Freshman Hooker

This is mostly a prequel to the "My Summer with Nora" series, but some of it overlaps with later events. Here Nora Meara discusses some of her freshman year experiences. She entered the City College of New York in September 1973.

Paul is the narrator of "My Summer with Nora" and he was her boyfriend for a time starting in June 1974. Wackenhut was the company that provided campus security at the time. The $25 charge for her first trick would be about $150 today.

********

I didn't have an easy transition from high school to City College. The sexual attitudes and politics of the new place disturbed me.

It was like every guy who couldn't get laid in high school assumed that college girls were "easy" and they couldn't wait for some sexual action. It seemed that the place was swarming with horny virgins and near-virgins, and all of them noticed me.

When I was on campus, I was constantly getting asked to go out with them or to simply have one-night stands. Many of them would comment on my appearance and supposed sexual availability even if they did not know me at all. There were no topics that were out of bounds when one of them would come up and try to converse with me.

I became paranoid about being anywhere at the school outside of the classrooms. Walking to the subway stations was a trial.

Within a couple of weeks, I knew most of them thought I was just a cunt they could penetrate, or if that wasn't possible, my mouth, hands, or anus were there to get them off. I, in turn, started to think of the lot of them as simply erect cocks seeking a female orifice to satisfy them.

Later, Paul would say I had exaggerated the situation, but he wasn't an eighteen-year-old female trying to navigate that difficult environment. It all felt demoralizing, even dehumanizing. I was completely unprepared to deal with it. Then I hit upon an idea to get some power back for myself.

One of the most persistent of my "suitors" was a junior by the name of Greg. He would often follow me around on both the North and South Campuses, and he constantly was asking me for dates. One time he said, "Even the snack bar would be fine for me."

"Well, it's not fine for me; it's a dump. And besides, I'm just not interested in you."

"Come on, we could just have sodas or coffee if you wish." We were on the North Campus at that point

Some inspiration came over me, and maybe I was being tongue-in-cheek when I said, "If you give me twenty-five dollars, I'll give you a blowjob. How does that sound?"

I was amazed that he took that seriously. After a few seconds of indecision, he said, "Yeah, I'll go for that. And we're in luck because my car is parked right over on St. Nicolas Terrace." That was a curving street that separated the campus from the park on the other side.

At that point, it was about two o'clock in the afternoon. I said, "That doesn't seem particularly secure, to be in a car on a public street in the middle of the day."

"That's not a problem. I've got a big quilt in the back that will cover us up."

I had a weird feeling of disassociation like this wasn't really happening. Yet I heard myself setting two conditions. "First of all, you can't come in my mouth. I won't allow it."

"Why does that make a difference?"

"I don't know; that's just the way I want it to go. I'll pull you out at the end and you can shoot it elsewhere." Later on, I would charge them extra if they wanted to ejaculate into my mouth. I also had a charge if they came in my face, which could be quite a mess.

Then I said, "While we're doing this, I want you to put your hand under my skirt and into my panties. Fondle my cunt and try to make me come. That way I can feel some pleasure too. You think you know how to do that?"

"Oh yeah, of course, I've done that many times."

Some instinct told me that he was either exaggerating or outright lying, but I didn't challenge him on that.

Then we went to his car, which I think was a late 1960s full-size Ford. He sat in the front seat behind the steering wheel, and I sort of hunched over next to him sideways. Then he got the quilt from the back seat and covered both of us. I insisted that he pay me first, and he didn't object.

Under the quilt, I completely unbuckled his pants. It was very strange to realize that I barely knew this guy and then have his cock in my mouth. As promised, he did put his hand under my skirt and he was doing a fair job of working on my pussy. I still remember that skirt: it was black with white dots on it. My panties were pink with white stripes.

What I hadn't counted on was how fast he would come. I guess he was one of those guys whose main sexual release was through masturbation, and having a real girl work on him was a novelty. It seemed to take him only a few minutes to climax. I could tell from the way he was moving and the sounds he was making that he was about to go off.

I pulled his cock out of my mouth and continued rubbing it with my hands; he pushed the quilt partially out of the way. I aimed it so that he mostly ejaculated onto the car's dashboard. Quite a bit of his spunk covered the speedometer.

When he was done, he also took his hand away from my crotch. I said, "Hey, I haven't come yet."

His next statement was an important lesson for me. "So what? I'm finished, we're done." I realized that as the customer, he was paying for his own pleasure, not mine. What I thought was irrelevant; my needs were not important.

Yet he didn't get nasty about it and order me out of his car, which guys would do later. And I was pleased that I had made twenty-five dollars so easily. Neither one of us really knew what we were doing, nor did I realize that I had set a price more appropriate for an experienced call girl, not a neophyte college student.

"Greg, do you have any friends who might be interested in my services?" I didn't tell him that I had never done this before.

"Sure, there are lots of them who would be interested I think." At that point, I was thinking about how many male virgins were wandering around that school.

"My name is Nora, Nora Meara, and I'm a history major. Thus I usually can be found somewhere on the South Campus." On an impulse, I wrote out my home phone number on a piece of notebook paper.

"Okay, I'll make sure that the word gets out about you." I don't even remember making the decision; I just liked the money. In a few minutes, almost by accident, I had turned into a whore.

I didn't know what more to say to him, so I just got out of the car. He was already using a cloth to clean the interior of his vehicle. I thought, I don't mean anything to this guy; I'm just a mouth that brought him to a climax. All right, I accepted that fact.

I was still very horny from his fondling of me, so I went into one of the ladies' rooms in Shepherd Hall and masturbated in a stall. My climax from that was intense, and I had to control myself so I did not cry out with my pleasure.

On the way out, I stopped and looked in one of the mirrors. It seemed on the surface that I was still the same Nora Meara, but I knew I wasn't the same underneath. I remember thinking, why bang these dumb guys for nothing when I could get them to pay for it? They don't care about me one way or the other. I was just a sexual object to them.

I was already in a state of denial that would last for months.

****

It was surprising how fast word about me spread through the school.

Within ten days of starting my hooking gigs, a lot of guys at CCNY had my phone number and I'd arrange many of my transactions through that medium. Sometimes I'd still do it the old-fashioned street prostitute way. I'd lounge around inside the Finley Student Center or just stand outside that building or maybe Wagner Wall, and invariably some dude would approach me.

My first ever customer, Greg with the big Ford, said he'd get the word out about my services and he kept his promise. He had told his friends, who then told their friends, and so it went out along the horny college student grapevine. A girl with dark blonde hair and steel-rimmed glasses named Nora was turning tricks, mostly on the South Campus. I regretted giving Greg my full name, but I was still very naïve when I had met him.

******

I had decided that I wouldn't let any man take me vaginally, with or without a condom, or let him spank me. Everything else was open to negotiation. I tried, by trial and error, to get my prices in line with reality.

Some guys were quite disappointed that I wouldn't be submissive and let them spank me. After all, I was a very bad girl and I deserved to get my ass whacked good and hard. Well, too bad, I wouldn't do it. Actually, I might have done it for some ridiculously high price, but none of them had enough money for that.

In the beginning, it was hard to find places to take the johns during the middle of the day. One place that worked pretty well was the small mens' room in Stieglitz Hall, a building that was really a wing of Finley. It had two urinals at the front and two stalls in the back. It was very lightly used all day long.

We would go into the last stall and I would squat on the toilet as I performed blowjobs and handjobs. If anybody came in to take a piss, they would only see the male's legs, not mine.

One time somebody came into use the stall right next to ours. That was a little too close for comfort. I shook my head, and we made a hasty retreat out of there. Maybe that other guy noticed me passing, or maybe he didn't. It really didn't matter.

There were other mens' rooms around that may have been a bit busier but they were also much larger. It was possible to get away with a lot if we used the last stall at the end. The one on the second floor of Wagner saw some action

Sometimes, if they were on the staff, the johns wanted to use one of the student newspaper offices in the evening. There were five such offices lined up on the third floor of Finley.

My first anal, in fact, was with one of the editors of The Campus in their office. I got up on my hands and knees on their couch for that. He lubed up pretty well, so it wasn't that difficult to do. He also promised to fondle my pussy during the act, but he quickly forgot and concentrated on his own thrusting.

It didn't matter much, because he came pretty quickly. In fact, almost all of my customers were pretty fast with their orgasms regardless of what they were doing. That's just the nature of revved-up college-age guys. The majority of them were premature ejaculators no matter how much they tried to think of baseball or whatever. They were excited by the novelty of having a new girl, despite the fact that they were paying for her.

The only exceptions were those who paid for another go-round. Those two-timers usually had more stamina for the second act.

For the others, I didn't know why even they bothered getting a hooker. Rarely was the time from pulling their cocks out to having an orgasm more than fifteen or twenty minutes. It was usually about the same for oral, manual, or anal stimulation.

Using a newspaper office could be a bit perilous because it was hard to predict when somebody would drop by for some late-night reason. We would lock the door, but the unexpected visitor usually had the key. In those cases, they would open the door, while we would look sheepish and get out as fast as possible. After a while, people would recognize me anyway as Nora, the campus hooker.

There was always that tunnel under Convent Avenue between Shepherd and Baskerville. It wasn't very busy and would work for an occasional handjob or blowjob. A Wackenhut guard came through once and caught us in mid-suck. He just laughed and kept going. They weren't paid enough to do any real security work.

******

One day in early October a guy approached me as I stood in front of Wagner. He had very little money to spend. For that amount, there was only one thing I would do: I'd be in some stage of undress and he could masturbate while looking at my tits or pussy. It was cheap because I didn't have to be touched by him. It was like a peep show without the glass between us.

That guy had the keys to a little room in Cohen Library, right up the road. There was nothing in there except for a desk and two chairs. We went in and I started my little peep-show act for him.

To start off, I leaned over the desk, lifted my skirt, and took my panties off. I waved my bare hindquarters at him, my pussy and everything else down there visible to him. I knew he could have a good view of my whole underside that way. Meanwhile, he sat in one of the chairs a few feet away and he began masturbating as he watched my womanly parts from behind.

It didn't seem worth wasting the time, so I took out my sociology textbook and read it while swaying my ass back and forth. I could hear him moaning louder and louder until I knew he was about to climax.

He cried out, "Nora, you're so beautiful; you're making me come!"

Then I heard something that sounded like raindrops hitting the pavement. I looked back, and I saw that he was ejaculating several impressive loads up and out into the air. The sound was the noise of his semen coming back down and splattering onto the floor.

I was about to leave -- I had my money and I had finished the job -- when he caught his breath and said, "Please Nora, let me do some more things with you."

"Do you have more money? Because it's strictly pay to play with me."

He had none, so I put my panties back on and put the book back into my bag. I walked out while his cock was still hanging out and his semen pooled on the floor.

*****

Some customers paid to be "fluffed." I would gyrate my bare buttocks again their bare crotches until they came as they held my hips. Of course, their spunk went all over my backside and lower back, requiring some clean-up time.

One of them bet me that I couldn't make him come if he kept his trousers up as I rubbed my ass against his front. He claimed that I wouldn't be able to give him an orgasm that way, and thus he wouldn't have to pay for it.

He was obviously a fool because I was sure I could do it. Within a few minutes, he shot off inside his clothes. It was quite embarrassing for him because it left a big wet spot right on the crotch of his pants.

****

Another customer had a rather elaborate scenario for me. I was supposed to be a street whore, and he would drive up and engage me while I was standing on Convent Avenue in the evening.

Usually, I was reluctant to get into a man's car; that first Greg client had parked his vehicle with the engine turned off. But this one was offering a significant amount of money, and he was also going to give me even more cash to buy some provocative clothes. From his point of view, he probably felt safer with me than with a real street prostitute. I took the job, and he paid for everything ahead of time.

The plan was that he would pick me up at a pre-arranged spot. Then we'd drive off and we'd play his john-whore game. He would take me someplace and I would give him a blowjob. Then he would drive me back to the campus. He had a pretty roomy car too, a 1971 Chevelle sedan.

On the appointed evening I was wearing a tan raincoat to hide my costume, and I waited at the entrance of Wingate Hall. It was just around sunset when he drove up and lowered the passenger side window. "Hey honey, are you working tonight?" I rolled my eyes at his ridiculous line.

I went to the window and pretended to negotiate with him. "Yeah, I'm working. How much have you got to spend?" Actually, since he had paid me in advance, it simplified things. I got in the back seat so I could tease him when I took my raincoat off. Everything underneath that garment was black. As we drove off, I removed my coat and revealed myself to him

My outfit was well-coordinated, all in black, a version of the dominatrix look. I knew it would be useful during future encounters. From top to bottom I had: a bustier (a sort of brassiere-blouse combination), elbow-high gloves, a micro-miniskirt, a tiny thong, a garter and straps to hold up my fishnet stockings, and knee-high boots.

He was extremely impressed with my attire and he had a difficult time driving while trying to look back at me. "Come on baby, sit up in the front with me."

"Oh, no, I'm going to flaunt myself to you first."

Actually, I had planned to stay back there until we reached wherever the blowjob location was. I knew if I sat in the front he would want to put his hands all over me. It may seem strange for a hooker, but I tried to minimize the amount of touching the customers did on my body. Yes, it felt creepy to have men pay to put their hands on me.

I gave him a good show, however. I spread my legs and pulled my thong aside. Then I fondled my pussy as we drove along. I was giving myself some real pleasure rubbing the cloth of the glove on my clitoris.

Our destination was not far away; it was under the Riverside Drive viaduct around 130th Street. He already had his cock out when I got in the front with him. I held his cock with my gloved-covered hand and I put my red-lipsticked mouth around his shaft. As I expected, he came in a few minutes.

He had paid to ejaculate into my mouth. However, I had an improvised surprise for him. I leaned over, opened the door, and spat his semen into the street.

He was shocked. "Why did you have to do that?"

"Because, sweetie, that's what street whores do." I had read about such incidents somewhere, like maybe in The Village Voice or perhaps Screw magazine. "I mean, you were done with your cum and so was I."

I thought he would argue about not getting his money's worth, but he meekly accepted the situation. In return, I gave him a freebie on the return trip. I was in the back again, and I took off a glove and began a masturbation session that was more intense than the one on the outbound trip. It seemed that I could finger-fuck myself better than most of those inept guys could do it.

When we were back on Convent Avenue, I hadn't finished yet but I was very close to coming. I didn't have to fake anything as I cried out in my sexual release.

He had been watching intently from his position behind the wheel. As I was catching my breath, he said, "How about watching me jerk off now? I know I can put out another really big one for you."

I thought I had done enough, so I started putting my raincoat back on. "Baby, that was a free one. If you want me to do more -- like watching you work on yourself -- than that will be an extra charge." With prostitutes, every little detail added to the cost.

He did make one attempt at an argument. "Please, I know you'll be impressed by how much I can shoot out."

"You think I haven't seen lots of guys come before? I'm running a business here, not a charity for horny dudes." With that, I pushed the door open and got out. I thought he might follow me, but I only heard the click of my own boots on the sidewalk.

When I turned the corner onto 141st Street, I felt safer. I was heading to Amsterdam Avenue to catch a cab. As I took my glasses out of my purse and put them on, a human thought came to me. Nora, you've only been at this for two months, and you're turning into a hardened, very cold strumpet-bitch.

I couldn't face the truth, so instead, I thought about the ample amount of money I had earned that night and which I had already taken home. It was hidden with my other cash in a chest of drawers in my room. My "roomie," my uncle, eventually found it. However, he didn't seize it but made me open up bank accounts.

A few days before that happened, I dumped a drawer full of cash onto my bed. Then I lay face up on it while wearing a bra, panties, and tennis shoes. I can't say if I was happy or sad, but I did ponder my life for a while.