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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 way of typical 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 girls do.
I had not been a little woman in a long time.
I only worked 3 or four nights a week anyway, since I needed to be house by 9 pm on school nights and 10 o'clock on weekends. However Deke didn't mind, he said that was a good thing because he might actually charge more, specifically if the person I was going with selected me up at school. That benefit turned out to be worth a couple of hundred dollars extra, although I didn't really like it. I was always afraid someone would see me entering into a weird car, a various odd vehicle whenever, and wonder what was going on.
Way too much for a ninth grader to invest, even after Deke took his cut. Selecting me up at school was worth an extra 200, which I believed was outrageous, but you 'd be surprised how many men wanted precisely that. Like it proved beyond a doubt that they were getting the genuine offer, an underage whore to fuck and draw . These were all older guys too, like my father's age, or more frequently even older, in their 40's and 50's mostly. They had a lot of money to spend and it was the tips that actually flushed my bank account. Deke provided me 30% and kept 70% for himself. 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 clothing and the stuff I need to work, like prophylactics 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. It was more like acting than anything else because I had to in fact like these people for an hour or two. I had to act more youthful sometimes too, as a little woman possibly eleven or twelve years old; but never ever older. I liked acting though and I believe I had a real skill for it.
Mary Magdalene had actually been a slut. That's where I took my convenience and she 'd become my tutelary saint. I 'd felt truly guilty in the beginning, but that had actually disappeared when I realized I wasn't injuring anyone. The men liked me for a little 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 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 knew it wasn't actually me they liked, mainly I felt a little more secure that way. Like a man who enjoyed me wouldn't hurt me, you understand? I 'd had sex with like fifty men or something, many of them wanting me to call them Daddy while we did it. Some of them wanted to call me by a various name, their child's name, or a niece or the little lady next door maybe.
I might close my eyes and envision the man who was making love to me really was my father. I could talk with him, inform him I liked him, how he made me feel special and grown-up and loved. And somewhere, in some way along that flight, I 'd begun to believe it. I 'd go house and see my real father and nearly forget that it hadn't been him that I 'd fucked an hour or more before. However I was falling in love, in grown-up love, and I could not help it. It was configured into me, maturing not as his daughter but as his other half. We 'd done everything but consummate our relationship, I believed, and he had to feel the same way. Didn't he?
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