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 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 or anus was 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 this 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. “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 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 this 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 this 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 this 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.” Later on, I would charge them extra if they wanted to ejaculate into my mouth. I also had a lesser 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 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 had just met 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 cunt. I still remember that skirt: it was short and 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 a bit over five 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. Also, I pushed the quilt back somewhat. Somehow it seemed important that it didn't get wet. Anyway,  I aimed his dick so that he mostly ejaculated onto his own 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. Yet 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. (The amount would be about $150 in today’s money.)

“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 starting to realize 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.”

“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 which 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 try not to 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 anyway. I was just a sexual object to them in any case.

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. I had decided that I wouldn’t take any man vaginally or let him spank me, but everything else was open to negotiation. In fact, within a week, I had my first anal intercourse. I tried, by trial and error, to get my prices in line with reality.

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 this small men’s 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 always 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 beat 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 men’s 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 of them lined up on the third floor of Finley.

It 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 keys. In those cases, we would open the door, look sheepish, and get out as fast as possible. After a while, people would recognize me anyway as Nora, the campus hooker. My first anal, if fact, was with one of the editors of The Campus in their office.

There was always that tunnel under Convent Avenue between Finley and Baskerville. It was lightly used and would work for an occasional handjob and, once, a blowjob. For that one, a Wackenhut guard came through and caught us in mid-suck. He just laughed and kept going. They weren’t paid enough to do any real security work.

I met one guy who had the keys to a little room in Cohen Library. There was nothing in there except for a desk and two chairs. The problem was that he had very little money, not enough for what I usually charged. We agreed that I would do a peep-show act for him, without the glass between us of course.

I leaned over the desk, lifted my skirt, and took my panties off. I waved my bare hindquarters in the air at him, pussy and everything else down there visible to him. He sat in one of the chairs and masturbated as he watched me from behind.

It didn’t seem worth wasting the time, so I read my sociology textbook as I did this. I could hear him moaning louder and louder until I knew he was climaxing. Then I heard the sound of something pattering down on the floor. I looked back, and I saw that he had ejaculated a big load up and out into the air. The sound was the noise of his semen coming back down and spattering all over the floor.

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

One of them made me a bet that I couldn’t make him come if he kept his trousers up as I rubbed my bare behind 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 kind of embarrassing for him because it left a big wet spot right on the crotch of his pants.

****

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, that he pay me for whatever activity he wanted.

However, he had a bad case of “oneitis,” as it’s now called, and it had to be that girl or nobody.

It was around the three-week mark in the business that I decided to start using my house in Maspeth which 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 to, and needless to say, my grades started to suffer. I was pretty distracted anyway, and 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 was developing contempt for the whole lot 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. I was just a body that they could, in effect, use for masturbation. There was no higher purpose for me beyond that.

It was at Maspeth that I had the time and space to do some dominatrix gigs. You’d be surprised at how much sexual guilt survives into this so-called enlightened age of ours. Of course, my beatings and chidings of them simply inspired most of them to masturbate further when they got home on those evenings.

There were two basic ways to inflict punishment on them: over my knees or having them bend over something like a desk. Sometimes they would just bend over and grab their own 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 chide them for being such bad boys. Many of them complained that they couldn’t stop masturbating, which didn’t seem like a problem with me, but it bothered a lot of them. 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.” 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 checks quite nicely if it’s done hard enough. I 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 that could inflict some impressive damage. I never used a true cane, because those require some finesse to use properly without injuring somebody and I never bothered to learn.

Sometimes they wanted a sexual release at the end, with either my mouth or anus as their goal.  For that, of course, I would charge extra. One poor guy was over my knees as I spanked him, and got so excited that he ejaculated all over the lap of my woolen skirt. He had to pay the dry cleaning bill, that was for sure.

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 orgasm without any touching, but that wasn’t true in his case. 

I didn’t have much in the way of costumes. My one business suit came in handy when I wanted to be the stern professor or manager. I also picked up a couple of garter belts and straps, one set black and the other white, and I would wear those with panties, a bra, nylon stockings, and high-heeled shoes.

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

One thing I should mention again: my refusal of vaginal penetration, even if they would wear a rubber. I also refused to be submissive for any price. Some of them were quite disappointed that they couldn’t spank me. After all, I was a very bad girl and I deserved to get my ass whacked really 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.

*****

By the beginning of the second freshmen semester in February 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 girls in 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 in there named Paul who seemed to notice me from the very first day. I ignored him and 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 sluttier clothes. Partially it was just a way to tease him but also because they seemed to fit my new, dirtier personality. I’d wear tight jeans and a halter top, or short 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 were 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 stare 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 this was 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 as payment. He seemed both appalled and excited at the same time. I poured on the charm and he agreed to do it for me.

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 most 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. 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. I understood that he was the first guy at CCNY to like me for who I really was, and that was quite appealing to me.

I still have the paper he wrote for me. It was a review of George Orwell's Homage to Catalonia.

*****

I think having Paul helped inspire me to quit hooking. Another factor happened in Maspeth just after that. 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, I was very excited and I masturbated that night imagining the belt coming down on my backside.

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 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 dressed in my business suit. That caused quite a stir among his colleagues, none of whom knew that 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.

That fall, besides getting serious about my studies again, I changed my appearance. I got a bob cut for my hair, and I got some decent clothes to replace the teenage slut look I had been sporting. Paul really loved me, the first guy who ever did, and it seemed idyllic.

So what happened? Well, I got arrogant. Without really thinking about it, I started to assume that I could arrange a bigger, better deal for myself. Like other things in my life, it seemed to happen by accident. I was on Convent Avenue when a guy pulled up in a Triumph Stag convertible. He said, “Hey, honey, can I give you a ride to the subway?” I had to top that, “You can take me a lot further than that if you want to.”

It turned out that his name was Greg, just like my first customer the year before. He had come up to the school to visit one of his old professors. He was twenty-eight, and he had a good job down on Wall Street. Just like that, I was dating him instead of Paul.

I admit that I had gotten more than a bit full of myself. I figured that Paul was very sweet, but why should I be going with a young liberal arts student with no future prospects when I could get a better deal for myself? Paul didn’t even have a car then, much less a Triumph Stag. He didn’t have his own place either, and he had become dependent on going to the house in Maspeth to see me.

Probably I didn’t handle it very well. I just abruptly disappeared from Paul’s life. When he caught up with me, I announced that I was dumping him for someone else and I said I didn’t want to discuss it further than that.

His feelings were hurt, but he bounced back pretty quickly. Maybe he had learned something from me after all. Within a couple of weeks, he made cold approaches to two other girls – one of them in the good old Finley snack bar and the other on Convent Avenue – and he landed both of them.

We were still on the paper together, and I got to meet both of his new paramours. I warned Paul that he had to be careful and not let these two women find out about each other. Believe it or not, he also met the best friend of the first girl, Michelle. That one was a plump but cute little chick named Judy, and he had a few three-somes with her and Michelle. I suppose I was struck at how far he had come and that he had the balls to pull off stunts like that. 

By the spring of 1976 my former reputation as the campus hooker was fading fast, and I was now a respectable undergraduate and newspaper essayist. I could hold my head up when I walked around the campus, and it’s been quite a while since any man has made an offer to me. Sorry guys, those days are over.

 #####

Shepard Hall and Baskerville still exist, but the other buildings mentioned here have since been demolished.