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I even began taking the money, mainly due to the fact that 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 had not been a little woman in a very long time though.
I only worked three or four nights a week anyhow, given that I had to be house by 9 pm on school nights and 10 o'clock on weekends. However Deke didn't mind, he said that was a good thing since he could in fact charge more, specifically if the person I was opting for chosen me up at school. That opportunity turned out to be worth a number of hundred dollars additional, although I didn't really like it. I was constantly afraid someone would see me getting into a odd cars and truck, a various unusual vehicle every time, and wonder what was going on.
Way too much for a ninth grader to spend, even after Deke took his cut. Choosing me up at school was worth an extra 200, which I thought was absurd, however you 'd be surprised how lots of people wanted precisely that. Like it showed beyond a doubt that they were getting the real offer, an underage slut to draw and fuck . These were all older people too, like my daddy's age, or more often even older, in their 40's and 50's mostly. He stated that was generous since he was my manager, my representative, my security guy, my marketing and transport all rolled into one. He purchased my clothing and the things I need 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 two. I had to act more youthful often too, as a little woman possibly eleven or twelve years old; however never older. I liked acting though and I believe I had a genuine skill for it.
The men liked 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 since I understood it wasn't really me they liked, mostly I felt a little much safer that way. Like a person who enjoyed me would not hurt me, you understand? I 'd had sex with like fifty people or something, most 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 perhaps.
I might close my eyes and imagine the man who was making love to me truly was my dad. I could speak with him, inform him I loved him, how he made me feel developed and unique and loved. And someplace, somehow along that trip, I 'd started to think it. I 'd go home and see my real father and practically forget that it had not 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, maturing not as his daughter but as his other half. We 'd done everything but practiced our relationship, I believed, and he had to feel the same way. Didn't he?
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