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I even started taking the cash, primarily because I was much too practical to let a little thing like regret get in the method of common sense. I would have been just another fifteen-year-old catholic schoolgirl, doing her homework, doing her nails, doing the little ridiculous things that little ladies do.
I had not been a little lady in a long time.
I just worked three or 4 nights a week anyway, because I needed to be house by 9 pm on school nights and ten o'clock on weekends. But Deke didn't mind, he stated that was a advantage because he could really charge more, especially if the guy I was choosing selected me up at school. That privilege turned out to be worth a couple of hundred dollars additional, although I didn't really like it. I was constantly scared someone would see me getting into a weird car, a different odd car whenever, and question what was going on.
Method too much for a ninth grader to invest, even after Deke took his cut. Picking me up at school was worth an additional 200, which I thought was ludicrous, but you 'd be surprised how lots of men wanted exactly that. Like it showed beyond a doubt that they were getting the real offer, an underage whore to fuck and suck . These were all older guys too, like my dad's age, or more often even older, in their 40's and 50's mostly. He stated that was generous since he was my manager, my agent, my security man, my advertising and transportation all rolled into one. He purchased 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 men for an hour or 2. I had to act younger in some cases too, as a little woman perhaps eleven or twelve years old; but never 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 convenience and she 'd become my patron saint. I 'd felt really guilty at first, but that had actually gone away when I realized I wasn't hurting anyone. The men loved me for a bit, although a few of them loved me genuine and asked me if I 'd wed them, or at least come back to their cities and live 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 lonely due to the fact that I understood it wasn't really me they liked, primarily I felt a little safer that way. Like a man who loved me would not injure me, you know? I 'd had sex with like fifty guys or something, many of them desiring me to call them Daddy while we did it. Some of them wanted to call me by a different name, their child's name, or a niece or the little girl next door perhaps.
I could close my eyes and picture the man who was making love to me truly was my papa. I might talk to him, inform him I loved him, how he made me feel special and grown-up and liked. And someplace, in some way along that flight, I 'd begun to believe it. I 'd go house and see my real papa and almost forget that it hadn't been him that I 'd fucked an hour or more prior to. I was falling in love, in grown-up love, and I couldn't help it. It was configured into me, maturing not as his child however as his wife. We 'd done whatever but consummate our relationship, I believed, and he had to feel the same way. Didn't he?
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