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I even began taking the cash, mainly because I was much too useful to let a little thing like guilt 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 silly things that little women do.
I hadn't been a little woman in a long time.
Deke didn't mind, he said that was a good thing due to the fact that he could in fact charge more, especially if the person I was going with chosen me up at school. That advantage turned out to be worth a couple of hundred dollars extra, although I didn't actually like it.
Way too much for a ninth grader to spend, even after Deke took his cut. Selecting me up at school was worth an extra 200, which I believed was ridiculous, but you 'd be stunned how many people desired precisely that. Like it proved beyond a doubt that they were getting the genuine offer, an underage slut to fuck and draw . These were all older people too, like my father's age, or more frequently even older, in their 40's and 50's primarily. They had a lot of money to invest and it was the ideas that really flushed my bank account. Deke offered me 30% and kept 70% for himself. He stated that was generous since he was my manager, my representative, my security guy, my advertising and transportation all rolled into one. He purchased my clothing and the stuff I require to work, like prophylactics and lube and scrap 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 in fact like these people for an hour or 2. I had to act younger often too, as a little lady possibly eleven or twelve years old; but never older. I liked acting though and I think 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 actually guilty at first, but that had disappeared when I recognized I wasn't hurting anybody. The men enjoyed me for a bit, although a few of them loved me for real and asked me if I 'd wed 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 short time we were together, that's all, and while part of me felt lonely because I understood it wasn't actually me they liked, primarily I felt a little much safer that method. Like a person who liked me wouldn't hurt me, you know? I 'd had sex with like fifty guys or something, many of them wanting me to call them Daddy while we did it. Some of them wanted to call me by a different name, their daughter's name, or a niece or the little woman next door perhaps.
I might close my eyes and picture the man who was making love to me really was my dad. I might speak to him, inform him I loved him, how he made me feel unique and grown-up and enjoyed. And somewhere, somehow along that trip, I 'd started to think it. I 'd go house and see my real dad and nearly forget that it hadn't been him that I 'd fucked an hour or more prior to. But I was falling in love, in full-grown love, and I couldn't help it. It was set into me, growing up not as his child but as his spouse. We 'd done whatever but skilled our relationship, I thought, and he had to feel the same way. Didn't he?
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