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I even began taking the money, primarily since I was much too practical to let a little thing like regret get in the way of common 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 had not been a little woman in a long time. Deke didn't mind, he said that was a good thing due to the fact that he could in fact charge more, particularly if the person I was going with chosen me up at school. That benefit turned out to be worth a couple of hundred dollars extra, although I didn't actually like it.

I 'd been doing it for nearly two months already, and I 'd lost track of how many men I 'd had sex with. I didn't wish to know, but it had to be a lot. I 'd made a lot of money 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 absurd, but you 'd be surprised how many people wanted exactly that. Like it proved beyond a doubt that they were getting the genuine deal, an underage slut to fuck and draw . These were all older men too, like my dad's age, or more frequently even older, in their 40's and 50's mainly. They had a great deal of money to spend and it was the suggestions that really flushed my savings account. Deke gave me 30% and kept 70% for himself. He said that was generous because he was my supervisor, my representative, my security person, my advertising and transport all rolled into one. He bought my clothes and the stuff I require to work, like condoms and lube and junk like that. He did all the work if you listened to him tell it, and all I did was lay there and get rich. But that wasn't real. It was more like acting than anything else because I needed to in fact like these guys for an hour or more. I needed to act more youthful often too, as a little girl maybe eleven or twelve years of ages; but never older. None of the men spending for me desired a female, just a woman, and knowing that I actually was simply fifteen, that was the kicker for them. I liked acting though and I think I had a real skill for it. I had a talent for the sex stuff anyhow, no doubt about that, and the more I did it the better I got.

Mary Magdalene had actually been a slut. That's where I took my comfort and she 'd become my tutelary saint. I 'd felt truly guilty in the beginning, but that had actually gone away when I understood I wasn't hurting anyone. The men liked me for a bit, although a few of them liked me for real and asked me if I 'd wed them, or a minimum of return 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 since I understood it wasn't actually me they liked, primarily I felt a little safer that way. Like a person who liked me would not 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 lady next door perhaps.

I could close my eyes and picture the man who was making love to me actually was my papa. I might speak with him, tell him I enjoyed him, how he made me feel special and full-grown and liked. And somewhere, somehow along that ride, I 'd started to believe it. I 'd go house and see my genuine father and nearly forget that it had not been him that I 'd fucked an hour or 2 before. But I was falling in love, in grown-up love, and I couldn't assist it. It was programmed into me, maturing not as his child but as his partner. 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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