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I even began taking the money, mainly due to the fact that 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 research, doing her nails, doing the little silly things that little women do.
I hadn't been a little girl in a long time.
Deke didn't mind, he said that was a excellent thing because he might really charge more, particularly if the guy I was going with chosen me up at school. That privilege turned out to be worth a couple of hundred dollars extra, although I didn't actually like it.
I 'd been doing it for almost 2 months already, and I 'd misplaced the number of guys I 'd made love with. I didn't wish to know, but it had to be a lot. I 'd made a great deal of cash too. Method 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. Choosing me up at school was worth an additional 200, which I believed was outrageous, but you 'd be surprised how many people wanted precisely that. Like it showed beyond a doubt that they were getting the genuine deal, an underage slut to draw and fuck . These were all older guys too, like my father's age, or more typically even older, in their 40's and 50's mainly. He said 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 clothing and the stuff I require to work, like condoms and lube and scrap like that. It was more like acting than anything else since I had to in fact like these men for an hour or two. I had to act younger often too, as a little girl possibly eleven or twelve years old; but never older. I liked acting though and I believe I had a real talent for it.
Mary Magdalene had actually been a slut. That's where I took my comfort and she 'd become my patron saint. I 'd felt truly guilty at first, but that had actually gone away when I realized I wasn't hurting anyone. The men enjoyed me for a little bit, although a few of them loved me for real 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 lonesome due to the fact that I knew it wasn't truly me they liked, mainly I felt a little safer that way. Like a person who liked me would not hurt me, you know? 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 various name, their daughter's name, or a niece or the little girl next door possibly.
I might close my eyes and envision the man who was making love to me truly was my father. I might talk to him, inform him I loved him, how he made me feel full-grown and unique and enjoyed. And somewhere, somehow along that ride, I 'd begun to think it. I 'd go house and see my real daddy 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 could not assist it. It was set into me, maturing not as his daughter but as his other half. We 'd done everything however consummate our relationship, I thought, and he had to feel the same way. Didn't he?
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