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I even started taking the money, mostly because I was much too practical to let a little thing like guilt get in the way of common sense. I would have been simply another fifteen-year-old catholic schoolgirl, doing her research, doing her nails, doing the little ridiculous things that little women do.
I had not been a little girl in a long time.
I just worked three or four nights a week anyway, because I had to be home by 9 pm on school nights and 10 o'clock on weekends. Deke didn't mind, he said that was a good thing because he could actually charge more, especially if the guy I was going with selected me up at school. That benefit ended up being worth a couple of hundred dollars additional, although I didn't really like it. I was constantly afraid somebody would see me getting into a strange car, a various strange car whenever, and question 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 extra 200, which I thought was ludicrous, however you 'd be surprised how lots of guys wanted precisely that. Like it showed beyond a doubt that they were getting the genuine offer, an minor slut to draw and fuck . These were all older men too, like my daddy's age, or more typically even older, in their 40's and 50's mostly. He stated that was generous due to the fact that he was my supervisor, my agent, my security person, my marketing and transportation all rolled into one. He bought my clothes and the things I need to work, like prophylactics and lube and scrap like that. It was more like acting than anything else since I had to in fact like these guys for an hour or two. I had to act younger sometimes too, as a little lady possibly eleven or twelve years old; but never ever 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 tutelary saint. I 'd felt truly guilty at first, however that had actually disappeared when I recognized I wasn't hurting anyone. The men loved me for a bit, although some of them liked me genuine 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 due to the fact that I knew it wasn't really me they liked, primarily I felt a little more secure that method. Like a person who loved me wouldn't hurt me, you understand? I 'd had sex with like fifty men or something, many of them desiring 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 girl next door perhaps.
I might close my eyes and imagine the man who was making love to me actually was my papa. I might talk with him, tell him I liked him, how he made me feel grown-up and unique and liked. And somewhere, in some way along that ride, I 'd begun to think it. I 'd go house and see my real papa and nearly forget that it hadn't been him that I 'd fucked an hour or 2 prior to. I was falling in love, in grown-up love, and I could not assist it. It was programmed into me, maturing not as his child but as his better half. We 'd done whatever but skilled our relationship, I thought, and he had to feel the same way. Didn't he?
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