Freshman Hooker

*****

Then there were guys who only wanted to talk. There was one poor schmuck who couldn't get anything sexual from his girlfriend, not even feeling her bare tits. I suggested that he had to get a new chick or, failing that, pay me for whatever activity he wanted.

However, he had a bad case of "oneitis," as it would later be called, and it had to be that girl or nobody.

Early on in the business, I decided to turn some tricks at my house in Maspeth, Queens. The place was owned by my uncle. He worked as a carpenter during the day, while I only had one free day and one free afternoon during the week to use the place.

I simply cut classes if I had a good deal coming up in Queens. Needless to say, my grades started to suffer. I was pretty distracted anyway as I thought more about hooking and less about schoolwork.

At that time I didn't have a car, and Maspeth is not the easiest area in New York to get to. For one thing, no subway lines run through it. My customers would either drive their own cars or, if they didn't have one, they would have to take a train to Queens Plaza and then transfer to a bus for the last leg of the journey.

Perhaps I should have been flattered that they went all that way just to see me, but by then I had a well-developed contempt for all of them. To me, they were just cocks in search of a way to reach orgasm. I knew that to them, I was similarly just an object that they used as needed. In effect, I was a body they could use for what was really a form of masturbation. There was no higher purpose for me beyond that.

There were advantages to doing business at the Maspeth house. The place gave us some privacy, which was difficult to obtain at the college. The johns would come up to my room, or we would just do the act in the living room.

Most gigs were completed rapidly because of how fast young guys would come. A few thought that they could then get a free beer from the fridge and hang around the house with me or maybe listen to records for a while.

Some of them probably imagined, after having a brief, paid sex act with me, that I was now their girlfriend or something. I forbade them from staying even an extra ten minutes. I would tell them to get out and go somewhere, anywhere else. They could get in their car or wait for the bus or take a walk; I didn't care. I wanted them out the front door as soon as they got their pants up.

I also didn't care if they protested about the about of travel time that had been required. Many of them had taken an hour or more, one way, for about twenty minutes of sex in total. Yet a hooker has to be very firm if she doesn't the customers to take advantage of her.

Yet a few of them did go out there more than once. It was amazing how desperate some of those guys were for a bit of sexual action, no matter how degraded it was.

*****

Dominatrix gigs were one thing that worked best in Maspeth. Usually, those took a bit more time than ordinary tricks, and at the house, I had the room to set up the scene correctly. It was difficult to pull that off at the college, especially considering the loud sound of male behinds being smacked.

You'd be surprised at how much sexual guilt survives into this so-called enlightened age of ours. My spankings and chidings of them simply inspired most of them to masturbate further when they got home on those evenings.

Female domination was contradictory in a way because the customers were paying me to take control over what happened to them. Yet, like all johns, they had the ultimate power because they were offering the money.

I had to do what they asked for while making a pretense of being the judgmental big auntie-teacher-professor-manager doling out the deserved discipline. Then they'd go home and masturbate about the session they had just endured. It was a kind of feedback loop that kept them coming back for more.

There were two basic ways to inflict punishment on them: over my knees or having them bend over something like a table. Sometimes they would just bend over and grab their ankles. I rarely had to restrain them because it was just too much work. They were big boys, anyway, and most of them accepted their discipline stoically.

Before we got to the punishment, it was time to listen to their troubles and upbraid them for being such naughty boys. Many of them complained that they couldn't stop masturbating, which didn't seem like a problem to me but it bothered them a lot.

If it was an issue for them, I made sure they got beaten good and hard. "You bad boy, you're going to learn to keep your hands off your own cock." Yet as I said I'm sure their hands were back there at the first opportunity while they imagined the discipline I had inflicted on them.

They'd almost always get smacked on their bare buttocks, sometimes with just my hand. Believe me, a firm hand spanking can redden a pair of ass cheeks quite nicely if it's done hard enough.

I also collected various implements along the way, like paddles (both wooden and leather), birch sticks or whole bundles of those, and sometimes just a plain old leather belt which could inflict some impressive damage. I never used a true cane, because those require some finesse to use properly without injuring somebody. Thus I never bothered to learn.

My one business suit came in handy when I wanted to be the stern professor or manager. I also picked up some garter belts and straps of various designs and colors. I would wear those with panties, nylon stockings, and high-heeled shoes. Sometimes I'd just forego the panties, and flash my crotch at them before the punishment.

At times they wanted a sexual release at the end, with either my hands or my mouth as their goal, and of course, I'd charge them for that too.

**********

I'll give an example that illustrates what dominatrix work was like. One guy came out to Maspeth and he was one of those complaining that he couldn't stop masturbating. It really bugged him, although I couldn't understand why. I never felt guilty about my own whack-off sessions.

I was sitting there in the living room wearing my gray suit and nylons, listening to him go on about it. I already knew what he wanted because we had talked about it over the phone. He was paying me to go over my lap and get a hard bare-ass spanking.

I also was sure it wasn't going to change his behavior, but that wasn't the point of the whole exercise.

Thus I went through the usual jive with him. "You've been a very bad boy, and now you're going to pay the price. What you've been doing is acting shamefully and thinking of women only as objects for your twisted fantasies." Sometimes I would amaze myself with the bullshit I could make up for those customers

He was contrite or pretended to be. "Yes, Miss Meara, I will submit to whatever you think is best to solve my problem." More bullshit, but it was from him this time.

"Miss Meara" was the moniker that I would call myself during these events. Maybe it seemed more egalitarian than being called "Mistress." It wasn't like I was running their lives as my slaves. I was a professional lady doing the proper actions to get these misbehaving guys into line.

"All right, young man, stand up and come over here. I'm going to tan your naughty bottom but good." That was kind of funny because he was about two years older than I was. It was also very trite dialogue, but that was to be expected.

I already knew he didn't want a warm-up over his clothes, but he did want me to take his pants down for him as he stood there. Then I said, "Now, I'm not going to lower your underpants until you are face-down on my lap. I don't want to see your vile penis." I think that surprised both of us because I had just made it up on the spot. However, he complied.

Then when he was in position over my chair, I began a slow but steady and hard whacking of his exposed butt. He yelped each time I brought my hand down his bare behind, and he wasn't faking that.

We hadn't agreed on a time limit, so I would decide when his ass was sufficiently red enough for me to stop. "Now, I think you're beginning to learn your lesson, aren't you?"

"Yes, Miss Meara, give me more, if you please." I actually liked leaving my handprints on their bare flesh. It gave me a sense of power, albeit that was illusory too I suppose. There would have been advantages to using a hairbrush or a paddle, such as sparing my own hand from becoming hot and sore.

Then I suddenly noticed what he was doing on my lap. His hips were moving back and forth across my thighs, and I could feel his cock rubbing against my skirt. I understood what he was up to. Jesus, talk about masturbation; this guy is doing it right on my lap.

I didn't try to stop him, however. I wanted to see if he could bring it to a conclusion. And damn, he did it, quite dramatically in fact.

He raised himself up and yelled something. Now I could see his cock, and he was ejaculating big spurts of cum. Some of it went right over me and landed on the floor, but some of it also got onto my skirt.

I was oddly pleased that I had such an effect on him. But I pretended to be angry. "Look at what you've done, you little pervert. You got your disgusting splooge all over my clothes."

"I'm sorry, Miss Meara, I couldn't help myself."

"I know; I see that my attempts to instill self-control in you have failed. I'll have to have you come back here for another round of spanking." That was good; a repeat customer was always welcome. "Now go by the wall and stand there with your hands on top of your head."

I didn't want to prolong that corner time, so I got up and stood next to him. He was afraid to look at me. "Now someone is going to have to pay the dry cleaning bill for my skirt, and it's not going to be me."

"Yes, Miss Meara, I'll take care of it."

"Then get your pants up and give me the cash right now." I think I asked for $10. After he had complied, I said, "All right, we're done. Please leave the premises immediately."

"Yes, and thank you Miss Meara for your patience with me."

I suspected he was really thanking me, in a strange way, for giving him a better orgasm than he could have given to himself.

When he was gone, I looked down at his semen glistening on my skirt. I had seen a lot of guys come before, but that one impressed me with the sheer volume he had put out.

I went up to my room and took off my skirt and put on another one. It didn't match my jacket but I didn't care. Then I went downstairs to make a vodka and tonic. My uncle wouldn't be home for another two hours, so I relaxed in the living room for a while.

****

In contrast, there was one guy who wanted me to deny him his orgasm. I did tie his hands behind his back, and I did a striptease in front of him. His cock got huge and it was bouncing around as he stared at me. For a moment, I wondered if a man could reach an orgasm without any touching, but that wasn't true in his case.

It was a rationalization, but a thought came to me: if one has to be a hooker, then doing domination is a pretty good course to take.

*******

Some men would buy my used panties after whatever act, and I was happy to sell those to them at a huge mark-up. I learned to always have a spare pair in my bag for whatever contingency might arise.

Despite my refusal of vaginal penetration, there was one thing they could do to my pussy. That was to fondle it or finger-fuck me -- for a price, of course. A few of them knew what they were doing and could give me an orgasm. In those situations, I was tempted to give them a discount on what they had already paid me. After all, they had given me pleasure.

But I never actually did that. It was a business, and a deal is a deal.

*****

I had different ways to handle blowjobs. If they wanted to ejaculate into my mouth and have me swallow it, that was an extra charge. Otherwise, they'd have to pull out and shoot it elsewhere. Sometimes their aim was off, and they would get some on my clothes. That was extremely annoying, and they had to pay for that too. It didn't matter if the garment was wash and wear or not.

As I have said, every little detail adds to the cost. Working girls can't afford to miss those opportunities.

Some of them liked to shoot into my mouth from an inch or two out. That let them see their own ejaculations entering the girl they had just rented. It was truly a money shot because that cost more too. Usually, they managed to get some onto my face; thus the higher price.

A few only wanted to come into my face and hair. That was expensive for them because it was hard to clean up the mess that made.

No matter what we were doing, I often had minimal or no foreplay with them. If they needed help getting hard, and I was in a bad mood, then they could do it for themselves. Absolutely no kissing was allowed; almost all prostitutes have that rule. What did they think, that I was their girlfriend? If they did, then they were very mistaken.

A few of them paid me to do foreplay on myself -- in other words, for me to masturbate while they watched. Sometimes they would beat off too at the same time which, no surprise, cost more. They would usually come first, but I often used a dildo in my pussy and then I would come too. It was fun in a way, but I didn't prolong it. I never had to fake my climax; I've always been a very orgasmic lady.

As I mentioned, many of those customers came so quickly that I wondered why they just didn't get some porn magazines and masturbate as much as they wanted while looking at the photos. Well, yeah, they did have brief contact with my mouth or hands and occasionally, other parts of my body. Otherwise, I was sort of a 3-D porn magazine that talked -- although I rarely said more than I had to. They usually failed to see that the "sex" they thought they were having was mostly an illusion.

******

By the beginning of my second freshman semester in January 1974, all of this was starting to take a toll on me. I was feeling numb, although I didn't quite realize it yet. I hadn't been on a regular date since I had arrived at CCNY. I also had no female friends, because I felt I had nothing in common with the other women at the school.

In addition, I was becoming physically tired too. That was my state of being when I started my modern European history course. There was a classmate there named Paul who seemed to notice me from the very first day. I ignored him even though he sat near me and I didn't offer him any of my services. My attitude was, fuck him, let him come to me if he is so interested. I didn't have any plans for conventional dating with him.

As the weather warmed up, I wore more revealing clothes. Partially it was just to tease him but also because they seemed to fit my new, dirtier personality. I'd wear tight jeans and a halter top, or shorts with my midriff showing. Once I did that with brown boots on, which I knew caught his attention.

I'd wear mini-skirts and splay my legs out so that my panties might be visible to him. Sometimes my underwear consisted of a thong, and he probably wondered if I was wearing any panties at all.

It all was a way to amuse myself when I was bored, and it gave me something to do besides staring out the window. I knew he had to be jerking off about me at times. I found out later that he would masturbate in the same restrooms that I had been using for my customer's trysts.

He was a smart guy, however, and he got a good grade on the midterm paper while I did not. Near the end of the term, I had a plan. I invited him to have coffee with me at the Finley snack bar.

I'm sure he thought it was going to be a regular date, but it was anything but that. I didn't tell him I was a hooker, but I did say he should write a second term paper just for me. If he did that, I would give him a blowjob in return.

He seemed both appalled and excited at the same time. I poured on the charm and he agreed to do it for me. It was going to be a review of George Orwell's Homage to Catalonia.

We did the transaction in his college newspaper office one night -- The Salient. I told him not to come in my mouth, but somehow his aim was off and he wound up shooting some of his splooge into my hair. That was quite a mess, and I was rather pissed off about it.

That led to a huge fight between us, and we were yelling at each other and slapping each other's faces (I had left my glasses on the table). He then grabbed me and pulled me over his lap on the couch; he gave me a sound bare-ass spanking. I was surprised at how much I enjoyed it. We both noticed that my pussy was wet and well-lubricated.

I put my ass in the air, and he fucked me from behind. We both had intense orgasms. He was obviously a virgin, and I knew I had busted his cherry that night. After that, we were both kind of stunned and neither of us knew what to do next.

He caught me by surprise again; he asked, demanded actually, that I go downtown with him for dinner. I figured: what the hell, I haven't had one real date at this awful school; I might as well go. And we had a very good time when we went out. Just like that, I had a real boyfriend. He was the first guy at CCNY to like me for who I really was, and that was quite appealing to me.

Also, even though he knew all about my whoring activities -- I confessed everything to him eventually -- he didn't judge me. However, I started to judge myself. My sense of shame, which had been deep inside my mind, came back into my consciousness.

I had thought that I controlled the customers, when in fact they were controlling me through the money they offered to use my body. I had tried to bury my youthful feelings of humiliation by turning myself into an object. My strategy failed, and it was very painful to contemplate how I had debased myself for ten months.

There was a truth that I couldn't face during my freshman year. I had money, yes, but I was wasting part of my youth doing that, let's face it, degrading job.

I find the term "sex worker" to be amusing. It gives the impression that I was on par with people in an auto assembly plant or those running a freight train. Yet I had no excuse beyond sheer greed, I suppose, plus my own doubts and confusion. I know now how foolish I had been.

*****

I think having Paul helped inspire me to quit hooking. Another factor happened in Maspeth just after I had that first date with him. I got sloppy, and my uncle came home early and found me blowing a customer as I kneeled on the living room floor. I had been too lazy to take him up to my room.

My uncle punished me but good. He spanked my bare ass, and then he whipped me with his leather belt until I collapsed. Yet despite the pain, it was very exciting and I masturbated that night imagining the belt coming down on my backside.

Of course, during my session of self-pleasuring, I imagined Paul doing the belting. It seemed that both men knew I deserved to be punished, and I willingly accepted it. Yet my kinkiness allowed me to enjoy it too. So I'm more than a bit twisted, I guess, but I have learned that sex has many contradictory emotions connected to it.

The first legitimate job I got was at a nearby Burger King. Paul came in one day to bust my chops about the uniforms, and he said, "Who knew that brown and yellow went together so well?"

I figured that I might as well do something with all of the money I had earned, so that summer I bought a beautiful green 1970 Mustang convertible. Paul was very envious, but I wouldn't let him drive it because he seemed a little wobbly as a driver.

That fall he invited me to join his newspaper,The Salient. He asked me to come to the first staff meeting, and I dressed in my business suit. That caused quite a stir among his colleagues, none of whom knew he had a girlfriend now. How did professional virgin Paul land this chick? I enjoyed flouncing around the office and putting on a show for them.