My Summer with Nora Ch. 08

This is about Paul and Nora in the late summer of 1974, just after the beginning of their sophomore semester. They are students at The City College of New York in upper Manhattan.

Here, they both engage in half-serious rants in which they express their ambivalence about how they met and what they did when she was in the last days of her freshman-year hooking career. Yet some of their anger at each other is real. They have been together for about three months at his point.

*****

One unusually warm day in September, Nora invited me out to her house in Maspeth, Queens. It was a Thursday, and neither one of us had classes that day.

Usually, for those kinds of visits, I'd arrive there sometime before noon when her uncle was still at work. We'd chat for a bit, and even maybe have a drink together. Despite it being relatively early in the day she'd joke, "Hey, this is our brunch drink, isn't it?"

Then, being the two horny college students that we were, we'd do what horny college students do: have sex. That might occur up in her bedroom, or maybe in the living room. If she was feeling frisky, it might be in the kitchen on the table, or with her perched on a counter.

We'd usually start with a bout of oral sex first, taking turns going down on each other. Then, a bit later, we'd couple, often with me on top first. After that, she'd get on top of me, or offer me a rear-entry position.

Being the kinky girl that she was, sometimes she wanted me to give her a bare-behind spanking, which primed her even more for intercourse. Both of us were nineteen, and we had plenty of energy to satisfy each other.

It wasn't until later, in October, that she demonstrated that her dormant dominatrix skills were still sharp. She inflicted a pretty intense punishment on me and I proved to be quite kinky too. I had a very insistent erection during the whole event. However, she stuck with authenticity and did not give me a sexual release at the end.

Instead, she threw me out of the house and I didn't see her for another three days. I certainly gave myself some sexual releases while imagining her disciplining me with various implements, including simply her hands. On the fourth day, I was invited back to Maspeth, and I really made up for lost time on that day.

Anyway, usually after our fun and games, we would get into her Mustang and drive somewhere in Queens for a late lunch. (A chick with her own ride! Yet that was fine with me.) She was quite relaxed about dating, and she didn't require three-star restaurants. Sometimes she'd even split the check with me, although she never paid for the whole bill.

So there I was, starting my sophomore year, with my relatively new (three months), first-ever girlfriend (she was the first one I had even kissed) and I thought I was in college guy heaven. I had never expected that I would start out so well on the first time out.

Despite her unconventional past, I loved her. And she did indeed have a very unconventional past. I didn't know it when I first met her, but she had spent her freshman year as a part-time hooker. She would turn tricks both on the campus and at the house in Maspeth. As I will describe below, I actually started as one of her customers.

By September, she was out of that field and living a conventional life as a young student. Not only was she sexy, but she was smart and funny too. I wouldn't call her "sweet," because she had a very edgy side at times, but she could also be affectionate when she was in the right mood.

One thing was certain: I was never bored when I was with her. We always had plenty to talk about.

*****

On that particular September day, I could tell that something was different as soon as she opened the door. Instead of coming forward to kiss me, she stepped back and gave me a dead-eyed look. She didn't even say anything.

I looked her over. She was fairly tall, with dark-blonde hair that came down to her shoulders, plus she had steel-rimmed glasses. It would be another couple of weeks before she got her first bob-cut hairdo.

She was wearing some of her bad-girl hot-weather clothes: a white blouse that exposed her midriff, a short black skirt with white dots, and white sandals. Of course, I speculated about what kind of panties, if any, she had on. Soon she'd also be upgrading her wardrobe for a more adult look, but that hadn't happened yet either.

After a few moments, I said simply, "Hey, Nora."

She crooked a finger at me and said, "Come in here, I want to talk to you."

Some paranoid thoughts went through my mind. She's not going to dump me here and now, is she? Why would she do that?

In the living room, she pointed to a chair that was at a right angle to the couch. "Sit over there." Then she took her own position on the sofa to my right. Why didn't she want me to sit next to her?

Nora turned to me and immediately got into her act, "I know you've been looking at me since you walked into the class in January."

For a moment, I was completely baffled. She was speaking as if it were still last May or June.

"Don't pretend that you don't know what I'm talking about. You think you're so smart but hey baby, I've been on to you for a long time."

I suddenly got that she was playing a game, a sort of role with me. She was revisiting how she felt about me the previous semester. I didn't know her motive yet, but I knew her well enough to understand that she was capable of some pretty good acting.

I tried a neutral response, "I don't know, maybe I have been, maybe I haven't."

"Oh please, you've been there, two seats over, and you've been salivating over me. You've been trying to look up my skirts, you've been checking out my ass when I wear jeans, you're been scoping out my tits, especially when I have a halter top on."

I was getting indications that this rehash of the recent past wasn't all tongue-in-cheek. There was something aggressively nasty about whatever she was doing with me, even if it was partially faked. I knew she hadn't liked me during that time. I tried a push-back as an experiment. "It might help if you weren't displaying yourself like that all of the time."

"You've got some nerve, you horny little twerp. I'll wear whatever I want, whenever I want."

I was feeling the first flush of anger; my face was warming up with emotion. She kept ragging on me, "You're saving up memories of me for your gross masturbation fantasies, I know that for sure. So what do you think about during these whack-off sessions?"

I had to decide how to play this conversation as if it were really happening last May or thereabouts. I went with a mixture of honesty plus some cockiness to show that I wasn't intimidated by her.

As calmly as I could, I said, "The usual kind of thing, like bending you over and taking you from behind in the Wagner men's room. That would be on one of your skirt-wearing days." Wagner was a building we often had classes in. In fact, we had met in there.

She laughed at me, and I knew I had mishandled the situation. "Yeah, you're in one of the stalls all right, except you're whacking off in there all by yourself. There isn't a chance in hell that you could actually get me to do that."

I had told her about that fantasy before, but now I felt that it was a mistake to reveal it again.

Of course, she immediately had a follow-up. "I mean, I wouldn't let you or your cock get anywhere near me. I know your type; the campus is full of clueless virgins such as yourself wandering around, wondering why they aren't getting any pussy from all the chicks they see."

I tried for indifference, but I didn't do a very good job of it. "I really don't care what you think."

"Oh, but you do care. I know you couldn't cop a feel of a chick's tits unless you paid her for the privilege first."

I knew she had been paid for that privilege herself because last spring she was still engaging in her part-time hooking gigs. Yet I didn't know that in May, so I figured I'd stick with authenticity and not mention it. I tried a mild insult. "You certainly have a big mouth."

"Yes, and I also have a very sweet pussy that you are never going to enter, except in your dreams." Then she put up a finger and began to reveal her plan to me, a plan I knew she had cooked up sometime earlier. She had already been playing a white girl version of the Dozens, with herself as the main participant. Now, she had something bigger.

She said, "I am, however, going to give you a taste of something, and that will be the opportunity of ejaculating into my panties. Except, I'm definitely not going to allow that to happen while I'm still wearing them!"

With that, she deftly slipped her underpants off and threw them at me. Those bounced off my chest and landed on my lap. I commented, "I had been wondering if you were even wearing underwear or not."

She put on her mock shocked look. "Of course I was! What kind of girl do you think I am?"

I almost answered her honestly, a very bad girl, but I decided to rein myself in. Then, in her next motion, she took a tube of Vaseline out of her bag and tossed that into my lap. I said about the tube, "Do you always carry this around with you?"

"Of course, a girl has to be ready for any contingency." I thought, yeah, a whore like you might get a gig to do anal, and you have to be ready to lube up.

Then I remembered that I wasn't supposed to know any of that yet in the timeline of that game. Why am I even playing this ridiculous little drama in the first place? Yet I was curious to see what she'd come up with next.

For a second I looked at the panties lying in my lap. They were more ample than I had expected, and they were white with pink dots. On an impulse, I picked them up. Of course, she reacted. "Another dream come true for you, isn't it, to finally see my drawers? Unfortunately, I'm not in them anymore."

Then she continued with her underwear rant. "You can have them now, what you've always wanted, a girl's used underpants. They spent all day pushed up against my hot little pussy, but I'm done with them now. Go ahead, sniff them, it will be a novelty for you."

"Gee, Nora, that's nice of you, but I think I'll take a pass on that."

"There is one thing I insist you do, however. I want you to take your dick out, jerk off, and blow your whole wad right into that nice, dirty white and pink cloth. Get them good and soaked."

That was weird, and a surprise too. "And I suppose you're going to watch all of this?"

"Indeed I am, but I'm going to give you another treat that you can watch at the same time."

She took one of her dildos out of her bag. I had seen that particular implement before; it was fairly long and thick, and it was pink. However, it wasn't shaped like a penis per se. (She had one that was like that.) It did have a glans-like protuberance at one end.

I asked her, "Is that thing electric?" although it was obviously not.

"Oh no, I don't need any artificial assist. But I assure you, I can satisfy myself with this better than any of the jerks around here can do it with their fingers." I knew that was another reference to her previous hooking activities. She had told me two months earlier that guys would pay to finger-fuck her. Then I wondered if I had been one of the potential jerks on her list.

Nora sat back on the couch and spread her legs wide. She poised the tip of her dildo at the entrance to her vagina. Then she began to move the end of it up and down and around her vulva.

The effect on her was very quick; she started moaning softly. Then she said, "Well, how much more motivation do you need? You think you're such a stud; take your dick out and show me what you can do with it."

I decided to continue the game by showing her exactly what I could do with it. First I unbuckled my pants and pulled those down. Then my underpants were next. I was already erect. My youth and my anger and the sight of her bare crotch were all that I needed to be almost instantly stiff.

"Okay, sweetheart, I'll show you what I'm capable of and you'll be impressed, I can guarantee it."

"Yeah, I'll believe that when I see it."

It only took me a few moments to get lubed up and start working on myself. I left her panties on my lap, just a few inches from the tip of my cock.

Nora meanwhile started her own session with her dildo, but she kept mouthing off at me and she was quite elaborate about it. I could tell that this wasn't meant to be playful but rather it was a way to humiliate me.

"I know you're doing this at least twice per day, once at school and again at night. Who are you thinking about besides me? It's the girls on that stupid newspaper of yours, the girls in your classes, the ones on the subway, even your professors if they've got any juice left."

At that point, I wasn't able to verbally resist her as well as I had hoped I could. All I could say was, "You don't know anything about me."

"Oh, I know your type all too well. The campus is crawling with virgins like you, guys who think they're intellectual hot shit because they can write a twenty-page paper about George Orwell."

I knew she was referring to the paper I had actually written for her in June, the incident that had gotten our whole strange affair rolling at the start. It had been a review of Homage to Catalonia, Orwell's description of his time in the International Brigades during the Spanish Civil War. Once in a while she'd take a term paper in lieu of cash on her "job." For my payment I would get a blow job from her.

She went on, "But, when it comes to approaching a real girl, you all get the vapors or something. 'Oh, she's so pretty, she won't like me, I'd rather go home and whack off to Hustler magazine. Those ladies won't reject me, because they're just photographs.' "

I was first struck by her use of the term "the vapors," which seemed oddly funny. Nora had a lot of verbal dexterity, and I had heard it many times before.

By this point, we were both vigorously, fiercely even, masturbating ourselves. We had watched each other before for fun, but this was very different. I was aware of the intense emotions that were pouring out of her. I didn't know why she had kept them bottled up for so long, or why she was revealing them now, but I figured I might find out soon enough.

I countered her with, "How about you? You have quite a collection of dildos, I see." She had indeed picked up several of them during her hooking days. She was ramming herself with one now, and she was using her other hand to fondle her clitoris at the same time.

I continued with, "I know why you have them. No man would want to fuck a nasty little twat like you."

"Hah, I don't want to fuck any man. I've seen the pathetic specimens lurking around the campus. To me they're all a bunch of desperate cocks looking to ejaculate, and I know to them I'm just a mouth, a pair of hands, to get them to that point. I know they just want to masturbate, except into my body instead of into their blankets."

I caught her tone of bitterness, and I knew that was exactly what she had felt during those ten months of hooking during her freshman year. She had confessed it all to me before, the desperation, the loneliness, the shame she had experienced during that time.

However, sitting there in her living room, I wasn't going to admit that I understood all of that. Besides, I was passing the point where I could still talk lucidly.

Once I was beyond that, it took me less than five minutes to come. I wrapped her underpants around my shaft and jerked myself with those. My intention had been not to get overly dramatic about my climax because I didn't want to admit to the effect Nora was having on me. But I couldn't control my reactions.

I put my head back and said one more thing, one of those obvious statements that people always make in such situations. "I'm going to come right into your panties!" Then I loudly made all those unintelligible noises that guys make when a jerk-off really feels great. My cum shot out and filled her white and pink underwear.

Probably Nora was inspired by watching me because she soon followed with her own noisy results. Her white sandals waved around in the air as she caterwauled in her pleasure. She said one thing I could understand, "You're such a horny little fucker!" After that, it was all a lot of loud bather.

In the quiet aftermath, we both sat back and we didn't look at each other. For my part, I simply gazed at the ceiling. With her odd game, she had set up some kind of barrier between us.

It reminded me of those tense months sitting almost next to her in that Wagner classroom. I remembered that her constant but mostly silent presence had unnerved me, but week after week I refused to sit elsewhere in the room. I felt that she had been daring me to make an approach to her, which I figured she'd enjoy because then she'd reject me in the rudest way possible. Thus I did nothing.

She broke the deadlock in her living room by saying, "So what's your take on all this?" By that point, her dildo was lying on the coffee table.

Now I knew it was my turn to talk, to let some of my own emotions out. I moved the timeline up a month or so to a real event in the previous June. That was the fateful evening when I had exchanged the term paper for a blowjob. It had happened in my student newspaper office in Finley Hall.

"Now Miss Meara, that night in The Salient office -- by that point I was sick of months of your bullshit, your complete arrogance in regards to me."

She was feisty, however, and tried to defend herself but she didn't do it very well. "Well, you got your blowjob, that's what I promised. You were the one who shot your splooge off into my hair." She didn't want to swallow my cum but my aim was way off.

"So get some shampoo. The point is, you just couldn't keep your mouth shut and you had to insult me. You had to slap my face too. And yeah, that was finally just too much, and I really lost my shit with you."

I could see she was nervous because she knew what had happened next. She licked her lips and used a tactic she had used before. "I busted your cherry that night, the only one of 4,000 girls at the school who would do it."

I was feeling quite calm but determined, "Yes, you did, but do you remember how it happened? I took you over my lap and gave you a good spanking on your bare behind. And you loved it. Your pussy got all wet and you stuck your ass into the air and I fucked you from behind. You loved that too."

"So, you came as well."

I shrugged and said, "Yes, I sure did."

I remembered how stunned, shocked really both of us had been at that moment. I said, "The thing is, you just folded after that, that whole tough girl attitude of yours completely evaporated. I looked out the window, and you were over on the couch, lying face down, not saying a thing. You wouldn't even look at me."

I recalled something else, "I know that in your so-called work, you refused to have vaginal sex and you refused to be submissive, but I got to do both in one session." She certainly had been dominant for pay at times.

For some reason, she asked me, "So what were you thinking about at that point, when you were looking out the window?

"Subway trains under Washington Heights, among other things," which had been true.

I continued, "Then I walked over and called you a piece of trash because, at that moment, that's what I thought of you. I was considering just walking out. But you got up, and you were all humble and contrite about everything. You said, 'What you saw, that wasn't the real me.' But Nora, that side of you, that was the real you."

She said, "I remember that I asked you not to go, and it wasn't just to walk me to Amsterdam Avenue. I really didn't want to be alone that evening."

"I understood that, and I changed my mind. I did what I had wanted to do for months. I asked you, no, demanded that you have dinner with me, right on that evening. Because that's the weird thing, what I really wanted was not just to have sex with you; I wanted you to be my girl too. And you went."