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I even started taking the money, mostly due to the fact that 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 women do.
I had not been a little lady in a long time.
Deke didn't mind, he stated that was a great thing due to the fact that he might actually charge more, especially if the guy I was going with chosen me up at school. That advantage turned out to be worth a couple of hundred dollars extra, although I didn't truly like it.
I 'd been doing it for practically two months already, and I 'd misplaced the number of guys I 'd had sex with. I didn't want to know, but it had to be a lot. I 'd made a lot of cash too. Way excessive for a ninth grader to invest, even after Deke took his cut. He charged 300 dollars an hour for me, or 500 dollars for 2. Choosing me up at school deserved an extra 200, which I thought was absurd, but you 'd marvel the number of guys wanted precisely that. Like it showed beyond a doubt that they were getting the genuine deal, an underage slut to fuck and draw . These were all older guys too, like my father's age, or more frequently even older, in their 40's and 50's mostly. He stated that was generous since he was my supervisor, my representative, my security guy, my advertising and transportation all rolled into one. He purchased my clothing and the things I require to work, like condoms and lube and scrap like that. It was more like acting than anything else because I had to really like these guys for an hour or two. I had to act younger often too, as a little woman possibly eleven or twelve years old; however never older. I liked acting though and I think I had a genuine talent for it.
The guys enjoyed me for a little bit, although some of them liked 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 lonely due to the fact that I understood it wasn't really me they liked, mostly I felt a little more secure that method. Like a man who liked me would not harm me, you know? I loved my father. That had altered too and I don't know if one thing related to the other specifically, but I don't believe in coincidence either. I 'd made love with like fifty men or something, the majority of them desiring me to call them Daddy while we did it. Some of them wished to call me by a different name, their daughter's name, or a niece or the little girl next door possibly. But a lot of them didn't mind calling me Samantha either, which troubled me initially, but then it didn't and I started liking it.
I could close my eyes and imagine the man who was making love to me really was my papa. I might talk to him, tell him I loved him, how he made me feel developed and unique and liked. I was falling in love, in grown-up love, and I could not help it.
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