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I even started taking the cash, mostly since I was much too useful to let a little thing like guilt 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 silly things that little girls do.
I hadn't been a little lady in a very long time though.
Deke didn't mind, he said that was a great thing due to the fact that he might really charge more, especially if the guy I was going with picked me up at school. That privilege 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 believed was ludicrous, but you 'd be shocked how many people wanted precisely that. Like it showed beyond a doubt that they were getting the genuine offer, an minor slut to fuck and draw . These were all older people too, like my dad's age, or more frequently even older, in their 40's and 50's mostly. He said that was generous since he was my supervisor, my agent, my security person, my marketing and transport all rolled into one. He bought my clothing and the things I require to work, like condoms and lube and junk like that. But that wasn't real. It was more like acting than anything else because I had to really like these guys for an hour or two. I had to act younger in some cases too, as a little woman maybe eleven or twelve years old; but never ever older. None of the men spending for me desired a female, simply a girl, and understanding that I really was just fifteen, that was the kicker for them. I liked acting though and I think I had a genuine talent for it. I had a talent for the sex things anyhow, no doubt about that, and the more I did it the much better I got.
The guys loved me for a little bit, although some of them enjoyed 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 lonesome because I understood it wasn't truly me they liked, mostly I felt a little safer that method. Like a person who enjoyed me wouldn't hurt me, you know? I 'd had sex with like fifty men or something, many 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 lady next door possibly.
I might close my eyes and picture the man who was making love to me truly was my dad. I might talk with him, tell him I loved him, how he made me feel unique and full-grown and enjoyed. And somewhere, in some way along that flight, I 'd begun to believe it. I 'd go house and see my real papa and nearly forget that it had not been him that I 'd fucked an hour or more before. But I was falling in love, in developed love, and I couldn't help it. It was set into me, maturing not as his child however as his better half. We 'd done whatever however skilled our relationship, I thought, and he had to feel the same way. Didn't he?
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