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I even began taking the cash, mostly because I was much too practical to let a little thing like regret 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 ladies do.
I hadn't been a little woman in a long time.
Deke didn't mind, he said that was a excellent thing because he might actually 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 2 months currently, and I 'd lost track of the number of men I 'd had sex with. I didn't wish to know, however it had to be a lot. I 'd made a great deal of money too. Way 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. Selecting me up at school was worth an extra 200, which I thought was ridiculous, however you 'd marvel how many guys wanted precisely that. Like it proved beyond a doubt that they were getting the real deal, an minor slut to suck and fuck . These were all older people too, like my daddy's age, or more often even older, in their 40's and 50's mainly. He stated that was generous since he was my manager, my representative, my security man, my marketing and transport 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 given that I had to really like these guys for an hour or two. I had to act younger sometimes too, as a little woman perhaps 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 been a slut. That's where I took my comfort and she 'd become my tutelary saint. I 'd felt really guilty initially, but that had actually disappeared when I realized I wasn't injuring anybody. The men enjoyed me for a little bit, although a few of them liked me genuine and asked me if I 'd marry them, or a minimum of return to their cities and cope with them. They were in love with who I pretended to be for that brief time we were together, that's all, and while part of me felt lonesome since I understood it wasn't actually me they liked, mostly I felt a little much safer that way. Like a man who enjoyed me wouldn't hurt me, you know? I 'd had sex with like fifty men or something, many of them wanting me to call them Daddy while we did it. Some of them desired to call me by a various name, their child's name, or a niece or the little woman next door perhaps.
I might close my eyes and imagine the man who was making love to me actually was my father. I might speak to him, tell him I enjoyed him, how he made me feel full-grown and special and liked. And somewhere, in some way along that ride, I 'd started to think it. I 'd go house and see my genuine dad and almost forget that it had not been him that I 'd fucked an hour or two prior to. I was falling in love, in grown-up love, and I could not assist it. It was set into me, growing up not as his daughter but as his other half. 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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