Chapter 2 is
here.
Nora's Discontent
As my second semester of hooking got going in early 1974, another downside of my "career" became noticeable: boredom. After doing a certain number of passionless blowjobs and handjobs every week, the repetitiousness of it all started to bother me.
Those acts consisted of about ninety percent of the tricks I performed. I had a hard time imagining how the real pros worked on such things for hours every day. Of course, I had no pimp pushing my productivity, no drug habit on my back to feed. I knew I didn't have to endure what a lot of women in that life had to put up with.
There were a few other ways guys could achieve an ejaculation, which was their primary motive for hiring me in the first place. As I've mentioned, I sometimes offered "frottage," which consisted of me swiveling my bare behind against their crotches until they came all over me.
A few wanted to masturbate while looking at me, like that guy I described in Cohen Library. Others wanted me to masturbate at the same time, which I charged quite a bit extra for. Even though I used a dildo during such sessions, they almost always came long before I did. Then they considered the session done since male pleasure was the point of hiring me in the first place. I would have to finish myself off on my own time later.
A few others wanted to masturbate
me
- finger-fuck in other words -- which was always a prelude to them receiving the mouth or hand strokes that resulted in their own orgasms. Again, males had priority, and they usually failed to bring me to a climax. They just didn't care.
Watching men ejaculate became pretty routine. Occasionally one would put out an impressive load in terms of volume and distance, which could be impressive to witness. Otherwise, it was always the same: a build-up in their moaning, a few yelps, and then some white spunk would ooze out of the ends of their cocks.
Jim Morrison surely exaggerated the intensity of his Mister Mojo big bang but I guess rock stars are allowed some hyperbole. I never heard one that sounded like what he faked for "L.A. Woman."
My charge for swallowing a blown customer's jism was pretty steep, and thus many of them settled for having their cocks hand stroked at the end. Thus I certainly saw the result of those climaxes. It wasn't that I found the taste of semen disgusting, but having a stranger put his gooey load into my throat was not particularly appealing either. "Facials" were even messier, and thus another step up in price.
It was all a business to me and everything was a procedure to be negotiated and, if necessary, I would make non-negotiable demands. Every week I had lists of guys who called me on the phone or who had approached me on the campus. I had to balance my desire for money against the stresses and strains of what the jobs required. Sometimes I just had something else to do, although less and less of that was schoolwork.
This is a good place to mention the role of make-up, specifically lipstick, in blowjobs. For a small extra fee, I would apply red, pink, orange, or some other color to my lips to help convince a customer to take a deal. They liked seeing some cosmetics left on their "dipsticks" as I worked on their dicks, and thus I applied the Maybelline or whatever brand it was heavily enough so that a noticeable amount was always smeared on their erect cocks.
It only took me a few seconds to prepare that technique, and most johns got a thrill from seeing their stiff rods daubed with a bright hue as they thrust themselves into my mouth.
Brian's Challenge
I've got one notable frottage or "hip-swaying" story to tell. My ass-to-crotch grinding abilities became somewhat well-known among the men on campus. One day, a guy on the South Campus approached me with a challenge. He claimed that if he kept his trousers up, I wouldn't be able to get him to ejaculate no matter how vigorously I rubbed against him. Thus, he wouldn't owe me my usual charge.
His proposal baffled me. He didn't want to come from my efforts, and he was not going to pay as he assumed I would try and fail. I had to know his reasoning. "So what are you going to get out of all this?"
He rather smugly replied, "I just want to prove that you are not as hot and sexy as you think you are."
I had met a few of his kind before. He resented that I used my sexuality to make money, and that violated his view of what a woman should be like. To him, I was the "whore" as opposed to the "Madonna" trope.
If given a chance, I supposed men like him would beat my ass thoroughly in a punishment spanking, but I wouldn't do that for any amount of money. They thought they'd teach me a lesson for my evil ways. However, I ran my game my way, and I would never tolerate that. I also guessed that he planned to masturbate later imagining our time together.
Also, I was sure I could do it even with his pants up, but I didn't brag about it. "All right, let's give it a shot. Keep in mind that if I do succeed, you are going to owe me my usual fee," which I then quoted.
This guy needs to be taken down a few pegs, and I'm just the lady to do it.
"What's your name, anyway?"
He smirked, "It's Brian. And Nora, I know all about you."
Baby, you only think you know anything about me. And I know that you are a fool for doubting my abilities
It was the middle of the day, and he knew a spot to use at the top of a narrow staircase inside Finley Hall. I had been up there once before, and I thought we could get away with it if we didn't take too much time.
It was a mild day, and I only had panties on under my skirt. Once up there, I doffed my underwear and left it lying on the floor. The sight of a lady's discarded knickers incited male lust, which would help me in my task.
All I said was, "Let's do this already," and I turned around and lifted my skirt. I got right to it, moving backwards until my bare buttocks collided with Brian's pelvis. Then it was only a matter of using my very effective and well-rehearsed backside movements to arouse him.
Mixing it up, I moved side to side, up and down, and gyrated my ass in a circular motion. To keep a rhythm going, I usually half-sang a song during such events. That time it was "Mrs. Robinson," which seemed ideal for my ass-swiveling games. The railing at the top of the stairs was there for me to hold on to and maintain some balance.
It all went exactly as I knew it would. Within a few moments, I could feel Brian's erection spring up inside his clothes. Seconds later, he grasped my hips and began moaning. "Oh Nora, Nora, that feels so good."
He was one of those annoying tricks who insisted on chanting my name. No matter, he was going to climax rather quickly -- almost all tricks did -- and I was going to get his money.
I couldn't help but needle him a bit about his sexual frenzy. "This is a piece of cake, isn't it? But I knew it would be," By then, he was too busy thrusting and humping against me to respond.
When Brian came, he yelped loudly. I could feel him spurting several times inside his pants. A warm wetness leaked through his clothes and I could feel that against my own flesh. When he was done, he fell to his knees and put his arms around my waist.
The level of affection offended me, and I broke away from him. I still used a bit of humor, because there was an air of comedy about the proceedings. "Come on Brian, I gave you an orgasm. That doesn't mean we're going steady or something."