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I even began taking the cash, mostly because I was much too practical to let a little thing like guilt 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 ridiculous 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 might in fact charge more, specifically if the guy I was going with chosen me up at school. That privilege 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 invest, even after Deke took his cut. Picking me up at school was worth an extra 200, which I thought was absurd, but you 'd be surprised how numerous men wanted exactly that. Like it proved beyond a doubt that they were getting the real offer, an underage whore to fuck and suck . 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 really flushed my bank account. Deke gave me 30% and kept 70% for himself. He stated that was generous because he was my supervisor, my agent, my security person, my marketing 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. 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 since I had to really like these men for an hour or two. I had to act more youthful in some cases 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 guys liked 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 lonely due to the fact that I knew it wasn't truly me they liked, primarily I felt a little more secure that method. Like a man who enjoyed me would not injure me, you know? I 'd had sex with like fifty people or something, many of them wanting 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 woman next door perhaps.

I might close my eyes and envision the man who was making love to me truly was my dad. I might speak with him, inform him I enjoyed him, how he made me feel developed and special and liked. And somewhere, in some way along that ride, I 'd begun to believe it. I 'd go home and see my genuine dad and practically forget that it hadn't been him that I 'd fucked an hour or more before. But I was falling in love, in full-grown love, and I could not help it. It was programmed into me, growing up not as his daughter but as his other half. We 'd done everything but skilled our relationship, I believed, and he had to feel the same way. Didn't he?

 

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