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I even started taking the cash, primarily due to the fact that I was much too practical to let a little thing like guilt get in the method of typical sense. I would have been simply another fifteen-year-old catholic schoolgirl, doing her homework, doing her nails, doing the little silly things that little ladies do.
I had not been a little girl in a long time.
Deke didn't mind, he said that was a good thing since he might actually charge more, especially if the man I was going with picked me up at school. That opportunity turned out to be worth a couple of hundred dollars additional, although I didn't truly like it.
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 outrageous, however you 'd be shocked how many people desired exactly that. Like it showed beyond a doubt that they were getting the real deal, an underage whore to fuck and draw . These were all older people too, like my papa's age, or regularly even older, in their 40's and 50's mainly. They had a great deal of cash to invest and it was the pointers that actually flushed my bank account. Deke gave me 30% and kept 70% for himself. He stated that was generous because he was my supervisor, my agent, my security person, my advertising 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. He did all the work if you listened to him tell it, and all I did was lay there and get rich. It was more like acting than anything else given that I had to really like these people for an hour or two. I had to act more youthful sometimes too, as a little woman maybe eleven or twelve years old; but never older. I liked acting though and I believe I had a genuine skill for it.
Mary Magdalene had actually been a whore. That's where I took my comfort and she 'd become my tutelary saint. I 'd felt truly guilty in the beginning, but that had actually disappeared when I understood I wasn't hurting anybody. The men liked me for a bit, although a few of them enjoyed me genuine and asked me if I 'd marry them, or at least come back to their cities and deal with them. But they loved who I pretended to be for that short time we were together, that's all, and while part of me felt lonely because I knew it wasn't actually me they liked, mostly I felt a little more secure that way. Like a guy who enjoyed me wouldn't harm me, you understand? I 'd had sex with like fifty men or something, most of them desiring 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 woman next door perhaps.
I might close my eyes and envision the man who was making love to me truly was my father. I might speak with him, inform him I enjoyed him, how he made me feel special and developed and loved. And someplace, somehow along that ride, I 'd started to think it. I 'd go home and see my genuine daddy and nearly forget that it hadn't been him that I 'd fucked an hour or 2 before. But I was falling in love, in full-grown love, and I could not assist it. It was programmed into me, maturing not as his child but as his wife. We 'd done everything but consummate our relationship, I thought, and he had to feel the same way. Didn't he?
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