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I even started taking the money, mainly because I was much too useful to let a little thing like regret get in the method of typical 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 ladies do.
I hadn't been a little woman in a long time.
I just worked three or four nights a week anyhow, since I had to be house by 9 pm on school nights and ten o'clock on weekends. But Deke didn't mind, he said that was a advantage because he could in fact charge more, particularly if the man I was choosing selected me up at school. That advantage turned out to be worth a number of hundred dollars extra, although I didn't really like it. I was constantly afraid somebody would see me entering into a strange automobile, a different unusual car every time, and question what was going on.
Method too much for a ninth grader to spend, even after Deke took his cut. Picking me up at school was worth an extra 200, which I thought was ludicrous, but you 'd be surprised how many guys wanted exactly that. Like it proved beyond a doubt that they were getting the real offer, an minor slut to fuck and suck . These were all older men too, like my dad's age, or more often even older, in their 40's and 50's mostly. He said that was generous due to the fact that he was my manager, my representative, my security person, my advertising and transport all rolled into one. He bought my clothing and the stuff I need to work, like prophylactics and lube and scrap like that. That wasn't true. It was more like acting than anything else considering that I had to really like these people for an hour or more. I needed to act more youthful sometimes too, as a little lady possibly eleven or twelve years old; but never older. None of the men paying for me wanted a woman, just a lady, and understanding that I really was simply fifteen, that was the kicker for them. I liked acting though and I think 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.
Mary Magdalene had actually been a whore. That's where I took my comfort and she 'd become my patron saint. I 'd felt truly guilty in the beginning, but that had gone away when I understood I wasn't harming anyone. The men enjoyed me for a bit, although some of them liked me genuine and asked me if I 'd wed them, or a minimum of come back to their cities and live with them. However 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 actually me they liked, primarily I felt a little much safer that way. Like a person who enjoyed 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 various 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 daddy. I could speak with him, tell him I enjoyed him, how he made me feel unique and full-grown and loved. And somewhere, in some way along that flight, I 'd begun to believe it. I 'd go house and see my real daddy and nearly forget that it had not been him that I 'd fucked an hour or 2 prior to. 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 daughter but as his wife. We 'd done whatever however practiced our relationship, I believed, and he had to feel the same way. Didn't he?
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