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I even started taking the money, mainly because I was much too practical 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 research, doing her nails, doing the little silly things that little women do.
I hadn't been a little lady in a long time.
Deke didn't mind, he said that was a good thing since he could actually charge more, especially if the guy 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.
I 'd been doing it for practically two months already, and I 'd lost track of the number of men I 'd made love with. I didn't want to know, but it had to be a lot. I 'd made a lot of money too. Method too much for a ninth grader to invest, even after Deke took his cut. He charged 300 dollars an hour for me, or 500 dollars for two. Choosing me up at school was worth an additional 200, which I believed was absurd, but you 'd be surprised the number of guys desired exactly that. Like it proved beyond a doubt that they were getting the real offer, an minor whore to suck and fuck . These were all older guys too, like my daddy's age, or more often even older, in their 40's and 50's primarily. He stated that was generous because he was my supervisor, my agent, my security man, my marketing and transportation all rolled into one. He purchased my clothes and the things 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 in fact like these men for an hour or two. I had to act younger in some cases too, as a little lady possibly 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 been a slut. That's where I took my comfort and she 'd become my tutelary saint. I 'd felt truly guilty initially, but that had actually gone away when I understood I wasn't hurting anyone. The men enjoyed me for a bit, although a few of them enjoyed me genuine and asked me if I 'd wed them, or a minimum of return to their cities and deal 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 lonesome due to the fact that I knew it wasn't really me they liked, mainly I felt a little much safer that way. Like a guy who liked me would not injure me, you understand? 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 desired to call me by a various name, their daughter's name, or a niece or the little girl next door perhaps.
I might close my eyes and envision the man who was making love to me really was my dad. I could talk to him, tell him I enjoyed him, how he made me feel special and grown-up and liked. And someplace, somehow along that ride, I 'd started to believe it. I 'd go home and see my genuine papa and almost forget that it had not been him that I 'd fucked an hour or more before. I was falling in love, in full-grown love, and I couldn't help it. It was configured into me, growing up not as his child however as his better half. We 'd done whatever but consummate our relationship, I believed, and he had to feel the same way. Didn't he?
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