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I even started taking the money, mostly due to the fact that I was much too practical to let a little thing like regret get in the method of common sense. I would have been simply another fifteen-year-old catholic schoolgirl, doing her research, doing her nails, doing the little ridiculous things that little women do.
I had not been a little girl in a long time.
Deke didn't mind, he said that was a good thing since he could really charge more, especially if the person I was going with picked 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 invest, even after Deke took his cut. Choosing me up at school was worth an additional 200, which I believed was ridiculous, but you 'd be shocked how numerous people wanted precisely that. Like it proved beyond a doubt that they were getting the genuine offer, 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 primarily. He said that was generous because he was my manager, my agent, my security guy, my marketing and transport all rolled into one. He bought my clothing and the things I need to work, like prophylactics and lube and scrap like that. It was more like acting than anything else considering that I had to really like these men for an hour or two. I had to act younger often 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 actually been a slut. That's where I took my comfort and she 'd become my patron saint. I 'd felt truly guilty in the beginning, but that had actually disappeared when I recognized I wasn't injuring anybody. The men enjoyed me for a bit, although a few of them liked me for real and asked me if I 'd wed them, or at least come back to their cities and live 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 since I understood it wasn't truly me they liked, mainly I felt a little much safer that way. Like a person who liked me wouldn't injure me, you know? I 'd had sex with like fifty guys or something, most of them desiring 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 possibly.
I might close my eyes and think of the man who was making love to me actually was my father. I could speak to him, tell him I loved him, how he made me feel developed and special and enjoyed. And somewhere, in some way along that flight, I 'd begun to think it. I 'd go house and see my real father and practically forget that it had not been him that I 'd fucked an hour or more before. I was falling in love, in grown-up love, and I couldn't help it. It was set into me, growing up not as his daughter however as his other half. We 'd done whatever but practiced our relationship, I believed, and he had to feel the same way. Didn't he?
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