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I even began taking the cash, mostly since I was much too practical to let a little thing like guilt get in the way 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 girl in a long time.
Deke didn't mind, he said that was a good thing due to the fact that he could in fact charge more, particularly if the person I was going with picked me up at school. That advantage turned out to be worth a couple of hundred dollars extra, although I didn't actually like it.
Way too much for a ninth grader to invest, even after Deke took his cut. Picking me up at school was worth an additional 200, which I thought was absurd, but you 'd be surprised how numerous people desired precisely that. Like it proved beyond a doubt that they were getting the real deal, an underage slut to draw and fuck . These were all older guys too, like my daddy's age, or more typically even older, in their 40's and 50's mostly. He said that was generous due to the fact that he was my supervisor, my representative, my security person, my marketing and transportation all rolled into one. He bought my clothes and the stuff I need to work, like prophylactics and lube and junk like that. It was more like acting than anything else considering that I had to really like these guys for an hour or 2. I had to act more youthful often too, as a little girl maybe eleven or twelve years old; but never older. I liked acting though and I think I had a real skill for it.
Mary Magdalene had actually 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, however that had gone away when I realized I wasn't hurting anybody. The men enjoyed me for a bit, although a few of them loved me genuine and asked me if I 'd wed them, or a minimum of come back to their cities and live with them. But 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 lonesome due to the fact that I understood it wasn't actually me they liked, mostly I felt a little safer that way. Like a guy who loved me would not injure me, you know? I 'd had sex with like fifty men or something, most of them wanting me to call them Daddy while we did it. Some of them wanted to call me by a various name, their child's name, or a niece or the little woman next door perhaps.
I could close my eyes and envision the man who was making love to me actually was my papa. I might talk with him, inform him I enjoyed him, how he made me feel special and developed and enjoyed. And someplace, in some way along that ride, I 'd started to think it. I 'd go home and see my real papa and practically forget that it had not been him that I 'd fucked an hour or two before. But I was falling in love, in grown-up love, and I could not assist it. It was set into me, growing up not as his daughter but as his partner. We 'd done everything but practiced our relationship, I believed, and he had to feel the same way. Didn't he?
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