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, hands, or anus were 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 that 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 both the North and South Campuses, and he constantly was asking me for dates. One time he said, “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 that 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 that 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 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 barely knew 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 pussy. 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; he pushed the quilt partially out of the way. I aimed it so that he mostly ejaculated onto the car’s 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. And 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 thinking about 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. I was just a sexual object to them.

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 the 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 key. 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, in fact, was with one of the editors of The Campus in their office.

There was always that tunnel under Convent Avenue between Shepherd and Baskerville. It was lightly used and would work for an occasional handjob and or blowjob. A Wackenhut guard came through once 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 did. 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 at him, my 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 splattering all over the floor.

Some customers paid to be “fluffed.” I would gyrate my 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 ass 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, 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.