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I even started taking the money, primarily due to the fact that 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 research, doing her nails, doing the little silly things that little women do.
I hadn't been a little woman in a long time.
Deke didn't mind, he said that was a excellent thing since he could actually charge more, specifically if the man I was going with chosen me up at school. That advantage turned out to be worth a couple of hundred dollars extra, although I didn't really like it.
I 'd been doing it for nearly two months already, and I 'd misplaced how many people I 'd made love with. I didn't want to know, however it had to be a lot. I 'd made a lot of cash too. Way excessive for a ninth grader to spend, even after Deke took his cut. He charged 300 dollars an hour for me, or 500 dollars for two. Choosing me up at school deserved an additional 200, which I thought was absurd, but you 'd be surprised how many men desired precisely that. Like it showed beyond a doubt that they were getting the genuine deal, an minor whore to suck and fuck . These were all older people too, like my papa's age, or regularly even older, in their 40's and 50's mainly. They had a lot of money to invest and it was the suggestions that truly flushed my checking account. Deke gave me 30% and kept 70% for himself. He stated that was generous because he was my manager, my representative, my security guy, my advertising and transportation all rolled into one. He bought my clothes and the stuff I require to work, like condoms 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 actually like these guys for an hour or two. I had to act younger often too, as a little lady perhaps eleven or twelve years old; but never ever 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 liked 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 lonesome due to the fact that I understood it wasn't really me they liked, mostly I felt a little more secure that method. Like a man who liked me wouldn't injure me, you know? I 'd had sex with like fifty men or something, many of them desiring 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 woman next door possibly.
I could close my eyes and envision the man who was making love to me actually was my dad. I could speak with him, inform him I loved him, how he made me feel full-grown and unique and enjoyed. And someplace, somehow along that flight, I 'd begun to believe it. I 'd go home and see my genuine papa and nearly forget that it had not been him that I 'd fucked an hour or 2 prior to. I was falling in love, in grown-up love, and I could not help it. It was configured into me, maturing not as his daughter but as his better half. We 'd done everything but consummate our relationship, I thought, and he needed to feel the same way. Didn't he?
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