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I even started taking the cash, mostly because I was much too useful 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 research, doing her nails, doing the little silly things that little ladies do.
I had not been a little girl in a long period of time though.
I only worked three or four nights a week anyhow, since I needed to be home by 9 pm on school nights and 10 o'clock on weekends. However Deke didn't mind, he said that was a advantage because he could actually charge more, especially if the person I was opting for picked me up at school. That privilege ended up being worth a couple of hundred dollars extra, although I didn't actually like it. I was constantly scared someone would see me getting into a unusual vehicle, a different weird automobile every time, and question what was going on.
I 'd been doing it for nearly two months already, and I 'd lost track of the number of guys I 'd had sex with. I didn't would like to know, but it had to be a lot. I 'd made a great deal of money too. Way excessive for a ninth grader to invest, 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 thought was outrageous, however you 'd be surprised the number of guys wanted exactly that. Like it proved beyond a doubt that they were getting the genuine offer, an underage whore to suck and fuck . These were all older guys too, like my dad's age, or more often even older, in their 40's and 50's mostly. They had a great deal of cash to spend and it was the ideas that actually flushed my savings account. Deke offered me 30% and kept 70% for himself. He said that was generous since he was my manager, my representative, my security guy, my marketing and transportation all rolled into one. He purchased my clothing 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. That wasn't true. It was more like acting than anything else because I had to really like these men for an hour or two. I needed to act more youthful sometimes too, as a little girl perhaps eleven or twelve years of ages; however never ever older. None of the men paying for me desired a woman, simply a lady, and understanding that I truly was just 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 things anyway, no doubt about that, and the more I did it the much better I got.
Mary Magdalene had actually been a slut. That's where I took my comfort and she 'd become my patron saint. I 'd felt truly guilty initially, but that had actually gone away when I recognized I wasn't hurting anybody. The men loved me for a bit, although a few of them enjoyed me for real and asked me if I 'd wed them, or a minimum of return to their cities and deal 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 really me they liked, mainly I felt a little more secure that way. Like a person who enjoyed me wouldn't hurt me, you understand? I loved my daddy. That had changed too and I do not know if one thing pertained to the other exactly, however I do not believe in coincidence either. I 'd had sex with like fifty guys or something, most of them wanting me to call them Daddy while we did it. Some of them wished to call me by a different name, their child's name, or a niece or the little woman next door maybe. However a great deal of them didn't mind calling me Samantha either, and that bothered me in the beginning, however then it didn't and I started liking it.
I might close my eyes and think of the male who was making love to me truly was my papa. I could talk to him, inform him I enjoyed him, how he made me feel unique and full-grown and liked. I was falling in love, in full-grown love, and I couldn't help it.
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