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I even started taking the cash, mostly because I was much too practical to let a little thing like regret get in the method of common sense. I would have been simply 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 time.
Deke didn't mind, he stated that was a good thing because he could actually charge more, particularly if the guy I was going with picked me up at school. That benefit turned out to be worth a couple of hundred dollars additional, although I didn't truly 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 additional 200, which I believed was outrageous, but you 'd be surprised how lots of people desired exactly that. Like it showed beyond a doubt that they were getting the real deal, an minor whore to draw and fuck . These were all older guys too, like my papa's age, or more frequently even older, in their 40's and 50's primarily. He said that was generous due to the fact that he was my supervisor, my representative, my security man, my marketing and transportation all rolled into one. He purchased my clothes and the stuff I require to work, like condoms and lube and scrap like that. It was more like acting than anything else because I had to really like these guys for an hour or 2. I had to act younger in some cases too, as a little girl maybe eleven or twelve years old; but never ever older. I liked acting though and I think I had a genuine talent for it.
The guys enjoyed 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 short time we were together, that's all, and while part of me felt lonely due to the fact that I knew it wasn't truly me they liked, mostly I felt a little much safer that way. Like a person who enjoyed me would not harm me, you know? I 'd had sex with like fifty people or something, many of them wanting 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 possibly.
I could close my eyes and imagine the man who was making love to me actually was my papa. I could speak to him, tell him I enjoyed him, how he made me feel full-grown and special and liked. And somewhere, in some way along that trip, I 'd begun to think it. I 'd go house and see my real papa and almost forget that it hadn't been him that I 'd fucked an hour or 2 before. I was falling in love, in grown-up love, and I couldn't assist it. It was set into me, growing up not as his child but as his partner. We 'd done everything however consummate our relationship, I believed, and he had to feel the same way. Didn't he?
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