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I even began taking the cash, primarily since I was much too practical to let a little thing like guilt get in the way of common sense. I would have been simply another fifteen-year-old catholic schoolgirl, doing her homework, doing her nails, doing the little silly things that little girls do. I hadn't been a little lady in a long time though. Deke didn't mind, he stated that was a good thing because he might actually charge more, especially if the man 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 actually like it.

I 'd been doing it for practically two months already, and I 'd misplaced how many men I 'd made love with. I didn't wish to know, however it needed to be a lot. I 'd made a great deal of money 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 two. Selecting me up at school deserved an extra 200, which I believed was outrageous, however you 'd marvel the number of men wanted precisely that. Like it showed beyond a doubt that they were getting the genuine offer, an minor slut to draw and fuck . These were all older guys too, like my daddy's age, or more frequently even older, in their 40's and 50's mainly. He said that was generous because he was my manager, my representative, my security man, my advertising and transportation all rolled into one. He purchased my clothes and the stuff I need to work, like condoms and lube and junk like that. It was more like acting than anything else given that I had to really like these men for an hour or 2. I had to act younger often too, as a little woman maybe eleven or twelve years old; but never ever older. I liked acting though and I believe I had a genuine skill for it.

The men loved me for a little bit, although some of them liked 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 short time we were together, that's all, and while part of me felt lonesome since I knew it wasn't truly me they liked, mostly I felt a little more secure that way. Like a guy who loved me would not hurt me, you understand? I 'd had sex with like fifty guys or something, most of them wanting me to call them Daddy while we did it. Some of them desired to call me by a different name, their daughter's name, or a niece or the little girl next door possibly.

I might close my eyes and imagine the man who was making love to me actually was my daddy. I could speak to him, tell him I loved him, how he made me feel developed and unique and liked. And somewhere, somehow along that flight, I 'd begun to believe it. I 'd go house and see my real papa and almost forget that it hadn't been him that I 'd fucked an hour or two before. However I was falling in love, in full-grown love, and I couldn't assist it. It was configured into me, growing up not as his child however as his wife. We 'd done everything however practiced our relationship, I believed, and he needed to feel the same way. Didn't he?

 

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