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I even started taking the cash, primarily because I was much too practical to let a little thing like regret get in the way of common sense. I would have been simply another fifteen-year-old catholic schoolgirl, doing her research, doing her nails, doing the little silly things that little women do. I hadn't been a little woman in a long time. Deke didn't mind, he stated that was a good thing because he could really charge more, especially if the man I was going with selected me up at school. That opportunity turned out to be worth a couple of hundred dollars extra, although I didn't really like it.

Way too much for a ninth grader to invest, even after Deke took his cut. Picking me up at school was worth an additional 200, which I thought was outrageous, however you 'd be surprised how many people wanted precisely that. Like it showed beyond a doubt that they were getting the real deal, an underage slut to draw and fuck . These were all older people too, like my papa's age, or more frequently even older, in their 40's and 50's primarily. He stated that was generous since he was my manager, my agent, my security man, my advertising and transportation all rolled into one. He purchased my clothing and the stuff I need to work, like prophylactics and lube and junk like that. It was more like acting than anything else because I had to really like these men for an hour or two. I had to act younger in some cases too, as a little woman perhaps eleven or twelve years old; but never ever older. I liked acting though and I believe I had a genuine skill for it.

The guys liked 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 brief time we were together, that's all, and while part of me felt lonely due to the fact that I understood it wasn't actually me they liked, mainly I felt a little safer that way. Like a man who enjoyed me would not hurt me, you understand? 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 desired to call me by a various name, their daughter's name, or a niece or the little lady next door possibly.

I could close my eyes and envision the man who was making love to me actually was my papa. I might talk to him, tell him I enjoyed him, how he made me feel unique and developed and enjoyed. And someplace, somehow along that flight, I 'd started to believe it. I 'd go home and see my genuine dad and nearly forget that it hadn't been him that I 'd fucked an hour or more before. I was falling in love, in full-grown love, and I could not assist it. It was programmed into me, growing up not as his child but as his partner. We 'd done everything but skilled our relationship, I believed, and he needed to feel the same way. Didn't he?

 

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