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I even began taking the cash, mainly because I was much too practical to let a little thing like regret get in the method 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 had not been a little girl in a long period of time though.
Deke didn't mind, he said that was a good thing because he could in fact charge more, particularly if the person I was going with chosen me up at school. That privilege turned out to be worth a couple of hundred dollars extra, although I didn't truly like it.
Method too much for a ninth grader to invest, even after Deke took his cut. Choosing me up at school was worth an additional 200, which I thought was ridiculous, but you 'd be surprised how numerous men desired precisely that. Like it proved beyond a doubt that they were getting the genuine deal, an minor whore to draw and fuck . These were all older people too, like my father's age, or more typically even older, in their 40's and 50's mostly. He stated that was generous since he was my supervisor, my agent, my security person, my advertising and transport all rolled into one. He bought my clothing and the things I need to work, like condoms and lube and junk 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 sometimes too, as a little woman perhaps eleven or twelve years old; but never ever older. I liked acting though and I think I had a genuine talent for it.
The guys 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 since I understood it wasn't really me they liked, primarily I felt a little safer that way. Like a man who enjoyed me wouldn't hurt me, you understand? I 'd had sex with like fifty guys 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 daughter's name, or a niece or the little lady next door perhaps.
I might close my eyes and imagine the male who was making love to me actually was my father. I could talk to him, inform him I enjoyed him, how he made me feel special and full-grown and loved. I was falling in love, in full-grown love, and I could not help it.
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