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I even began taking the money, primarily because I was much too practical to let a little thing like guilt get in the way of common 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 women do. I hadn't been a little girl in a long time. Deke didn't mind, he said that was a good thing because he might actually charge more, particularly if the person 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.

Way too much for a ninth grader to spend, even after Deke took his cut. Choosing me up at school was worth an additional 200, which I thought was absurd, but you 'd be surprised how numerous men desired exactly that. Like it showed beyond a doubt that they were getting the real offer, an minor slut to fuck and draw . These were all older people too, like my dad's age, or more frequently even older, in their 40's and 50's mainly. He said that was generous because he was my manager, my representative, my security person, my marketing and transport all rolled into one. He purchased my clothes and the stuff I need to work, like condoms and lube and junk 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 more youthful sometimes too, as a little woman maybe eleven or twelve years old; however never ever older. I liked acting though and I believe I had a real talent for it.

Mary Magdalene had been a whore. That's where I took my comfort and she 'd become my tutelary saint. I 'd felt really guilty initially, however that had actually gone away when I realized I wasn't injuring anybody. The men loved me for a bit, although some of them loved me genuine and asked me if I 'd marry them, or a minimum of come back to their cities and deal 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 lonely due to the fact that I knew it wasn't actually me they liked, mostly I felt a little more secure that way. Like a guy who loved me would not injure me, you know? I 'd had sex with like fifty people or something, most of them wanting me to call them Daddy while we did it. Some of them wanted to call me by a various name, their daughter's name, or a niece or the little girl next door perhaps.

I could close my eyes and envision the man who was making love to me really was my father. I could talk with him, tell him I enjoyed him, how he made me feel grown-up and unique and liked. And someplace, somehow along that flight, I 'd started to believe it. I 'd go home and see my real papa and nearly forget that it had not been him that I 'd fucked an hour or 2 before. I was falling in love, in developed love, and I could not assist it. It was programmed into me, maturing not as his child but as his better half. We 'd done whatever but practiced our relationship, I thought, and he needed to feel the same way. Didn't he?

 

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