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I even began taking the money, mostly 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 women do.
I hadn't been a little lady in a long time.
I only worked three or four nights a week anyhow, 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 because he might actually charge more, especially if the man I was opting for chosen me up at school. That privilege turned out to be worth a number of hundred dollars additional, although I didn't actually like it. I was constantly scared somebody would see me getting into a weird vehicle, a various odd vehicle every time, and question what was going on.
Way too much for a ninth grader to spend, even after Deke took his cut. Picking me up at school was worth an additional 200, which I thought was ridiculous, but you 'd be surprised how many people desired exactly that. Like it showed beyond a doubt that they were getting the genuine deal, an minor slut 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 mostly. He said that was generous since he was my supervisor, my representative, my security man, my marketing and transportation all rolled into one. He bought my clothes and the things 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 really like these people for an hour or 2. I had to act younger sometimes too, as a little lady maybe eleven or twelve years old; but never older. I liked acting though and I think I had a genuine skill for it.
Mary Magdalene had been a slut. That's where I took my comfort and she 'd become my patron saint. I 'd felt actually guilty at first, but that had actually disappeared when I recognized I wasn't harming anyone. The men loved me for a little bit, although some of them liked me for real and asked me if I 'd wed them, or at least return to their cities and live with them. 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 lonely because I knew it wasn't truly me they liked, mostly I felt a little safer that method. Like a guy who liked me would not hurt 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 desired to call me by a various name, their daughter's name, or a niece or the little lady next door perhaps.
I might close my eyes and think of the man who was making love to me actually was my father. I might talk with him, tell him I liked him, how he made me feel full-grown and unique and loved. And someplace, in some way along that ride, I 'd started to believe it. I 'd go home and see my real daddy and practically forget that it had not been him that I 'd fucked an hour or more before. I was falling in love, in grown-up love, and I could not assist it. It was set into me, maturing not as his child but as his other half. We 'd done everything however practiced our relationship, I thought, and he had to feel the same way. Didn't he?
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