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I even started taking the money, mainly due to the fact that I was much too practical to let a little thing like regret get in the method of typical sense. I would have been simply another fifteen-year-old catholic schoolgirl, doing her research, doing her nails, doing the little ridiculous things that little women do.
I had not been a little lady in a long time.
Deke didn't mind, he said that was a good thing since he might really charge more, specifically if the person I was going with picked me up at school. That opportunity turned out to be worth a couple of hundred dollars additional, although I didn't really like it.
I 'd been doing it for almost 2 months already, and I 'd lost track of how many men I 'd made love with. I didn't want to know, however it needed to be a lot. I 'd made a lot of cash too. Method excessive for a ninth grader to spend, even after Deke took his cut. He charged 300 dollars an hour for me, or 500 dollars for two. Picking me up at school was worth an extra 200, which I believed was ridiculous, however you 'd marvel how many men wanted precisely that. Like it showed beyond a doubt that they were getting the real deal, an underage whore to fuck and draw . These were all older men too, like my dad's age, or more frequently even older, in their 40's and 50's mainly. They had a great deal of money to spend and it was the ideas that truly flushed my bank account. Deke offered me 30% and kept 70% for himself. He said that was generous since he was my manager, my representative, my security guy, my advertising and transportation all rolled into one. He bought my clothes and the stuff I require to work, like prophylactics and lube and junk like that. He did all the work if you listened to him tell it, and all I did was lay there and get rich. It was more like acting than anything else because I had to in fact like these people for an hour or 2. I had to act more youthful sometimes too, as a little girl maybe eleven or twelve years old; but never older. I liked acting though and I believe I had a real skill for it.
The men loved me for a little bit, although some of them enjoyed me for genuine 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 knew it wasn't actually me they liked, mainly I felt a little much safer that way. Like a guy who enjoyed me wouldn't injure me, you understand? I 'd had sex with like fifty guys or something, most of them desiring me to call them Daddy while we did it. Some of them desired to call me by a various 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 really was my dad. I might talk with him, tell him I liked him, how he made me feel full-grown and special and enjoyed. And someplace, in some way along that trip, I 'd begun to think it. I 'd go home and see my genuine papa 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 assist it. It was programmed into me, growing up not as his child but as his wife. We 'd done whatever but practiced our relationship, I thought, and he had to feel the same way. Didn't he?
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