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I even began taking the money, mostly because I was much too useful to let a little thing like guilt get in the method of common sense. I would have been just another fifteen-year-old catholic schoolgirl, doing her research, doing her nails, doing the little silly things that little women do.
I had not been a little woman in a long time though.
Deke didn't mind, he stated that was a great thing because he could in fact charge more, specifically if the guy I was going with selected me up at school. That advantage turned out to be worth a couple of hundred dollars additional, although I didn't truly like it.
Way too much for a ninth grader to spend, even after Deke took his cut. Choosing me up at school was worth an extra 200, which I thought was ridiculous, however you 'd be stunned how many men wanted precisely that. Like it showed beyond a doubt that they were getting the real offer, an minor slut to draw and fuck . These were all older guys too, like my father's age, or regularly even older, in their 40's and 50's primarily. They had a lot of money to invest and it was the tips that truly flushed my checking account. Deke gave me 30% and kept 70% for himself. He said that was generous due to the fact that he was my manager, my representative, my security person, my marketing and transport all rolled into one. He purchased my clothing and the stuff I need to work, like prophylactics and lube and scrap like that. He did all the work if you listened to him tell it, and all I did was lay there and get rich. It was more like acting than anything else since I had to actually like these guys for an hour or 2. I had to act more youthful often too, as a little girl maybe eleven or twelve years old; but never ever older. I liked acting though and I believe I had a genuine talent for it.
The men liked me for a little bit, although some of them enjoyed 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 lonesome because I understood it wasn't actually me they liked, mainly I felt a little much safer that way. Like a person who liked me would not harm me, you know? I 'd had sex with like fifty people or something, many of them wanting 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 woman next door possibly.
I might close my eyes and picture the man who was making love to me truly was my dad. I might speak with him, inform him I loved him, how he made me feel unique and developed and enjoyed. And someplace, in some way along that trip, I 'd begun to think it. I 'd go home and see my real dad and almost forget that it had not been him that I 'd fucked an hour or 2 prior to. I was falling in love, in full-grown love, and I could not help it. It was set into me, growing up not as his daughter but as his spouse. We 'd done everything but skilled our relationship, I believed, and he had to feel the same way. Didn't he?
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