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I even started taking the money, mainly since 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 homework, doing her nails, doing the little silly things that little women do.
I hadn't been a little woman in a long time.
Deke didn't mind, he stated that was a good thing due to the fact that he could really charge more, particularly 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 truly like it.
Method 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 believed was ridiculous, however you 'd be shocked how lots of men desired precisely that. Like it proved beyond a doubt that they were getting the real deal, an minor slut to suck and fuck . These were all older people too, like my father's age, or more often even older, in their 40's and 50's mainly. They had a great deal of money to spend and it was the pointers that truly flushed my checking account. Deke gave me 30% and kept 70% for himself. He stated that was generous due to the fact that he was my supervisor, my agent, my security guy, my advertising and transportation all rolled into one. He bought my clothes and the stuff I need to work, like condoms and lube and junk like that. He did all the work if you listened to him tell it, and all I did was lay there and get rich. It was more like acting than anything else considering that I had to actually like these guys for an hour or 2. I had to act younger in some cases too, as a little girl possibly eleven or twelve years old; but never older. I liked acting though and I think I had a genuine skill for it.
The males liked me for a little bit, although some of them loved 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 safer that method. Like a man who loved me wouldn't injure me, you know? I 'd had sex with like fifty men or something, most of them wanting 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 woman next door maybe.
I could close my eyes and envision the man who was making love to me truly was my dad. I might speak with him, tell him I enjoyed him, how he made me feel developed and unique and liked. And somewhere, in some way along that ride, I 'd begun to think it. I 'd go house and see my genuine dad and practically forget that it hadn't been him that I 'd fucked an hour or more prior to. But I was falling in love, in grown-up love, and I could not assist it. It was programmed into me, maturing not as his child but as his better half. We 'd done everything however practiced our relationship, I believed, and he needed to feel the same way. Didn't he?
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