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I even began 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 ridiculous things that little ladies do.
I hadn't been a little girl in a long period of time though.
I just worked 3 or 4 nights a week anyway, since I needed to be house by 9 pm on school nights and 10 o'clock on weekends. Deke didn't mind, he stated that was a good thing since he could really charge more, particularly if the person I was going with selected me up at school. That opportunity ended up being worth a couple of hundred dollars additional, although I didn't really like it. I was constantly scared somebody would see me getting into a unusual car, a different unusual vehicle whenever, and question what was going on.
I 'd been doing it for almost two months currently, and I 'd misplaced the number of men I 'd made love with. I didn't need to know, however it had to be a lot. I 'd made a great deal of cash too. Way too much 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 was worth an extra 200, which I believed was ridiculous, but you 'd marvel how many people wanted exactly that. Like it showed beyond a doubt that they were getting the genuine deal, an underage whore to suck and fuck . These were all older people too, like my dad's age, or more often even older, in their 40's and 50's mainly. He stated that was generous since he was my manager, my agent, my security man, my marketing and transport all rolled into one. He bought my clothing and the things I need to work, like prophylactics and lube and scrap like that. It was more like acting than anything else considering that I had to actually like these people 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 real talent for it.
The guys loved me for a little bit, although some of them liked me for genuine 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 understood it wasn't really me they liked, primarily I felt a little more secure that way. Like a guy who liked me wouldn't hurt me, you know? I 'd had sex with like fifty men or something, many of them desiring me to call them Daddy while we did it. Some of them wanted to call me by a various name, their daughter's name, or a niece or the little girl next door perhaps.
I could close my eyes and imagine the man who was making love to me really was my papa. I could talk with him, tell him I loved him, how he made me feel special and developed and liked. And someplace, in some way along that flight, I 'd begun to think it. I 'd go house and see my real father and nearly forget that it had not been him that I 'd fucked an hour or two before. But I was falling in love, in grown-up love, and I could not assist it. It was set into me, maturing not as his child however as his wife. We 'd done whatever but practiced our relationship, I thought, and he needed to feel the same way. Didn't he?
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