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I even started taking the cash, mostly because I was much too useful 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 girls do.
I hadn't been a little woman in a very long time though.
I just worked three or four nights a week anyway, given that I had to be house by 9 pm on school nights and ten o'clock on weekends. However Deke didn't mind, he said that was a good idea due to the fact that he might actually charge more, especially if the man I was choosing chosen me up at school. That opportunity turned out to be worth a couple of hundred dollars extra, although I didn't truly like it. I was constantly scared somebody would see me entering into a odd car, a different strange car every time, and wonder what was going on.
Way too much for a ninth grader to invest, even after Deke took his cut. Choosing me up at school was worth an additional 200, which I thought was outrageous, but you 'd be surprised how numerous people desired precisely that. Like it showed beyond a doubt that they were getting the real deal, an underage whore to draw and fuck . These were all older men too, like my dad's age, or more frequently even older, in their 40's and 50's primarily. They had a lot of cash to invest and it was the pointers that actually flushed my savings account. Deke gave me 30% and kept 70% for himself. He said 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 stuff I need to work, like condoms and lube and scrap like that. He did all the work if you listened to him inform it, and all I did was lay there and get rich. It was more like acting than anything else because I had to in fact like these guys for an hour or 2. I had to act younger in some cases too, as a little woman possibly eleven or twelve years old; however never older. I liked acting though and I think I had a real talent for it.
Mary Magdalene had actually 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 gone away when I understood I wasn't harming anyone. The men loved me for a little bit, although a few of them loved me genuine and asked me if I 'd marry them, or a minimum of come back to their cities and cope with them. However they loved who I pretended to be for that short time we were together, that's all, and while part of me felt lonesome because I knew it wasn't really me they liked, mostly I felt a little safer that way. Like a guy who enjoyed me would not hurt me, you understand? I 'd had sex with like fifty men or something, many of them wanting me to call them Daddy while we did it. Some of them desired to call me by a different name, their daughter's name, or a niece or the little lady next door possibly.
I might close my eyes and picture the man who was making love to me actually was my dad. I could speak with him, tell him I loved him, how he made me feel developed and unique and liked. And someplace, somehow along that flight, I 'd begun to think it. I 'd go home and see my genuine daddy and almost forget that it hadn't been him that I 'd fucked an hour or two prior to. I was falling in love, in full-grown love, and I could not assist it. It was set into me, maturing not as his daughter but as his wife. We 'd done everything but skilled our relationship, I believed, and he needed to feel the same way. Didn't he?
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