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I even started taking the money, primarily since I was much too practical to let a little thing like regret get in the method of common 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 ladies do.
I had not been a little girl in a long time.
Deke didn't mind, he stated that was a excellent thing because he might in fact charge more, particularly if the man I was going with chosen me up at school. That opportunity turned out to be worth a couple of hundred dollars extra, although I didn't really like it.
I 'd been doing it for almost two months currently, and I 'd lost track of the number of people I 'd had sex with. I didn't want to know, however it needed to be a lot. I 'd made a lot of money too. Method too much 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. Picking me up at school was worth an additional 200, which I believed was absurd, however you 'd be surprised the number of people wanted precisely that. Like it showed beyond a doubt that they were getting the real deal, an underage whore to fuck and draw . These were all older people too, like my papa's age, or more frequently even older, in their 40's and 50's mainly. He said that was generous since he was my supervisor, my representative, my security guy, my marketing and transportation all rolled into one. He bought my clothing and the stuff I need to work, like condoms and lube and scrap like that. It was more like acting than anything else because I had to in fact like these men for an hour or 2. I had to act more youthful sometimes too, as a little woman possibly eleven or twelve years old; but never older. I liked acting though and I think I had a real skill for it.
The men 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 since I knew it wasn't truly me they liked, mainly I felt a little more secure that way. Like a person who liked me wouldn't harm me, you know? I 'd had sex with like fifty men or something, most of them desiring 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 girl next door maybe.
I might close my eyes and imagine the man who was making love to me really was my father. I could talk to him, tell him I liked him, how he made me feel special and developed and liked. And someplace, in some way along that trip, I 'd begun to believe it. I 'd go home and see my genuine dad and practically forget that it hadn't been him that I 'd fucked an hour or more before. However I was falling in love, in grown-up love, and I couldn't help it. It was configured into me, maturing not as his child however as his wife. We 'd done everything but skilled our relationship, I thought, and he had to feel the same way. Didn't he?
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