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I even began taking the money, mostly because I was much too useful to let a little thing like regret get in the way 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. Deke didn't mind, he stated that was a good thing since he could in fact charge more, particularly if the guy I was going with chosen me up at school. That opportunity turned out to be worth a couple of hundred dollars additional, although I didn't truly like it.

I 'd been doing it for almost 2 months already, and I 'd lost track of how many men I 'd made love with. I didn't wish to know, however it had to be a lot. I 'd made a great deal of money too. Method too much for a ninth grader to invest, even after Deke took his cut. He charged 300 dollars an hour for me, or 500 dollars for two. Choosing me up at school deserved an additional 200, which I thought was ridiculous, however you 'd marvel the number of men wanted exactly that. Like it proved beyond a doubt that they were getting the real offer, an underage whore 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 primarily. They had a lot of cash to spend and it was the ideas that truly flushed my checking account. Deke offered me 30% and kept 70% for himself. He said that was generous because he was my supervisor, my agent, my security man, my advertising and transportation all rolled into one. He bought my clothing and the stuff I require to work, like prophylactics 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. It was more like acting than anything else because I had to really like these men for an hour or two. I had to act younger in some cases too, as a little woman possibly eleven or twelve years old; but never ever older. I liked acting though and I think I had a real 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 truly guilty at first, however that had actually gone away when I recognized I wasn't injuring anybody. The men loved me for a little bit, although some of them enjoyed me genuine and asked me if I 'd wed them, or at least come back to their cities and live with them. But 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 lonesome since I knew it wasn't really me they liked, mostly I felt a little more secure that way. Like a guy who liked me wouldn't harm me, you know? I was in love with my father. That had actually changed too and I don't know if one thing had to do with the other precisely, but I don't believe in coincidence either. I 'd made love with like fifty people or something, most of them wanting me to call them Daddy while we did it. A few of them wished to call me by a different name, their child's name, or a niece or the little woman next door possibly. A lot of them didn't mind calling me Samantha either, and that bothered me at first, however then it didn't and I began liking it.

I could close my eyes and imagine the man who was making love to me truly was my father. I might talk with him, inform him I liked him, how he made me feel special and full-grown and loved. And somewhere, somehow along that trip, I 'd begun to think it. I 'd go house and see my real father and practically forget that it hadn't been him that I 'd fucked an hour or two before. I was falling in love, in grown-up love, and I couldn't help it. It was programmed into me, maturing not as his daughter but as his partner. We 'd done everything but consummate our relationship, I thought, and he had to feel the same way. Didn't he?

 

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