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I even started taking the money, primarily because I was much too useful 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 research, doing her nails, doing the little silly things that little women do.
I had not been a little lady in a long time.
I just worked 3 or 4 nights a week anyhow, considering that I had to be home by 9 pm on school nights and ten o'clock on weekends. However Deke didn't mind, he said that was a advantage because he could actually charge more, specifically if the person I was choosing chosen me up at school. That benefit turned out to be worth a couple of hundred dollars extra, although I didn't really like it. I was constantly scared someone would see me getting into a weird car, a various weird automobile whenever, and wonder what was going on.
Way too much for a ninth grader to invest, even after Deke took his cut. Picking me up at school was worth an extra 200, which I thought was ridiculous, but you 'd be stunned how many guys wanted exactly that. Like it showed beyond a doubt that they were getting the real deal, an minor slut to draw and fuck . These were all older men too, like my dad's age, or more typically even older, in their 40's and 50's primarily. He said that was generous because he was my supervisor, my agent, my security guy, my marketing and transportation all rolled into one. He bought my clothes and the stuff I need to work, like condoms and lube and junk like that. It was more like acting than anything else given that I had to actually like these guys for an hour or 2. I had to act more youthful often too, as a little woman possibly eleven or twelve years old; however never older. I liked acting though and I think I had a real skill for it.
Mary Magdalene had been a whore. That's where I took my convenience and she 'd become my patron saint. I 'd felt actually guilty at first, but that had actually gone away when I recognized I wasn't injuring anyone. The men enjoyed me for a little bit, although a few of them loved me for real and asked me if I 'd wed them, or at least return to their cities and deal with them. However they loved who I pretended to be for that short time we were together, that's all, and while part of me felt lonely because I knew it wasn't actually me they liked, primarily I felt a little more secure that way. Like a person who loved me wouldn't injure me, you understand? I 'd had sex with like fifty guys or something, many of them wanting me to call them Daddy while we did it. Some of them desired to call me by a different name, their daughter's name, or a niece or the little girl next door perhaps.
I could close my eyes and imagine the man who was making love to me truly was my daddy. I could talk to him, inform him I liked him, how he made me feel full-grown and special and loved. And somewhere, somehow along that flight, I 'd started to believe it. I 'd go house and see my genuine father 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 full-grown love, and I could not help it. It was set into me, maturing not as his child but as his other half. We 'd done whatever but consummate our relationship, I believed, and he needed to feel the same way. Didn't he?
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