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I even began taking the money, mostly because I was much too practical to let a little thing like regret get in the way of typical sense. I would have been simply another fifteen-year-old catholic schoolgirl, doing her research, doing her nails, doing the little silly things that little girls do.
I had not been a little woman in a long time.
I just worked 3 or 4 nights a week anyway, since I had to be home by 9 pm on school nights and ten o'clock on weekends. Deke didn't mind, he said that was a good thing since he could actually charge more, especially if the man I was going with picked me up at school. That opportunity turned out to be worth a number of hundred dollars extra, although I didn't truly like it. I was constantly scared somebody would see me entering a strange car, a different odd car each time, and question what was going on.
Method too much for a ninth grader to spend, even after Deke took his cut. Picking me up at school was worth an extra 200, which I thought was ludicrous, but you 'd be surprised how numerous people desired precisely that. Like it showed beyond a doubt that they were getting the genuine offer, an underage slut to fuck and draw . These were all older people too, like my father's age, or more often even older, in their 40's and 50's mostly. He said that was generous since he was my supervisor, my representative, my security person, my marketing and transportation all rolled into one. He bought my clothing and the things I need to work, like prophylactics and lube and scrap like that. It was more like acting than anything else since I had to really like these people for an hour or two. I had to act younger often too, as a little lady maybe eleven or twelve years old; however never older. I liked acting though and I believe I had a real talent for it.
The men loved me for a little bit, although some of them loved 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 lonely because I knew it wasn't truly me they liked, mostly I felt a little more secure that way. Like a guy who liked me would not hurt me, you know? I 'd had sex with like fifty men or something, many 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 woman next door perhaps.
I could close my eyes and imagine the male who was making love to me truly was my father. I might talk to him, inform him I loved him, how he made me feel unique and developed and enjoyed. I was falling in love, in developed love, and I couldn't assist it.
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