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I even began taking the money, primarily since I was much too useful to let a little thing like guilt get in the way of typical sense. I would have been simply another fifteen-year-old catholic schoolgirl, doing her homework, doing her nails, doing the little silly things that little women do.
I had not been a little girl in a long time.
Deke didn't mind, he stated that was a good thing due to the fact that he could actually charge more, particularly if the guy 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 really like it.
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 ludicrous, but you 'd be surprised how many men wanted precisely that. Like it proved beyond a doubt that they were getting the real deal, an underage slut to fuck and draw . These were all older guys too, like my dad's age, or more typically even older, in their 40's and 50's mostly. He said that was generous since he was my supervisor, my representative, my security guy, my marketing and transport all rolled into one. He purchased my clothes and the things I need to work, like prophylactics and lube and scrap 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 in some cases too, as a little girl perhaps eleven or twelve years old; however never ever older. I liked acting though and I think I had a genuine talent 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 in the beginning, but that had actually gone away when I realized I wasn't harming anyone. The men liked me for a little bit, although a few of them liked me for real and asked me if I 'd marry them, or at least return 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 understood it wasn't truly me they liked, primarily I felt a little much safer that way. Like a guy who loved me would not harm me, you understand? I loved my father. That had actually changed too and I don't know if one thing had to do with the other exactly, however I don't believe in coincidence either. I 'd had sex with like fifty guys or something, most of them desiring me to call them Daddy while we did it. A few of them wanted to call me by a various name, their child's name, or a niece or the little woman next door perhaps. A lot of them didn't mind calling me Samantha either, and that bothered me at initially, however then it didn't and I started liking it.
I might close my eyes and think of the man who was making love to me truly was my papa. I might talk to him, tell him I enjoyed him, how he made me feel full-grown and unique and liked. I was falling in love, in grown-up love, and I couldn't help it.
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