
I could close my eyes and imagine the man who was making love to me really was my dad. I might speak to him, inform him I liked him, how he made me feel unique and grown-up and liked. And someplace, somehow along that flight, I 'd started to think it. I 'd go house and see my genuine papa 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 couldn't help it. It was programmed into me, maturing not as his child but as his wife. We 'd done whatever however practiced our relationship, I believed, and he needed to feel the same way. Didn't he?
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