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I even started 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 simply another fifteen-year-old catholic schoolgirl, doing her research, doing her nails, doing the little silly things that little girls do.
I hadn't been a little lady in a long time.
Deke didn't mind, he said that was a good thing since he could actually charge more, especially if the person 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 really like it.
Way too much for a ninth grader to spend, even after Deke took his cut. Selecting me up at school was worth an extra 200, which I believed was outrageous, but you 'd be shocked how many people desired precisely that. Like it showed beyond a doubt that they were getting the real deal, an minor slut to fuck and draw . These were all older people too, like my dad's age, or more frequently even older, in their 40's and 50's primarily. They had a lot of cash to spend and it was the pointers that actually flushed my checking account. Deke gave me 30% and kept 70% for himself. He stated that was generous because he was my supervisor, my agent, my security man, my marketing and transportation all rolled into one. He bought my clothing and the stuff I require to work, like prophylactics and lube and junk like that. He did all the work if you listened to him tell it, and all I did was lay there and get rich. It was more like acting than anything else given that I had to in fact like these guys for an hour or 2. I had to act younger in some cases too, as a little lady perhaps eleven or twelve years old; however never ever older. I liked acting though and I believe I had a genuine talent for it.
The guys loved me for a little bit, although some of them liked 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 brief time we were together, that's all, and while part of me felt lonesome because I knew it wasn't truly me they liked, mainly I felt a little safer that method. Like a man who enjoyed me wouldn't injure me, you know? I 'd had sex with like fifty men or something, most of them wanting 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 could close my eyes and envision the man who was making love to me really was my father. I could speak with him, inform him I loved him, how he made me feel special and developed and liked. And somewhere, somehow along that ride, I 'd begun to think it. I 'd go house and see my genuine papa and almost forget that it had not been him that I 'd fucked an hour or more before. However I was falling in love, in developed love, and I couldn't assist it. It was configured into me, maturing not as his daughter but as his other half. We 'd done whatever however practiced our relationship, I thought, and he had to feel the same way. Didn't he?
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