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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 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 had not been a little woman in a very long time though.
I just worked three or four nights a week anyhow, since I had 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 because he might actually charge more, particularly if the man I was going with chosen me up at school. That advantage ended up being worth a number of hundred dollars extra, although I didn't actually like it. I was constantly afraid somebody would see me entering a odd vehicle, a various strange cars and truck every time, and wonder what was going on.
I 'd been doing it for nearly two months currently, and I 'd lost track of how many men I 'd had sex with. I didn't need to know, but it had to be a lot. I 'd made a lot of money too. Method too much for a ninth grader to spend, even after Deke took his cut. He charged 300 dollars an hour for me, or 500 dollars for 2. Choosing me up at school deserved an additional 200, which I thought was outrageous, but you 'd marvel the number of men wanted precisely that. Like it proved beyond a doubt that they were getting the real deal, an underage whore to draw and fuck . These were all older men too, like my father's age, or more often even older, in their 40's and 50's primarily. He said that was generous since he was my manager, my agent, my security guy, my marketing and transportation all rolled into one. He bought my clothes and the things I require to work, like condoms and lube and scrap like that. It was more like acting than anything else since I had to in fact like these guys for an hour or two. I had to act younger in some cases too, as a little lady possibly eleven or twelve years old; however never ever older. I liked acting though and I believe I had a real talent for it.
The males loved me for a little bit, although some of them enjoyed me for real 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 lonely since I understood it wasn't really me they liked, primarily I felt a little much safer that method. Like a guy who loved me would not harm me, you know? I 'd had sex with like fifty people or something, most of them wanting me to call them Daddy while we did it. Some of them wanted to call me by a different name, their child'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 father. I might speak with him, inform him I enjoyed him, how he made me feel developed and unique and liked. And somewhere, somehow along that ride, I 'd started to believe it. I 'd go home and see my real dad and almost forget that it hadn't 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 help it. It was configured into me, maturing not as his child however as his wife. 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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