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I even began taking the cash, primarily due to the fact that I was much too useful to let a little thing like guilt get in the way 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 lady in a very long time though.
I just worked 3 or 4 nights a week anyway, because I had to be home by 9 pm on school nights and 10 o'clock on weekends. But Deke didn't mind, he stated that was a good thing since he might in fact charge more, especially if the guy I was choosing chosen me up at school. That privilege turned out to be worth a number of hundred dollars additional, although I didn't actually like it. I was always afraid somebody would see me entering a unusual cars and truck, a different odd vehicle whenever, and question what was going on.
Way too much for a ninth grader to spend, even after Deke took his cut. Choosing me up at school was worth an extra 200, which I thought was ridiculous, but you 'd be shocked how numerous people wanted precisely that. Like it showed beyond a doubt that they were getting the real offer, an underage whore to fuck and draw . These were all older guys too, like my father'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 guy, my marketing and transportation all rolled into one. He bought my clothing and the things I need to work, like prophylactics and lube and junk like that. It was more like acting than anything else since I had to really like these people for an hour or 2. I had to act more youthful in some cases too, as a little lady perhaps eleven or twelve years old; but never ever older. I liked acting though and I believe I had a real talent for it.
The males liked me for a little bit, although some of them enjoyed me for genuine 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 lonely because I knew it wasn't really me they liked, mostly I felt a little safer that method. Like a guy who liked me wouldn't injure me, you know? I 'd had sex with like fifty people or something, most of them wanting 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 girl next door possibly.
I could close my eyes and imagine the male who was making love to me really was my father. I might talk to him, inform him I enjoyed him, how he made me feel unique and full-grown and loved. I was falling in love, in grown-up love, and I could not assist it.
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