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I even started taking the cash, primarily because I was much too useful 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 homework, doing her nails, doing the little ridiculous things that little girls do.
I had not been a little girl in a long time.
Deke didn't mind, he said that was a great thing due to the fact that he could really charge more, particularly if the man I was going with selected me up at school. That privilege turned out to be worth a couple of hundred dollars extra, although I didn't truly like it.
I 'd been doing it for nearly two months already, and I 'd misplaced the number of men I 'd had sex with. I didn't would like to know, however it needed to be a lot. I 'd made a lot of cash too. Way too much for a ninth grader to spend, even after Deke took his cut. He charged 300 dollars an hour for me, or 500 dollars for 2. Picking me up at school was worth an extra 200, which I believed was outrageous, however you 'd marvel how many guys desired exactly that. Like it showed beyond a doubt that they were getting the real offer, an minor slut to suck and fuck . These were all older people too, like my papa's age, or more often even older, in their 40's and 50's mainly. He said that was generous since he was my manager, my agent, my security person, my marketing and transportation all rolled into one. He purchased my clothing and the stuff I need to work, like condoms and lube and scrap like that. It was more like acting than anything else given that I had to actually like these guys for an hour or two. I had to act younger in some cases too, as a little woman maybe 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 actually been a whore. That's where I took my comfort and she 'd become my patron saint. I 'd felt truly guilty at first, but that had disappeared when I understood I wasn't injuring anyone. The men liked me for a little bit, although some of them enjoyed me genuine and asked me if I 'd marry them, or a minimum of come back to their cities and live 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 understood it wasn't really me they liked, mainly I felt a little much safer that way. Like a person who liked me wouldn't 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 different name, their child's name, or a niece or the little lady next door maybe.
I could close my eyes and imagine the man who was making love to me truly was my papa. I might talk with him, tell him I loved him, how he made me feel unique and developed and liked. And someplace, somehow along that flight, I 'd begun to believe it. I 'd go house and see my genuine dad and almost forget that it hadn't been him that I 'd fucked an hour or more before. I was falling in love, in grown-up love, and I couldn't help it. It was configured into me, maturing not as his child but as his other half. We 'd done everything however skilled our relationship, I thought, and he had to feel the same way. Didn't he?
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