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I even started taking the cash, mainly due to the fact that I was much too useful to let a little thing like guilt get in the method of typical sense. I would have been just another fifteen-year-old catholic schoolgirl, doing her research, doing her nails, doing the little ridiculous things that little girls do.
I hadn't been a little girl in a very long time though.
Deke didn't mind, he stated that was a good thing due to the fact that he might in fact charge more, particularly if the man I was going with picked me up at school. That advantage turned out to be worth a couple of hundred dollars additional, although I didn't actually like it.
I 'd been doing it for practically two months already, and I 'd misplaced how many men I 'd had sex with. I didn't need to know, but it had 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 two. Picking me up at school was worth an extra 200, which I thought was ludicrous, however you 'd marvel how many people wanted precisely that. Like it proved beyond a doubt that they were getting the genuine deal, an minor slut to fuck and suck . These were all older people too, like my papa's age, or more often even older, in their 40's and 50's primarily. He stated that was generous because he was my supervisor, my agent, my security guy, my marketing and transport all rolled into one. He purchased my clothes and the stuff I need to work, like prophylactics and lube and junk like that. It was more like acting than anything else given that I had to in fact like these men for an hour or two. I had to act younger often too, as a little woman perhaps 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 been a whore. That's where I took my comfort and she 'd become my patron saint. I 'd felt really guilty at first, but that had actually gone away when I understood I wasn't harming anybody. The men liked 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 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 lonely due to the fact that I knew it wasn't actually me they liked, mainly I felt a little much safer that way. Like a guy who enjoyed me wouldn't hurt me, you understand? I 'd had sex with like fifty guys or something, many of them wanting me to call them Daddy while we did it. Some of them wanted 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 envision the man who was making love to me really was my dad. I might speak with him, tell him I enjoyed him, how he made me feel full-grown and special and enjoyed. And somewhere, somehow along that trip, I 'd started to believe it. I 'd go house and see my genuine papa and practically forget that it had not been him that I 'd fucked an hour or more prior to. However I was falling in love, in developed 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 needed to feel the same way. Didn't he?
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