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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 method 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 women do.
I hadn't been a little girl in a long time though.
I just worked 3 or four nights a week anyway, since I needed to be home by 9 pm on school nights and 10 o'clock on weekends. But Deke didn't mind, he stated that was a good idea because he could in fact charge more, particularly if the man I was going with selected me up at school. That benefit turned out to be worth a number of hundred dollars extra, although I didn't truly like it. I was constantly afraid somebody would see me entering into a weird vehicle, a various odd vehicle each time, and wonder what was going on.
Way too much for a ninth grader to spend, even after Deke took his cut. Picking me up at school was worth an additional 200, which I thought was outrageous, however you 'd be stunned how numerous men desired precisely that. Like it proved beyond a doubt that they were getting the genuine deal, an minor whore to fuck and draw . These were all older men too, like my papa's age, or regularly even older, in their 40's and 50's mostly. They had a great deal of money to invest and it was the tips that actually flushed my checking account. Deke provided me 30% and kept 70% for himself. He said that was generous since he was my manager, my representative, my security man, my marketing and transport all rolled into one. He purchased my clothes and the stuff I need to work, like condoms 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 since I had to in fact like these guys for an hour or 2. I had to act younger in some cases too, as a little girl maybe eleven or twelve years old; however never ever older. I liked acting though and I believe I had a genuine talent for it.
Mary Magdalene had been a whore. That's where I took my comfort and she 'd become my tutelary saint. I 'd felt actually guilty at first, however that had actually disappeared when I recognized I wasn't hurting anyone. The men enjoyed me for a bit, although some of them loved 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 short time we were together, that's all, and while part of me felt lonely because I understood it wasn't truly me they liked, primarily I felt a little more secure that method. Like a man who enjoyed me would not harm me, you understand? I 'd had sex with like fifty people or something, many of them desiring 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 maybe.
I could close my eyes and think of the man who was making love to me really was my dad. I could talk with him, tell him I loved him, how he made me feel special and grown-up and enjoyed. And someplace, in some way along that trip, I 'd begun to believe it. I 'd go home and see my real papa and nearly forget that it hadn't been him that I 'd fucked an hour or more before. I was falling in love, in full-grown love, and I couldn't help it. It was programmed into me, growing up not as his daughter but as his wife. We 'd done everything but skilled our relationship, I thought, and he needed to feel the same way. Didn't he?
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