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I even started taking the cash, mainly due to the fact that I was much too useful to let a little thing like guilt get in the method of typical sense. I would have been just another fifteen-year-old catholic schoolgirl, doing her homework, doing her nails, doing the little silly things that little girls do.
I had not been a little girl in a long time.
Deke didn't mind, he stated that was a excellent thing since he might actually charge more, especially if the guy I was going with picked me up at school. That privilege turned out to be worth a couple of hundred dollars extra, although I didn't actually like it.
I 'd been doing it for almost two months already, and I 'd lost track of the number of people I 'd made love with. I didn't would like to know, however it needed 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 2. Choosing me up at school was worth an extra 200, which I believed was ridiculous, but you 'd be surprised the number of guys desired precisely that. Like it proved beyond a doubt that they were getting the real deal, an minor slut to fuck and suck . These were all older people too, like my papa's age, or more often even older, in their 40's and 50's primarily. He stated that was generous because he was my supervisor, my agent, my security guy, my advertising and transport all rolled into one. He bought my clothes and the stuff I need to work, like condoms and lube and junk like that. It was more like acting than anything else because I had to in fact like these guys for an hour or two. I had to act younger often too, as a little girl maybe eleven or twelve years old; but never ever older. I liked acting though and I believe I had a genuine skill for it.
The guys loved 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 short time we were together, that's all, and while part of me felt lonely because I understood it wasn't really 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 people or something, many 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 perhaps.
I could close my eyes and envision the man who was making love to me actually was my daddy. I might talk with him, inform him I loved him, how he made me feel full-grown and unique and loved. And someplace, somehow along that trip, I 'd started to believe it. I 'd go house and see my real father and practically forget that it hadn't been him that I 'd fucked an hour or more prior to. I was falling in love, in full-grown love, and I could not help it. It was set into me, maturing not as his child but as his spouse. We 'd done everything but consummate our relationship, I believed, and he had to feel the same way. Didn't he?
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