My Summer With Nora
Copyright© 2020 by elevated_subways
Chapter 9: The Last Days
Fiction Sex Story: Chapter 9: The Last Days - A college student becomes the client of the campus hooker. However, in a surprise, he turns it around for his own benefit during their session.
Caution: This Fiction Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa Consensual NonConsensual Romantic Heterosexual Fiction School BDSM MaleDom FemaleDom Humiliation Spanking Masturbation Oral Sex Petting Public Sex Prostitution Revenge
This is about the end of the affair of Paul and his first girlfriend, Nora, at the City College of New York in the fall of 1974.
In the middle of October, Nora started to do what is now called “ghosting.” First, she didn’t show up at The Salient office; then she stopped taking my phone calls. I looked around campus for her, but I didn’t see her.
After more than ten days of this, by coincidence I saw her being driven up Convent Avenue by some guy in a Triumph Stag convertible. It stopped near 135th Street so that she could get out. The top was up, so the guy didn’t notice me. I saw enough of him to notice that he was older, maybe about twenty-eight.
When Nora saw me she shook her head. Then she put a finger to her mouth to make the “shushing” gesture. I wasn’t supposed to talk to her at that point. Then she just left and walked down Convent Avenue.
Nora called me the next day and told me to meet her outside Finley. I wondered why it wouldn’t be inside the building.
I was standing there when she came up. Her clothes were what would now be called “business casual.” These included a blazer and nice pair of trousers.
She didn’t say anything, and I grasped that her tactic was to talk to me standing up, not for us to be more comfortable sitting down.
A lot of things were going through my mind. Who is this guy and what does he have that I don’t? (Obviously it was more money, a car, and a good job.) You’ve betrayed me. We said we loved each other. Then I was back to that other guy again. I see, now you don’t have to worry anymore about part-time hooking or Burger King or your upcoming useless B.A. in history.
All I said was, “You could have warned me, or at least called me in the last week.”
She put her hands up, “Look, Paul, take my advice; just let go of it.”
“How can I do that? I’m really hurting.”
“I know that, but you’ll get over it.”
I asked her, “Are you quitting the paper?”
“No, I’m going back.”
“How am I going to stand having you around there?”
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