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I even started taking the money, mainly because I was much too practical to let a little thing like regret get in the way 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 only worked 3 or 4 nights a week anyhow, considering that I needed to be home by 9 pm on school nights and ten o'clock on weekends. Deke didn't mind, he said that was a good thing since he might actually charge more, specifically if the man I was going with chosen me up at school. That privilege ended up being worth a number of hundred dollars extra, although I didn't actually like it. I was constantly afraid somebody would see me entering into a strange automobile, a different weird vehicle every 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 additional 200, which I thought 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 offer, an underage whore to fuck and draw . These were all older people too, like my daddy's age, or more frequently even older, in their 40's and 50's mostly. He stated that was generous because he was my manager, my representative, my security man, my advertising and transport all rolled into one. He purchased my clothing and the things I need to work, like prophylactics and lube and scrap like that. It was more like acting than anything else since I had to actually like these men for an hour or two. I had to act more youthful sometimes too, as a little girl perhaps eleven or twelve years old; however never 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 tutelary saint. I 'd felt truly guilty in the beginning, however that had disappeared when I recognized I wasn't harming anybody. 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 a minimum of come back 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 due to the fact that I understood it wasn't actually me they liked, mostly I felt a little more secure that method. Like a person who enjoyed me would not injure me, you understand? I 'd had sex with like fifty guys or something, most of them wanting 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 lady next door maybe.
I might close my eyes and envision the man who was making love to me actually was my dad. I might talk to him, inform him I loved him, how he made me feel special and full-grown and liked. And somewhere, somehow along that flight, I 'd begun to believe it. I 'd go house and see my real papa and almost forget that it hadn't been him that I 'd fucked an hour or 2 before. However I was falling in love, in full-grown love, and I could not help it. It was configured into me, growing up not as his daughter but as his spouse. We 'd done everything however consummate our relationship, I believed, and he had to feel the same way. Didn't he?
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