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I even started taking the cash, primarily because I was much too practical to let a little thing like guilt get in the method of typical 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 time.
I just worked 3 or 4 nights a week anyway, because I had to be home by 9 pm on school nights and ten o'clock on weekends. Deke didn't mind, he said that was a excellent thing since he could in fact charge more, especially if the guy I was going with chosen me up at school. That opportunity turned out to be worth a number of hundred dollars additional, although I didn't really like it. I was constantly scared someone would see me getting into a weird automobile, a different unusual vehicle every time, and question what was going on.
Way too much for a ninth grader to spend, even after Deke took his cut. Choosing me up at school was worth an extra 200, which I thought was ludicrous, but you 'd be stunned how many men wanted exactly that. Like it proved beyond a doubt that they were getting the real offer, an minor whore to fuck and draw . These were all older guys too, like my dad's age, or more typically even older, in their 40's and 50's mostly. He stated that was generous due to the fact that he was my supervisor, my agent, my security guy, my advertising and transport all rolled into one. He purchased my clothes and the things I need to work, like prophylactics and lube and scrap like that. It was more like acting than anything else since I had to in fact like these men for an hour or two. I had to act younger often too, as a little girl possibly eleven or twelve years old; however never ever older. I liked acting though and I believe I had a real skill for it.
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 gone away when I realized I wasn't injuring anybody. The men enjoyed me for a little bit, although some of them enjoyed me for real and asked me if I 'd marry them, or at least return 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 actually me they liked, mostly I felt a little much safer that way. Like a person who enjoyed me wouldn't harm me, you understand? I 'd had sex with like fifty people or something, most of them wanting me to call them Daddy while we did it. Some of them desired to call me by a different name, their child's name, or a niece or the little lady next door perhaps.
I might close my eyes and imagine the man who was making love to me actually was my dad. I might speak with him, tell him I enjoyed him, how he made me feel special and developed and liked. And someplace, somehow along that flight, I 'd begun to believe it. I 'd go home and see my genuine father and nearly forget that it hadn't been him that I 'd fucked an hour or 2 before. However I was falling in love, in full-grown love, and I could not help it. It was programmed into me, growing up not as his child however as his other half. We 'd done everything however practiced our relationship, I believed, and he had to feel the same way. Didn't he?
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