Those of you who have read my memoirs like “Nora Explains Herself,” “Fantasies of a Young Dominatrix,” and “Nora Turns a Trick” know that I had two periods of being a hooker while in college. In my freshman year at the City College of New York, I was a part-time, completely ad hoc, and self-employed prostitute. I decided to never do vaginal sex for pay, but almost everything else was on the table.

In my senior year, I was talked into being a part-time, semi-professional dominatrix. Probably, I may have actually been employed by the Mafia, but I had a higher class of clientele. I didn’t have to deal with getting them off, although they could masturbate while looking at me at the end if they paid for it. I had a safe place to work, a BDSM club in the off hours. Also, I had another young student as my “handler” (call her a madam) who guided me through the job.

I preferred to think of myself as a hooker or working girl. The words prostitute and whore bothered me for some reason. After my graduation in 1977, I was never in the business again.

*****

What I haven’t described yet is my senior year at James Buchanan High School in Maspeth, Queens, NY. Starting in September 1972, I got started in what seemed like schoolgirl pranks. In reality, at the age of seventeen, I had stumbled into being a sex worker.

I am not extraordinary looking, although some guys have said I was pretty or cute. At that time, I had dark blonde hair down to my shoulders and steel-rimmed glasses. I am about five-seven, and I was in decent physical shape, but my butt and breasts were on the compact side. I rarely wore any make-up except lipstick once in a while.

By then, blue jeans were the standard for students, but I often preferred to wear a skirt or even a dress. Yes, I liked looking feminine, although my personality was all over the place. I would wear thigh-high socks, often with colored bands, knee socks (but never white ones; too Catholic school, I guess), pantyhose, or in the winter, woolen tights. I wasn’t one of those teen chicks with tiny halter tops or short-shorts. I didn’t want to attract that much attention to myself.

Before my junior year, I had moved into my uncle’s house in Maspeth, and my local public school was Buchanan. Perhaps because I was a “newcomer,” I never quite felt comfortable there, although I wasn’t shunned either.

I was a good student; however, I knew that Emily Dickinson and Matthew Arnold were not topics to bring up with my classmates. I kept “my life has stood, a loaded gun,” to myself, although I got what she was talking about.

Senior year seemed to be a repeat of junior year (of course!), but I could start looking forward to getting out of the place. Early on, another senior named Ethan developed a crush on me, and he didn’t hide it. He was constantly asking me for dates, for one thing. I had nothing against him, but I had no interest in dating anyone.

One day, he waylaid me in a stairwell first first-floor landing. He was babbling something annoying. I don’t know where the idea came from, but I said, “Ethan, if you give me a dollar, I’ll show you my panties. Then will you go away for the rest of the day?”

He was all for it. “That sounds great. It will give me more to jerk off about.”

I don’t think he realized how crude he had been. Seventeen-year-old males are rarely very slick. But he gave me a dollar, and I beckoned him to go under the stairs with me. There was no one else around at that moment, so I lifted my skirt and twirled around. I had nice pink underpants with white polka dots. He got about ten seconds to look, but he was very happy. “Oh, Nora, that’s so nice of you.”

My first john and he said something stupid. Dummy, I’m not nice, I just want your money.

****

Two days later, a Friday, he saw me in a skirt again, and he already had his dollar out. That time, we had to find a place with some privacy. On the second floor, we went into an empty classroom and I locked the door.

I sat on a desk, and he gazed at my white panties and black nylon knee socks. We had time for maybe thirty seconds of peeping, and he was thrilled. “Nora, you are the best girl in the world.” I saw evidence of that as his stiff cock pushed his pants out. That was fast, but it probably started before we had entered the room.

When I was done, I just left him there and didn’t say goodbye. Johns got what they paid for, I understood that. Later at college, a few of them paid just to talk to me about their sexual woes.

As for Ethan, I knew he had a monkey on his back: me, or to be accurate, my body. The monkey on my back was that I had found a reliable source of walking-around money.

*****

It only got better, or to be more accurate, more profitable. On Tuesday, I was at my locker when Ethan came up to me with another senior I recognized as Benett, or just Ben.

“Nora, could we talk to you in private?”

I instantly knew what they wanted. “Come over to the side here.”

I waited and let them talk first. Ben said, “Ethan told me about that, you know, that thing you do.”

“You mean that panty thing, I assume. Just be straight about it.”

He was blushing. “Yeah, that’s it.”

Ethan added the crucial detail. “What we want is to look at you at the same time.”

I can think fast on my feet, which was helpful for what I was drifting into. “You can see I don’t have a skirt on today, so it will have to be tomorrow” Before either could respond, I continued, “I’m going to charge you $3 for the whole thing.”

Ethan protested. “Why the extra dollar?” He had assumed that my first charge to him would merely double with his friend there.

I made up some bullshit and they accepted it. “Because it’s more complicated that way.”

“There’s a place down in the basement we can go.”

We realized we’d have to do it at the end of the next school day, but that seemed workable.

*****

I decided to give them their money’s worth, and I arrived at school with black thigh-high stockings and my cutest lacy black panties on under my skirt. I met them on the first floor and they gave me my money.

Both of them were talking excitedly to each other on the stairs down to the basement, but I was quiet. Don’t say more than you have to. There was a small room there, but the door didn’t lock. Oh well. At least there was a table, which was a fine place for me to sit. I got up there, pulled my skirt up, and spread my legs.

“Oh God, Ethan, you were right, she’s got beautiful panties.”

“I told you it would be worth it.”

It was obvious that my underwear was more important than the person wearing it.

“Hey, honey, smile for us.” So they did notice my face, at least.

I replied, quite deadpan, “Smiling costs extra.” Being able to improvise like that would become an advantage.

They seemed to find the condition I had set hilarious. “She’s just messing with us.”

“No, I’m quite serious.”

But I was having an impact on them. Both of them had erections pushing their pants out. Without thinking about it, probably, they started rubbing the crotches of their trousers. I hadn’t given them permission to do that, but neither had I forbidden it. Perhaps they might ejaculate into their pants. I had heard that some guys could do that.

I gave them at least five minutes to view me. Then I said, “Okay, boys, that’s it. I’m going now.”

Ethan said, “Please, Nora, wait until we’re finished jerking off.” He didn’t specify if they were going to take their cocks out or not. But I got up and started walking out. Already, I was considering how to take my act up to a higher level, but that was for some other day.

As I went out the door, I heard Ethan bitterly say, “You whore, we’re going to do it anyway after you leave.” That wasn’t worth responding to. As I left the building, I imagined whatever they were doing down there. It was the first time I was truly aware of the sexual power I could exert.

*****

It was more power than I had anticipated. I soon had trouble with too much attention, and I also wanted to see how far I could raise my prices. I couldn’t do much about the latter unless I was willing to do more provocative acts.

First of all, I should have known this, but word about me and my panties soon spread among many of the males in the senior class; even a few juniors knew about me. If I had thought about it, maybe I would have attempted to swear Ethan and Ben to secrecy, although they probably would have promised and then talked about me anyway.

But maybe I shouldn’t complain, because by accident I had developed a bigger customer base through a time-tested business tactic: word-of-mouth. Unlike other teens, I didn’t have to work a job outside of school – usually paying the state minimum wage of $1.85 per hour – to have some money in my purse.

However it had happened, by a week after my basement encounter with those two boneheads, guys were approaching me almost every day in the hallways. They sometimes knew about Ethan’s original $1 peep, but I figured with that much demand, I could charge $2. A few turned me down because of the cost, but the surging hormones of my teen schoolmates pushed many of them to accept my price.

When Ethan came back to me, usually once per week, I honored our original $1 agreement. I knew what the term “turning a trick” meant, but I maintained the delusion that I was not actually doing that. I convinced myself that I wasn’t really a prostitute but merely a clever girl who had discovered what her classmates were willing to pay for.

In fact, I was now in a position to turn down other students. Despite my greed, I didn’t feel like using too much of my free time doing that dumb activity. I probably averaged about five times per week with my panty “sessions.”

I liked being able to make my own decisions. I had the same attitude at college, but after a while there, I grew wary that the police or a pimp would discover me. My high school actions seemed trivial – I guess there was some truth in that – and I knew the amounts of cash involved were piddling even if they were sufficient for an adolescent like me.

A few of those guys told me where they had gotten their money. Some of them worked after-school jobs. Others had savings accounts set up by their relatives. I felt no guilt about taking money probably intended for college. If these people are dumb enough to pay for what I was offering, then it was their problem.

I also had to find a place to take these various new customers. Quite a few of them had a parent or parents who worked during the day, and we would (quite foolishly, I know now) go to their houses for my panty-viewings. One guy even had me come to his home on a Saturday.

*******

Yet I wasn’t above earning some extra money, and my clients soon provided me with ideas of how to do that. On one October afternoon, I was in the house of a tall dude named Neil. I did my showings in their living rooms; I didn’t dare go upstairs with them. Of course, that left us vulnerable if anybody came back early, but my luck held out and that never happened.

He had already paid my $2 at school, and I took my jacket off and sat on his sofa. He stood in front of me and said, “Come on, Nora, take your panties off and show me your bare crotch.”

“I don’t do that, and you should have heard about that already.”

He confessed something to me. “The thing is, I’d like to jerk off while looking at you.”

Maybe I was a natural at harlotry, but I was inspired. “All right, you can do that, but it’s going to cost you.”

“How much?”

I just made up something. “Five dollars, with the extra three payable right now.” You are going to show me yours, but I’m not showing you mine.

He didn’t grumble like I had expected, but he took out his wallet. “You’ve got a deal.” Yes, I used the word deal myself often in the next two years. “If you would excuse me, I’ve got to get some hand cream, you know, for lubrication.”

I shrugged. “Go ahead, take your time.”

When he came back, he said, “If it’s okay with you, I’m going to kneel on the floor in front of you.”

“Go ahead, but you better not get any on me.” Over time, I would have a number of Johns who aimed poorly. As he knelt, I said, “You should move back more.” I had heard that some young guys could fire a long way. Philip Roth was exaggerating a bit in Portnoy’s Complaint, but not by much.

We both got ready. I put my feet on the cushion, opened my legs, and revealed my fairly modest schoolgirl panties. I think they were blue with white stripes.

Neil undid his trousers and took his already erect cock out. I had seen stiff dicks in some explicit magazines that one of the girls at school had shown me. Neil’s house was the first time I had viewed one, stiff or not, in person. I must say that Neil’s was rather impressive in size and length. He wasted no time in lubing up and then stroking himself as his left hand gripped the base.

He was also quite talkative, while I mostly just watched. “Oh Nora, I’ve whacked off so many times, but I never had a real girl watch me before.” As opposed to the unreal girls of your imagination? I didn’t ask him what he was imagining right then. Probably it was copulating with me on the couch.

At least I had something to look at for the ten minutes or so it took for Neil to climax. Near the end, he was chanting, “I’m going to come, I’m really going to come.” I would learn that everybody said about the same thing when approaching the peak; even I did.

I have seen many men ejaculate since then, but Neil’s shot was among the better ones. Alexander Portnoy would have been proud. As he yelled something I couldn’t understand, a thin but impressive white stream came out of this cock. It went up and out a long way, and I unexpectedly said, “Oh my God.”

He kept stroking to get the final drops out. Then he fell backwards and sat on the floor. When he could talk, he said, “Nora, that was so good. I know I could do it again in a moment.”

“Do you have another five dollars?”

“Not on me, but my credit is good.”

“So you say, but I require the money up front. Otherwise, you can do it again after I’m gone.”

I moved briskly to stand up and get my jacket back on. As I walked towards the door, I heard Neil say, “Nora, are you a virgin?”

I should have kept going, but instead I stopped. “Why do you want to know?”

“Because I’d love to put my load into that hot pussy of yours.”

I was blushing with both embarrassment and anger, but I kept my voice down. “Neil, you really should just shut up now.”

“But honey...”

I went out the front door, and I hoped he wouldn’t pull his pants up and follow me. Instead, I guessed he wanted that second bout of masturbation with or without me.

Out in the street, I was just another Maspeth girl, a “good girl” by all appearances. Nothing about my demeanor or clothes would give away what I really was becoming. I passed the single and two-family houses that predominated in that part of the neighborhood.

I am seventeen going on eighteen. Well, that was really Rolf, but he was fictional, the same as Liesel. Yet a line had been crossed that day with Neil. For the first time, I had witnessed the sexual act that previously had happened after I was gone.

That night in my bed, I was surprised at how horny I was. I didn’t want Neil, just his big but disembodied cock. If guys could reduce me to a set of genitals, then I could do the same with them. That would happen many times later, after I had entered college.

My favorite sex toy was the thick wooden handle of my hairbrush. That and my eager fingers worked just fine. I came very intensely that night, and I banged my feet against the mattress instead of crying out in pleasure. Then I did it again.

Afterwards, I knew Neil would blab about me in the school. Maybe I could have found him the next day and made him promise to keep quiet about our jerk-off encounter. Then I remembered how easy it was to make that $5. I had fooled myself again. Men might want to write on me, but instead I was the one writing on them.

Hey, I’m not a prostitute, I’m a stripper. Again, I remembered Roth and Portnoy. That fine young man revealed the motives for going to a Burlesque theater. Most of the patrons would masturbate in their seats while watching the ladies disrobe. Alex used his baseball glove, which seemed amusing.

I didn’t realize how much of their bodies strippers revealed, the importance of costumes, music, a rudimentary amount of dancing, and so forth. I soon had a wake-up call.

*******

One afternoon in late October, I was leaving school. Unlike most girls, I had a book bag rather than trying to carry all of that stuff in my arms. A tall older guy came up to me and said, “Are you Nora Meara?”

I guessed that he was about twenty. I replied, “Do I know you?”

“No, but my younger brother goes here. He knows you. Dark blonde hair, steel-rimmed glasses. I guessed it was you.”

I was a bit dismayed about how word-of-mouth about me was now going beyond Buchanan High. In later years, I wouldn’t have been surprised.

“So what do you want?” even though I already could guess. I beckoned him to step to the side where we wouldn’t be overheard.

“He told me about your little peep shows. I’d like you to come out to Queens College and do one for my frat brothers. By the way, I’m Mike.” I knew enough not to say, pleased to meet you.

Obviously, the event would be at their house. I did one of my first big-girl negotiations. “How many guys are going to be there?”

“Probably about seven or eight.”

That was going to a higher league in whoredom if I did that. But I also guessed that I could charge more. I winged it, and I was blunt. “That’s going to cost you more, say $7.00.”

Both of us were very naive and we had no experience with the prices of these acts. He winced, “I thought you charged five for these things.” He must have heard about Neil and one other guy who had done the same thing with me.

I explained, “All of you surely can put that much together.”

He had even more expectations. “We’d also like you to do bare beaver for us.”

I had never done that, but I was developing a knack for the business. “Let me make sure we understand each other. I’m coming out there so you can all beat off, at the same time, while I show you my crotch? A big circle jerk, in other words.”

“Of course, exactly that.”

An inspiration came to me. “I don’t do bare, but I could get a pair of see-through panties. You know, the ones with the sheer cloth. My bush would show through those.”

He waffled, “I’d have to check with my guys, but that would probably work.”

I set more guidelines. “Okay, each of you can come once at that price, and then I’m leaving. Absolutely no touching of me anywhere on my person. Also, I want a ride out there and back, a cab or one of you will drive me.” It was only a few miles away, but transit connections there were difficult.

“All right, I’ll take you in my car.”

I wasn’t going to give him my phone number, but I needed to make further arrangements. “You’ve got a phone there? We’ll have to work out a time to bring me money and another to get me for this little party.” He wrote it out for me on an old receipt. Something else to consider: Hookers don’t waste time on irrelevant topics. “All right, you can go now.”

He looked like he was eager to chat with this very bad girl, but I just turned around and walked away. Another first: I felt like I was vibrating with tension, both anticipation and anxiety.

********

A couple of days later, I called the frat in the evening and got Mike on the first try. I asked, “So what’s up?”

He answered, “They agreed to the seven and the see-throughs.”

“Good, first we’ll pick a date where you can bring the cash to me outside the school.” I wasn’t getting into his car before I’d been paid.

“I was thinking, why do we have to pay in advance? How do we know you’ll go through with it?”

I was pretty naïve, as I have said before, but I knew what to say. “Because that’s the way these things are done; you pay upfront. Besides, you know that I’m a student at that school; I can’t just disappear.”

“When you eat at a good restaurant, you pay after the meal.”

“This is more like Blimpie Base. You don’t get your sandwich until you hand over the cash.”

Without any basis for his argument, he said, “You must be a pretty low-class whore if you operate like a sandwich shop.”

That really stung, and I felt like hanging up. But I thought of the easy money I was going to make. “Ask around, Mike. It’s always pay to play.” I knew I was right.

The next day, he drove to my school and gave me the money.

*****

A few days later, I was waiting at a corner near school when Mike drove up again in his white Chevrolet Camaro. After I got in, I attempted to start a conversation with him, and I thought his car would be a good topic. The main point was just to pass the time on the ride out there.

“So what year is this?”

“It’s a ’71.”

“Do you have a V-6 or a V-8?” I knew that a straight-six was also offered, but I figured he’d tell me if that was so.

He looked over at me and gave me a strange look, like he was annoyed or something. “Why do you want to know?”

“Just curious, that’s all.”

I expected him to continue. Guys often brag about their cars. Instead, he said, “You don’t need to know that.” I assumed that he didn’t think cars were a proper subject for girls to discuss.

But I’ve always been able to read people well, and an intuition came to me. It was a guess on my part, but I said, “You really don’t know, do you?” A lot of Americans don’t know how many cylinders their cars have. The vehicle looked stylish, and that was enough.

I must have struck a nerve because he immediately got angry. “You’re such a smart-ass little cunt.” He was red-faced, not only from anger, but because of his own ignorance.

Hookers often experience a lot of verbal abuse. “Listen, Mike, you can just turn around and take me back. You can tell your frat buddies that you messed up.”

“You already have the money.” I had it at home, not on me. “You’ll do the fucking job you were paid to do.” A job; the truth of that struck me.

I wanted to call him an “asshole” and get out of the car at the next stoplight, but we were already on the ramp to the Long Island Expressway. Control yourself, Nora, you’ll never see him again after today. I stared straight ahead through the windshield and said nothing further during the trip.

In a few minutes, we pulled up in front of an old house a couple of blocks west of the campus. Mike led me into their club room, where he would be the eighth guy in the group. A cheer went up from his frat mates, and they all started making comments about me.

“Hey, here’s the little whore now.”

“Mike, she sure is cute.”

“Honey, take your glasses off. Guys don’t make passes at girls who wear glasses.” I wanted to tell him that he was quoting Dorothy Parker, but I was learning to watch what I said. It wasn’t until a year later that I was able to be more assertive with clients.

They were having beer, and I knew they hadn’t gotten to the hard liquor yet because that would have hindered their masturbation. I wasn’t feeling particularly festive at that point. I took my coat off and sat in the chair they had set up for me. It faced the eight guys who sat in their own chairs in front of me. Maybe they noticed how jangled I was, but I tried to remain outwardly calm.

“Come on, baby, show us that sweet pussy of yours.”

I remained as focused as I could. “It would be nice if I had a coffee table or something to rest my feet on.”

At least three of them jostled each other to get a table for me. Then they all started chanting. “Show us your cunt, show us your cunt...”

They were already starting to take their pants and drawers down. It seemed that all of them had erections already. That was another first for me, that hooker feeling of dissociation. It felt that I was merely a witness to all that, not a participant.

“Whack off time, whack off time...!”

You’d better get started on this. With guys this young, it shouldn’t take too long for them all to finish. My shoes went up on the table, I spread my legs apart, and showed them what they had paid to see. I had a pair of thigh-high gray stockings and then my new transparent red panties. I had chosen red for the symbolic impact it had. Red implied that I was sexually aroused and that my body was glowing with desire. Yes, I had lifted the idea from The Naked Ape, and the author’s comments about the flushed skin of lustful females. 

“Jesus, I can see her hairy pussy.”

“Sweetie, I love those panties.”

“How old are you, anyway?”

I answered truthfully, “Seventeen.”

“Man, a bad high school chick. Your principal should give you a good spanking.”

Then I reminded them, “You all paid to come only once.”

Fortunately, they were all eager to get off quickly. I sat there and noticed the different ways that men masturbated. Some of them had a one-handed technique while others used two hands. The second hand would be used to grip their cocks at the base.

About half of them took out some kind of lotion for lubrication, while the rest used a dry rub. I wondered if any of them were not virgins. They all appeared to be no older than twenty. As they concentrated on their own pleasure, their banter against me dropped off but still continued.

“Baby, I’d love to fuck you.”

“She’s such a dirty piece of tail.”

I glanced over at Mike, who had his eyes closed, but he was happily jerking away with the rest of them.

With that much presumably novel stimulation, it didn’t take long. I didn’t time it, but it seemed that once one went off, they all did. Streams of semen went up and out and pattered down on the floor. Moans of pleasure filled the room. One guy groaned, “Sweetheart, I just love you.”

Yeah, you love your own cock, not me. Johns would often confuse their lust with “love.”

A few moments later, they all chatted with each other about their sexual prowess and how they had just demonstrated it. I closed my legs and started to get up.

Someone yelled, “Where are you going?”

“This isn’t fair; we were just getting warmed up.”

I considered the situation. “If we do that again, it will be another seven dollars.”

Somebody said, “You really are a stingy twat, you know that?"

“What did you just say?”

“You heard me, you’re such an arrogant whore.”

That was only the second time someone in the room had used that word to describe me, and it enraged me. And you’re pretty ungrateful for a customer. That was completely irrelevant, I knew. Perhaps I had been feeling relief that I could leave, and suddenly I wasn’t sure what to do. I’m never doing anything like this again, that's for sure.

I was trying to formulate a response but surprisingly, it was Mike who came to my defense. “Look, Nora was thoughtful enough to come out here for us. I say give her the usual five dollars for this time.”

“That’s her name, Nora?”

Oh God, they hadn’t even known my name. I was just a set of genitals with a woman attached to move them around.

“Make her take her panties off this time.”

Mike said, “She bought a pair of see-throughs for this. Let’s give her some credit.” He was an odd hero indeed.

The group had started to pull their pants up and get some hard liquor. That would slow them down, but I felt I had better take the five dollars and be done with it.

Then somebody said, “Yeah, three cheers for Nora.”

I swear they all were chanting, “Hip hip hooray! Hip hip hooray!”

Then another guy had a new take on it. “If you can see us jerk off, we want to see you do it at the same time. Spread your lips and show us the pink.”

I was trying to think of a way of refusing when Mike came to my aid yet again. “Guys, we’ve already agreed to this. The next time we’ll talk more about it.” That implied that another go-round was going to happen at a later date.

That feeling of disassociation kept me going even though I was losing my nerve for that gig. It took the group a bit of time to get the wind back in their sails, but not that long. Again, I heard various wisecracks and insults.

“Hey Nora, do you like my big dick?”

“Next time, sweetie, you’re going to work your clit for us.”

Just before one of them ejaculated, he said, “Oh Nora, I’d like to put this hot load up your ass.”

His companion, a few moments behind him in the semen race, said, “Yeah, sluts like this will always do anal. They think they’re pure that way.”

He had inadvertently mentioned a tactic I would indeed use a year later. I would never in my life do vaginal sex for pay, but I did do anal about three times. I can’t remember how many blowjobs, handjobs, and other acts I did, but I never lacked for business in bringing men to their climaxes. I just made sure never to facilitate mass circle jerks again.

****

I had Mike drive me to a block around the corner from my house. “So you live here? Which house?”

“Near here somewhere.”

He was cheerful at that point. “So Nora, call me soon and we’ll talk about the next steps.”

There weren’t going to be any next steps, but I could put that off indefinitely. “Yeah, sure,” and I got out. I can’t recall what Greek letters his frat had. Fortunately, my uncle wasn’t home. I was feeling rather shaky for sure. I got myself a bottle of beer and a sandwich, and I went up to my room.

As I sat against my headboard, and under my distress I felt shame unlike what I had felt previously with my schoolmates. Then I remembered how easy it was to make that $12 for one fairly brief job. With virtually no effort (I assumed), I was draining stupid jerks of their money.

That was another turning point for me. I could have just quit what I was doing. Instead, I was imagining new angles to profit from my racket. I didn’t fully understand why I was doing it, however. I had been lonely and without a purpose for a long time. Underneath, I knew I was merely distracting myself from the truth. Yet I’d have to quit that life three times by the age of twenty-two before I finally accepted what was best for me.

#####

The prices in this are just guesses. Anyway, all of the people in this are too young to know what they are doing.