College Hooing Memories

See chapter 1

here.

Some of these events are also mentioned in Nora Meara's first-year memoirs of her time at City College,

Freshman Hooker.

As mentioned before, City College is in upper Manhattan while Maspeth is in western Queens.

*******

Appearances Count

I don't think my looks are extraordinary. For one thing, I rarely wear any makeup, except for lipstick sometimes. Otherwise, I just can't be bothered with it. And I was lucky, perhaps, to be living in an era when all that attention about one's face and hair was at a low point. It was the 1970's malaise I guess, but it suited me fine.

And let's be honest about it: women don't want to admit that makeup, no matter how subtle it is, significantly changes their appearance. As for me, I didn't care if I was presenting my unadorned face. My clients rarely seemed to care either, with one exception I'll mention some other time. Otherwise, they got to see what I truly looked like.

I'm about five-foot seven and I'm on the slender side but not truly skinny. I am a bit vain about my cute little ass, and I like to show it off by wearing tight pants or jeans.

Throughout my ten-month period as a working girl, I wore my dark-blonde hair in my usual way, down to my shoulders. Anything longer than that was a nuisance. If I felt like it, I would pin it up behind my head.

And guys don't mind getting some ass from girls who wear glasses. Probably most hookers don't wear glasses when working, but I didn't want the hassle of getting contacts. Thus my steel-rimmed spectacles, which I usually took off for blowjobs. When one of those jokers shot off, I could never be sure exactly where their cum might wind up.

During the second semester of hooking in 1974, I went through a phase of wearing a lot of "bad girl" clothing. It was the usual stuff: mini-skirts, shorts with boots, a bared midriff, and so on. Something about hooking made me want to project my sexuality, although inside I didn't

feel

particularly sexy.

It was during that period that I was attending a history class with Paul. For some reason, he thought I was a reincarnation of Cleopatra (maybe the Elizabeth Taylor version!). A queen, he later called me, which did fit into some part of my self-image. In response, I would tease him a lot by really vamping it up.

That doesn't mean I actually liked him. In fact, I could be quite rude, even nasty, if he made any approach to me. That would include him looking at me although I might be blatantly displaying myself. In my opinion, all the men in that school were twerps to be exploited, and he happened to be the one sitting near me in that class every week.

I could have moved elsewhere in the room, but I refused to give up my view out the window.

Let him move!

But he also was stubborn and wouldn't change his seat, the first hint perhaps that he was truly interested in me.

******

Supply and Demand

I quickly found out that selling my used undergarments -- let's call it lingerie -- was a lucrative side hustle. If guys saw any of that during a trick, they'd often want to have something as a souvenir. And of course, they could masturbate into the cloth or nylon at later times, I'm sure while remembering me.

Some would brag about how eager they were to shoot a load into my former possessions. I certainly didn't mind, as long as I got my money.

The first john ever to buy my stuff had received a blow job at my house in Maspeth. (I will have more about Maspeth shortly.) We did it in a conventional manner which I had suggested. Many of them were willing to go along with the positions I suggested on a particular day.

For that one, he stood in front of me while I knelt on the living room floor facing him. He wanted me to take off some of my clothing and we negotiated about which items would stay and which I would remove. I wound up topless and skirtless that day.

Belong my waist, I had a somewhat offbeat outfit on. About a week before that event, I had purchased one of those all-in-one garter-strap-stocking garments. It was all made from a single piece of white cloth. He wanted me to remove the ample pair of see-through white panties I had on top of it all. Thus the "cut-outs" on those stockings offered a good view of my crotch from the front and my ass from the rear.

When the trick was completed, he asked me to remove those stockings too. He wanted the panties as well so he could keep everything to take home with him. I was fond of both of those garments ever since I had first seen them in a store on Orchard Street in Manhattan.

Then I thought,

just charge him, overcharge him, for your apparel. You can always get more of it.

Thus we both went away happy. I had earned more cash than I had originally expected, and he had my underwear to play with on his own time.

I knew I was on to something good, and two days later I made the pink panties offer to that Cohen Library jerk-off client. He lacked enough money so that failed, but other johns were very eager to obtain a hooker's intimate clothing.

I might even suggest a clothing deal if they didn't mention it first. If I was at Maspeth, they could even buy my shoes. (I wasn't going to carry an extra pair of shoes to the campus.) The garment factories were always churning out products, and I kept earning more money to buy replacements.

Some of them wanted the more traditional get-up of garter belt-straps-nylon stockings if I was wearing those on the day of the trick. Those were quite popular among my clients. I seemed to have a knack for developing new lines of business. The interest in the garter-straps combination was so popular -- common really -- that it didn't seem like a fetish to me any longer.

Pantyhose, tights, knee socks, tennis shoes; it was all profitable. I merely had to wear something and it was transformed into merchandise that was good to go. If I was at school, I took extra underwear in my bag to replace whatever I had sold.

*******

Only the Dead Know Queens

It soon became obvious that there were advantages to inviting customers out to my home in Maspeth. Sometimes I could indeed find a trysting place on campus, but that took some planning and creativity, especially during the daytime.

My uncle Tony was the only other inhabitant of the house, and he worked during the day as a carpenter. His own children were grown and his wife, my Aunt Millie, had passed away five years earlier. I moved in during my senior year of high school, and I had my own room on the second floor.

Thus I had the daylight hours to turn the place into my own one-lady brothel. There were two ways to find guys to travel out there. Some of them I met on campus, and if they could wait a day or two, I might suggest Maspeth as a better location for whatever they wanted.

Many of them found

me.

As my home phone number got passed around among more and more male students, I got many calls at the house asking for me. If they called in the evening and Uncle Tony answered -- well, I think he figured out what was going on, but it took him months to finally take me to task for my behavior.

Relatively few of my potential johns refused to make that trip to Queens. They drove if they had cars, or else they took the subway and then a bus to get there. And all for what was often only twenty or thirty minutes of my time.

When they were done, they had to leave -- immediately. There was no hanging out in my living room later to chat with me over a drink. So I evicted them, and sometimes they had to take public transit all the way back to Riverdale or Co-op City in The Bronx.

Those horny but clueless fools! They could have purchased porn mags and jerked off to as many women as they wished. But no, they had to have a real woman give them a hand job or a blowjob. And unlike the girls in the magazines, I could talk to them. But I had little to say beyond, "There's the door. It's now time for you to get out of here."

It was also amazing how careless I became in bringing unknown men into my home. They said that they were CCNY students, but how could I be sure? If I had been raped, the cops wouldn't believe me. I didn't even know the full names of my clients. It was less likely, but had I been killed by some maniac, no one would know what had happened to me. It didn't matter if I was left on the living room floor or carted away in the trunk of somebody's car.

Of course, many times I would skip classes if a good deal was in the works. By the spring 1974 semester, my grades were slipping badly.

*****

Naughty Boys

I became a pretty good dominatrix. I wasn't the black-leather kind. Rather, I would wear my one gray suit or otherwise dress up to some degree. I had some fun with that, and I'd play the stern teacher, school principle, boss, wife, girlfriend, therapist, or whoever else. Sometimes I would suggest the role; sometimes they had a preference.

Unfortunately, I never got around to renting a nun's habit. I'm sure I would have worn that with some of that cool lingerie I mentioned. If the guy had gotten a priest's outfit -- well,

forgive me sister, for I have sinned. Yeah, I bet you have, and now you're going to suffer for it. Better to take my punishment rather than burn in the fires of hell.

Damn, that would have been great. Domination requires creativity, like having the talents of both an actor and a screenwriter.

They never had to call me "mistress," which implied more subservience on their part than I was comfortable with. Just Ms. Nora or Ms. Meara was enough to show me some respect.

Almost all of those domination sessions were done at my house. The most common side-effect, the sound of bare male behinds being smacked, was difficult to hide anywhere on campus. I did a few sessions for newspaper staff members because they had nighttime access to their offices in Finley Hall.

****

Tie and Tease

I did my first bondage scene at Maspeth in November 1973. Yes, the "B" in BDSM. Since I knew nothing of rope work or how to tie knots, the guy calling offered to show me how to do it. Yes, he was one of those mysterious phone people. I had to assume, as I always did, that he was a CCNY student.

Let's call him Jason. During his call, we discussed in great detail what he wanted to happen. It was my first experience with "orgasm denial," which initially baffled me. It seemed that the point of hiring a hooker was to have an orgasm, not merely to get an erection and then leave.

Nevertheless, that was his desire, and he had planned out an elaborate scenario of how to do it. I've wondered since then if he had ever done that kind of stunt before because he was so sure of what he wanted.

The basic idea was that I would tie his hands behind his back and then lower his trousers and underpants. After that, I would sit in a chair where he could watch me masturbate. At the end, I would untie him and then he would leave.

Although that whole idea seemed very peculiar, I was always on the lookout for extra charges to add to a trick. I patiently explained over the phone what options were available. The lowest cost was for untying him and then watching

him

masturbate. Higher price points were for giving him a hand job or a blowjob, with or without untying his hands.

But no, he was adamant about how it was to go. No matter how much begging and pleading he did, I was not supposed to touch his cock. It was all part of that weird role-play he had concocted for himself.

Frankly, I believed he'd cave in anyway during that scene and accept one of my offers for him to climax. By then I knew how eager men were to have orgasms. Thus I thought the sight of my splayed legs and my thrusting dildo would entice him or any other guy to rapidly change his mind (for a price of course!).

He had a car to get out there, and at the appointed time, the tall, rather good-looking Jason arrived. He had his rope with him, as I had specified because I certainly didn't have anything that would work.

Not wanting to waste time, I avoided any chat and immediately collected my fee. Then he had to show me the hand-tying procedure. It might have been preferable to affix him to a piece of furniture, but there was nothing in the living room that looked sturdy enough to hold him. It didn't really matter, because it was all playacting anyway. He leaned against a bookcase and then I lowered his garments to his ankles. His impressively-sized cock was already fully erect in anticipation.

I did a little strip tease for him by raising my skirt and shaking my behind at him. During that, I removed my panties and left them on the floor.

Then, all I had to do was sit in a chair opposite him (I remember that I was wearing gray knee socks) and pleasure myself with a dildo. I had purchased my second one by that time. We proceeded to enact the strange scenario he had asked for.

Immediately he started swinging his hips around and pleading with me. "Oh Ms. Nora, please, get me off or just let me do it to myself. I need to come so badly."

My job was to tease him. "No Jason, you can't come. We've already agreed to that."

"But this is unbearable. Please don't entice me like this." I admit the sight of his bouncing cock inspired the intensity of my masturbation. His organ was bouncing around, up and down and side to side. He continued, "I love the sight of your cute panties lying on the floor."

"I took them off for you, you know." Well, actually I had removed them to have unfettered access to my own crotch. The panties seemed like no big deal; just ordinary white cotton ones. It occurred to me,

hey, I'm sure this big jerk will buy them if I offer them before he leaves.

He said, "The sight of my big dick must be inspiring you to beat off even harder."

"It certainly is; it's the most beautiful cock I've ever seen." I wasn't exaggerating much either. I didn't add,

I only like your penis as a disembodied entity; I'm not interested in who it's attached to at all.

Yes, being a whore was changing my perceptions over time, making me emotionally colder and ever more disdainful of all men, not just my clients.

My pussy was certainly getting warmer, and Jason referred to it. "I'm sure I could slip into you in an instant and you'd come from me instead of that thing you have in you."

"It's called a dildo, Jason, and you know I'm not allowing you into my body." Then I improvised a statement. "You've been a very bad boy, looking at women only as sex objects. Now I'm going to make you pay the price for your deplorable behavior."

That was the other side of being a whore; it sharpened my understanding of male psychology. It turned out that my bullshit was accurate regarding Jason's thoughts, because he replied, "I apologize, Ms. Nora, I won't do that ever again if you just let me come right now."

"Well, too bad Jason, you have to go through this trial in order to learn your lesson properly." I was getting better at coming up with ridiculous statements like that one. "You certainly can, however, witness

my

climax." I was being truthful when I added, "I can already feel it approaching."

For a short while, I wondered if a man could ejaculate without touching himself. I had heard that such things were possible, but I had never actually seen it. Some pre-cum, however, was clearly emerging from the end of his cock.

When I did come, I didn't have to dramatize anything. I put my feet up on the arms of the chair, yelled, "Jason, I love your big swinging dick," and then I went off. It was a good, solid orgasm, and I waved my legs around and moaned uncontrollably.

As I collapsed back into my chair, Jason's entreaties grew more florid. "Nora, you are such a beautiful, sexy woman; I can see that so clearly now."

That was the kind of comment from a john that always bugged me. I used some dominatrix-style nastiness against him. "Let's be clear, Jason, you also think of

me

only as a sex object; I can see that clearly too."

He replied, "I'm sorry, it's just that you are so magnetic. I can imagine my hot creamy cum shooting into your sweet vagina. "

Magnetic! That was one I hadn't heard before. He was implying that the mere sight of my genitals could draw semen out of him like a magnet pulling on a pile of nails. It seemed weirdly funny, but I have a strange sense of humor at times.

Yet I was thinking,

how are we going to end this event?

Not a lot of time had elapsed since he had entered the house. Maybe we should have worked it out earlier, but I made up something.

"Listen, Jason, I'm going to dildo myself one more time for you. I think that's fair for the second -- and last -- part of this whole episode."

Maybe he didn't expect that from me, because his voice and movements became even more frantic. "That would be fantastic, Nora. Please, I can see how wet your pussy has become while you've been watching me."

Don't give yourself too much credit, sport. You may have a sizable dick, but I did all the work on my own body.

After a short rest, I resumed my dildo operations and Jason resumed his somewhat spastic movements. As always, my mind was imagining ways to obtain more money from the client.

I made it sound like I was sympathetic to his self-made plight. "You know Jason, as I said on the phone, if you pay me more, I'll untie you and you can jack off right now."

"No, that would entirely go against what we're trying to do here." That contradicted what he had said earlier.

"All right, but you could also pay me for a handjob or blow job, either tied up or not."

Am I really going to set four different prices for each option? I've got to convince him to change his mind first.

For encouragement, I added, "I am curious about what kind of huge stream you could fire out right now."

I wasn't lying about that. But as I implied before, it was purely a technical interest in the workings of his male plumbing, not any fondness for him as a person. In hooker mode, my mind could be quite icy when contemplating a john.

He boasted, "You'd very impressed, I'm sure."

As I neared my second peak, for a moment I fantasized about getting up, pushing Jason down to the floor, and planting myself on his stiff cock. But, no, I quickly rejected that idea. I wasn't going to break my no-penetration rule just because he had a kink about storing up his sperm instead of releasing it as needed.

My second climax took a bit longer than the first but it was just as intense. During it, his begging and imploring seemed like background noise. I did hear him saying my name repeatedly, another of those annoying habits many johns had.

Then I relaxed and let my arms rest on the chair.

Yeah, he's still there swinging himself around after forty minutes of this. And he's been forgetting to use the honorific "Ms." with my name.

I couldn't truly relax until he was gone, so I got to my feet and said, "Unless you have more money, we're done and it's time for you to go." We hadn't set any time limit, but I figured that performing two orgasms for him was sufficient.

"Please Nora, at least let me make myself come."

"If you don't or can't pay me more, then you'll have to wait until you get home."

"But I can't do that; I'm still living at home." Presumably, that meant that his parents were there. Those complications were beyond my bailiwick of responsibility.

"You have a car right out there. Use that for your purposes."

"But it's the middle of the day."

I held my temper, and somehow I came up with a reasonable suggestion. "Drive south from here. There's a whole lot of warehouses and rail yards down by Newton Creek. Find some big trucks and park behind them."