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I even began taking the money, mainly because I was much too useful 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 women do.
I had not been a little girl in a long time.
Deke didn't mind, he said that was a good thing because he could really charge more, particularly if the person I was going with selected me up at school. That privilege turned out to be worth a couple of hundred dollars extra, although I didn't actually like it.
I 'd been doing it for almost 2 months currently, and I 'd lost track of how many men I 'd made love with. I didn't need to know, but it had to be a lot. I 'd made a lot of money too. Method excessive for a ninth grader to invest, even after Deke took his cut. He charged 300 dollars an hour for me, or 500 dollars for two. Picking me up at school was worth an additional 200, which I believed was ridiculous, but you 'd marvel how many men wanted exactly that. Like it showed beyond a doubt that they were getting the real deal, an underage whore to fuck and draw . These were all older people too, like my father's age, or more often even older, in their 40's and 50's primarily. He stated that was generous since he was my manager, my agent, my security guy, my advertising and transportation all rolled into one. He purchased my clothing and the stuff I require to work, like condoms and lube and junk like that. It was more like acting than anything else considering that I had to really like these guys for an hour or two. I had to act more youthful sometimes too, as a little lady maybe eleven or twelve years old; however never older. I liked acting though and I believe I had a real talent for it.
The guys enjoyed 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 lonely because I understood it wasn't actually me they liked, mainly I felt a little safer that method. Like a person who enjoyed me would not hurt me, you understand? I 'd had sex with like fifty people or something, many of them desiring me to call them Daddy while we did it. Some of them wanted to call me by a different name, their child's name, or a niece or the little woman next door maybe.
I might close my eyes and picture the man who was making love to me really was my dad. I might speak with him, tell him I liked him, how he made me feel unique and full-grown and loved. And someplace, in some way along that ride, I 'd begun to believe it. I 'd go home and see my genuine papa and practically forget that it hadn't been him that I 'd fucked an hour or 2 prior to. I was falling in love, in full-grown love, and I could not assist it. It was programmed into me, growing up not as his daughter however as his better half. We 'd done whatever however practiced our relationship, I believed, and he had to feel the same way. Didn't he?
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