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I even started taking the cash, mainly because I was much too practical to let a little thing like regret 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 hadn't been a little girl in a long time.
I only worked 3 or four nights a week anyhow, because I needed to be home by 9 pm on school nights and ten o'clock on weekends. Deke didn't mind, he said that was a excellent thing because he might really charge more, specifically if the guy I was going with chosen me up at school. That privilege turned out to be worth a number of hundred dollars extra, although I didn't truly like it. I was constantly afraid somebody would see me entering into a odd vehicle, a different odd car every time, and wonder what was going on.
Way too much for a ninth grader to invest, even after Deke took his cut. Choosing me up at school was worth an additional 200, which I thought was ridiculous, however you 'd be stunned how many people desired exactly that. Like it proved beyond a doubt that they were getting the real deal, an underage slut to suck and fuck . These were all older guys too, like my daddy's age, or more typically even older, in their 40's and 50's mostly. He stated that was generous since he was my manager, my representative, my security person, my marketing and transport all rolled into one. He bought my clothing and the stuff I need to work, like prophylactics 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 woman perhaps eleven or twelve years old; but never older. I liked acting though and I think I had a real skill for it.
The males enjoyed me for a little bit, although some of them liked me for genuine 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 really me they liked, primarily I felt a little safer that way. Like a man who liked me would not harm 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 desired to call me by a various name, their child's name, or a niece or the little girl next door maybe.
I could close my eyes and picture the man who was making love to me really was my daddy. I could talk with him, inform him I loved him, how he made me feel full-grown and special and loved. And someplace, somehow along that trip, I 'd started to believe it. I 'd go house and see my real father and practically forget that it hadn't been him that I 'd fucked an hour or more before. However I was falling in love, in grown-up love, and I could not help it. It was set into me, growing up not as his child however as his spouse. We 'd done everything but practiced our relationship, I thought, and he needed to feel the same way. Didn't he?
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