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I even began taking the money, primarily since I was much too practical to let a little thing like regret get in the way 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 girl in a long time.
I just worked 3 or four nights a week anyhow, considering that I had to be house by 9 pm on school nights and 10 o'clock on weekends. Deke didn't mind, he said that was a excellent thing because he might actually charge more, especially if the guy I was going with selected me up at school. That advantage ended up being worth a couple of hundred dollars additional, although I didn't actually like it. I was always scared someone would see me entering a weird car, a different strange vehicle each time, and question what was going on.
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 outrageous, but you 'd be stunned how many people desired exactly that. Like it showed beyond a doubt that they were getting the genuine deal, an underage slut to fuck and suck . These were all older people too, like my dad's age, or more often even older, in their 40's and 50's mostly. He said that was generous because he was my manager, my representative, my security guy, my marketing and transportation all rolled into one. He bought my clothes and the things I need to work, like prophylactics and lube and scrap like that. That wasn't real. It was more like acting than anything else given that I needed to in fact like these guys for an hour or 2. I needed to act more youthful often too, as a little lady maybe eleven or twelve years of ages; but never older. None of the men spending for me desired a woman, simply a lady, and understanding that I really was just fifteen, that was the kicker for them. I liked acting though and I think I had a real talent for it. I had a skill for the sex stuff anyway, no doubt about that, and the more I did it the better I got.
Mary Magdalene had been a slut. That's where I took my comfort and she 'd become my patron saint. I 'd felt really guilty in the beginning, but that had actually disappeared when I recognized I wasn't injuring anyone. The men liked me for a little bit, although a few of them liked me for real and asked me if I 'd marry them, or at least come back to their cities and deal with them. However 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 due to the fact that I understood it wasn't truly me they liked, mainly I felt a little safer that way. Like a person who liked me wouldn't harm me, you understand? I 'd had sex with like fifty men or something, many of them desiring me to call them Daddy while we did it. Some of them desired to call me by a various name, their daughter's name, or a niece or the little woman next door possibly.
I might close my eyes and picture the man who was making love to me really was my papa. I might talk to him, inform him I liked him, how he made me feel full-grown and unique and loved. And somewhere, somehow along that flight, I 'd started to think it. I 'd go home and see my real papa and almost forget that it had not been him that I 'd fucked an hour or two prior to. I was falling in love, in full-grown love, and I could not assist it. It was programmed into me, maturing not as his daughter however as his spouse. We 'd done whatever but practiced our relationship, I thought, and he needed to feel the same way. Didn't he?
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