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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 just another fifteen-year-old catholic schoolgirl, doing her homework, doing her nails, doing the little ridiculous things that little women do.
I hadn't been a little woman in a long time though.
Deke didn't mind, he said that was a great thing due to the fact that he might actually charge more, specifically if the guy I was going with picked me up at school. That advantage turned out to be worth a couple of hundred dollars extra, although I didn't actually like it.
Way 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 outrageous, however you 'd be shocked how many guys wanted precisely that. Like it showed beyond a doubt that they were getting the real offer, an minor whore to draw and fuck . These were all older people too, like my father's age, or more often even older, in their 40's and 50's mainly. He stated that was generous due to the fact that he was my manager, my agent, my security person, my advertising and transport all rolled into one. He purchased my clothing and the stuff I need to work, like condoms and lube and junk like that. But that wasn't true. It was more like acting than anything else because I needed to actually like these people for an hour or two. I had to act more youthful sometimes too, as a little lady maybe eleven or twelve years old; however never older. None of the men paying for me desired a female, just a girl, and understanding that I truly was simply fifteen, that was the kicker for them. I liked acting though and I think I had a real talent for it. I had a talent for the sex things anyhow, no doubt about that, and the more I did it the much better I got.
The males loved 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 lonesome because I understood it wasn't actually me they liked, mostly I felt a little more secure that method. Like a man who liked me wouldn't 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 various name, their child's name, or a niece or the little lady next door perhaps.
I might close my eyes and imagine the man who was making love to me truly was my daddy. I could talk with him, tell him I loved him, how he made me feel unique and grown-up and enjoyed. And somewhere, somehow along that flight, I 'd begun to believe it. I 'd go home and see my genuine daddy and practically forget that it had not been him that I 'd fucked an hour or two before. I was falling in love, in grown-up love, and I could not assist it. It was set into me, maturing not as his daughter but as his wife. We 'd done whatever but practiced our relationship, I believed, and he had to feel the same way. Didn't he?
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