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I even began taking the cash, mostly since I was much too useful to let a little thing like regret get in the method of common sense. I would have been just another fifteen-year-old catholic schoolgirl, doing her homework, doing her nails, doing the little silly things that little ladies do.
I hadn't been a little woman in a very long time though.
I only worked three or four nights a week anyhow, because I had to be house by 9 pm on school nights and ten o'clock on weekends. Deke didn't mind, he said that was a great thing since he could really charge more, specifically if the man I was going with picked me up at school. That privilege ended up being worth a number of hundred dollars extra, although I didn't really like it. I was always scared somebody would see me entering into a odd cars and truck, a different unusual automobile each time, and question what was going on.
Way too much for a ninth grader to spend, even after Deke took his cut. Choosing me up at school was worth an extra 200, which I believed was ludicrous, but you 'd be stunned how many people wanted precisely that. Like it showed beyond a doubt that they were getting the genuine deal, an underage whore to fuck and draw . These were all older guys too, like my father's age, or more frequently even older, in their 40's and 50's primarily. He stated that was generous due to the fact that he was my supervisor, my representative, my security person, my advertising and transportation all rolled into one. He bought my clothing 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 men for an hour or two. I had to act more youthful often too, as a little woman perhaps eleven or twelve years old; but never ever older. I liked acting though and I believe I had a real talent for it.
Mary Magdalene had been a slut. 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 recognized I wasn't harming anybody. The men loved me for a bit, although some of them enjoyed me for real and asked me if I 'd wed them, or at least return to their cities and cope 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 because I understood it wasn't really me they liked, primarily I felt a little more secure that way. Like a guy who loved me would not harm me, you know? I 'd had sex with like fifty people or something, many of them wanting me to call them Daddy while we did it. Some of them wanted to call me by a different name, their daughter's name, or a niece or the little lady next door maybe.
I might close my eyes and think of the man who was making love to me actually was my daddy. I could talk with him, inform him I liked him, how he made me feel unique and full-grown and enjoyed. And someplace, somehow along that flight, I 'd begun to believe it. I 'd go house and see my genuine daddy and almost forget that it hadn't been him that I 'd fucked an hour or more before. However I was falling in love, in developed love, and I couldn't assist it. It was configured into me, maturing not as his child but as his spouse. We 'd done everything but practiced our relationship, I believed, and he needed to feel the same way. Didn't he?
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