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I even began taking the money, 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 just another fifteen-year-old catholic schoolgirl, doing her homework, doing her nails, doing the little silly things that little girls do.
I had not been a little woman in a long time though.
Deke didn't mind, he said that was a good thing since he could in fact charge more, particularly if the guy I was going with selected me up at school. That advantage turned out to be worth a couple of hundred dollars additional, although I didn't actually 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 thought was outrageous, however you 'd be surprised how lots of guys desired exactly that. Like it showed beyond a doubt that they were getting the genuine deal, an minor whore to draw and fuck . These were all older guys too, like my dad's age, or more often even older, in their 40's and 50's mostly. He said that was generous since he was my supervisor, my representative, my security guy, my advertising and transport all rolled into one. He purchased my clothing and the stuff I need to work, like prophylactics and lube and scrap like that. However that wasn't real. It was more like acting than anything else given that I had to really like these guys for an hour or two. I needed to act younger sometimes too, as a little lady possibly eleven or twelve years old; however never ever older. None of the men spending for me desired a woman, just a girl, and understanding that I really was just fifteen, that was the kicker for them. I liked acting though and I believe I had a real talent for it. I had a skill for the sex stuff anyhow, no doubt about that, and the more I did it the better I got.
The men loved 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 lonesome because I knew it wasn't really me they liked, mostly I felt a little more secure that way. Like a guy who loved me would not injure me, you understand? I 'd had sex with like fifty men 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 daughter's name, or a niece or the little lady next door maybe.
I might close my eyes and picture the man who was making love to me actually was my dad. I could talk to him, inform him I enjoyed him, how he made me feel unique and developed and loved. And someplace, somehow along that flight, I 'd begun to think it. I 'd go home and see my real daddy and almost forget that it hadn't been him that I 'd fucked an hour or two before. But I was falling in love, in developed love, and I couldn't assist it. It was configured into me, growing up not as his daughter but as his other half. We 'd done whatever however skilled our relationship, I believed, and he needed to feel the same way. Didn't he?
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