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I even started taking the money, mainly because I was much too practical to let a little thing like guilt get in the way 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 girls do.
I hadn't been a little lady in a long period of time though.
Deke didn't mind, he stated that was a excellent thing because he might really charge more, particularly if the man I was going with picked me up at school. That benefit turned out to be worth a couple of hundred dollars extra, although I didn't actually like it.
I 'd been doing it for nearly two months already, and I 'd misplaced the number of guys I 'd had sex with. I didn't want to know, but it needed to be a lot. I 'd made a lot of cash too. Way too much for a ninth grader to invest, even after Deke took his cut. He charged 300 dollars an hour for me, or 500 dollars for 2. Picking me up at school deserved an extra 200, which I believed was ludicrous, but you 'd be surprised the number of guys desired precisely that. Like it proved beyond a doubt that they were getting the genuine deal, an minor slut to draw and fuck . These were all older people too, like my father's age, or more frequently even older, in their 40's and 50's mostly. He stated that was generous since he was my supervisor, my agent, my security man, my marketing and transport all rolled into one. He bought my clothes and the stuff I require to work, like prophylactics and lube and scrap like that. It was more like acting than anything else considering that I had to really like these guys for an hour or two. I had to act younger sometimes too, as a little lady possibly eleven or twelve years old; but never older. I liked acting though and I think I had a real talent for it.
The guys loved 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 method. Like a guy who loved me would not injure 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 different name, their child's name, or a niece or the little lady next door maybe.
I might close my eyes and imagine the man who was making love to me actually was my father. I might speak with him, inform him I enjoyed him, how he made me feel developed and special and loved. And somewhere, somehow along that flight, I 'd started to believe 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 2 prior to. I was falling in love, in developed love, and I couldn't assist it. It was programmed into me, growing up not as his daughter however as his spouse. We 'd done whatever but practiced our relationship, I believed, and he needed to feel the same way. Didn't he?
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