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I even began taking the cash, mainly because I was much too practical 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 silly things that little girls do.
I had not been a little girl in a long time though.
I only worked 3 or four nights a week anyway, because I needed to be house by 9 pm on school nights and ten o'clock on weekends. Deke didn't mind, he said that was a excellent thing since he could really charge more, particularly if the person I was going with picked me up at school. That advantage ended up being worth a number of hundred dollars extra, although I didn't truly like it. I was always scared somebody would see me entering a strange vehicle, a various odd cars and truck each time, and wonder what was going on.
Way too much for a ninth grader to invest, even after Deke took his cut. Picking me up at school was worth an additional 200, which I thought was outrageous, but you 'd be surprised how lots of men wanted exactly that. Like it proved beyond a doubt that they were getting the real deal, an minor 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 primarily. He said that was generous since he was my manager, my agent, my security person, my marketing and transport all rolled into one. He bought my clothing and the things I require to work, like prophylactics and lube and scrap like that. That wasn't real. It was more like acting than anything else given that I had to really like these men for an hour or two. I had to act younger in some cases too, as a little lady possibly eleven or twelve years old; but never older. None of the men spending for me wanted a lady, simply a girl, and understanding that I really was simply fifteen, that was the kicker for them. I liked acting though and I think I had a genuine talent for it. I had a skill for the sex things anyhow, no doubt about that, and the more I did it the better I got.
The men liked me for a little bit, although some of them loved me for genuine 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 lonely since I understood it wasn't truly me they liked, mainly I felt a little safer that method. Like a guy who enjoyed me would not harm me, you know? I 'd had sex with like fifty guys 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 maybe.
I might close my eyes and imagine the man who was making love to me actually was my father. I could speak with him, tell him I liked him, how he made me feel special and full-grown and liked. And someplace, in some way along that trip, I 'd started to think it. I 'd go house and see my real father and nearly forget that it had not been him that I 'd fucked an hour or more prior to. I was falling in love, in developed love, and I couldn't help it. It was configured into me, growing up not as his daughter but as his wife. We 'd done whatever however consummate our relationship, I thought, and he had to feel the same way. Didn't he?
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