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I even started taking the money, mostly because I was much too useful to let a little thing like guilt get in the way of typical 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 girl in a long time.
I only worked 3 or four nights a week anyway, since 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 because he could really charge more, particularly if the man I was opting for chosen me up at school. That privilege ended up being worth a number of hundred dollars additional, although I didn't truly like it. I was always afraid somebody would see me entering into a weird cars and truck, a various unusual automobile each time, and question what was going on.
Method too much for a ninth grader to spend, even after Deke took his cut. Choosing me up at school was worth an additional 200, which I believed was outrageous, however you 'd be surprised how lots of men desired exactly that. Like it proved beyond a doubt that they were getting the real deal, an underage whore to fuck and draw . These were all older men too, like my daddy's age, or more frequently even older, in their 40's and 50's mostly. He said that was generous because he was my manager, my agent, my security guy, my advertising and transport all rolled into one. He purchased my clothes and the things I need to work, like prophylactics and lube and junk like that. It was more like acting than anything else considering that I had to actually like these people for an hour or two. I had to act more youthful often too, as a little girl maybe eleven or twelve years old; however never ever older. I liked acting though and I believe I had a real skill for it.
The men enjoyed me for a little bit, although some of them loved 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 brief time we were together, that's all, and while part of me felt lonesome because I understood it wasn't actually me they liked, mostly I felt a little safer that method. Like a man who loved me wouldn't hurt me, you know? I loved my dad. That had changed too and I do not know if one thing pertained to the other exactly, but I do not believe in coincidence either. I 'd made love with like fifty people or something, most of them desiring me to call them Daddy while we did it. A few of them wished to call me by a various name, their daughter's name, or a niece or the little lady next door perhaps. A lot of them didn't mind calling me Samantha either, and that troubled me at first, but then it didn't and I began liking it.
I could close my eyes and envision the man who was making love to me truly was my dad. I might talk to him, tell him I enjoyed him, how he made me feel developed and special and liked. I was falling in love, in full-grown love, and I could not help it.
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