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I even began taking the money, primarily since I was much too practical to let a little thing like guilt get in the method of typical sense. I would have been simply another fifteen-year-old catholic schoolgirl, doing her homework, doing her nails, doing the little ridiculous things that little ladies do.
I had not been a little girl in a long time.
Deke didn't mind, he said that was a great thing due to the fact that he could actually charge more, particularly if the guy I was going with selected me up at school. That advantage turned out to be worth a couple of hundred dollars extra, although I didn't actually like it.
Way too much for a ninth grader to invest, even after Deke took his cut. Selecting me up at school was worth an extra 200, which I believed was absurd, but you 'd be stunned how many men desired exactly that. Like it showed beyond a doubt that they were getting the real offer, an underage whore to fuck and suck . These were all older men too, like my daddy's age, or regularly even older, in their 40's and 50's mainly. They had a lot of cash to invest and it was the suggestions that truly flushed my checking account. Deke offered me 30% and kept 70% for himself. He said that was generous since he was my manager, my representative, my security man, my advertising and transportation all rolled into one. He bought my clothes and the stuff I need to work, like prophylactics and lube and junk like that. He did all the work if you listened to him inform it, and all I did was lay there and get rich. That wasn't real. It was more like acting than anything else since I needed to in fact like these guys for an hour or two. I needed to act more youthful sometimes too, as a little woman perhaps eleven or twelve years of ages; however never older. None of the men spending for me wanted a female, simply a lady, and understanding that I actually was just fifteen, that was the kicker for them. I liked acting though and I believe I had a real skill for it. I had a skill for the sex stuff anyway, no doubt about that, and the more I did it the better I got.
The guys enjoyed me for a little bit, although some of them liked 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 lonely since I understood it wasn't actually me they liked, mostly I felt a little safer that way. Like a man who enjoyed me wouldn't hurt me, you understand? 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 wanted to call me by a different name, their child's name, or a niece or the little girl next door perhaps.
I might close my eyes and picture the man who was making love to me truly was my daddy. I might talk with him, inform him I loved him, how he made me feel special and developed and enjoyed. And somewhere, in some way along that ride, I 'd begun to think it. I 'd go home and see my genuine father and practically 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 help it. It was configured into me, growing up not as his daughter however as his wife. We 'd done whatever however practiced our relationship, I thought, and he needed to feel the same way. Didn't he?
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