This story fits into the serial “My Summer with Nora” between Chapters 6 and 7. It is happening in the late summer of 1974. Paul and Nora met at City College in upper Manhattan.

In this story, they both engage in half-serious rants in which they express their ambivalence about how they met and what they did when she was in the last days of her freshman-year hooking career. This is close to, or just beyond actually, the halfway point in their four-month relationship.

One unusually warm day in September, Nora invited me out to her house in Maspeth, Queens. It was a Thursday, and neither one of us had classes that day.

Usually, for those kinds of visits, I’d arrive there sometime before noon when her uncle was still at work. We’d chat for a bit, and even maybe have a drink together. Despite it being relatively early in the day she’d joke, “Hey, this is our brunch drink, isn’t it?”

Then, being the two horny college students that we were, we’d do what horny college students do: have sex. That might occur up in her bedroom, or maybe in the living room. If she was feeling frisky, it might be in the kitchen on the table, or with her perched on a counter.

We’d usually start with a bout of oral sex first, taking turns going down on each other. Then, a bit later, we’d couple, often with me on top first. After that, she’d get on top of me, or offer me a rear-entry position.

Being the kinky girl that she was, sometimes she wanted me to give her a bare-behind spanking, which primed her even more for intercourse. Both of us were nineteen, and we had plenty of energy to satisfy each other.

It wasn’t until later, in October, that she demonstrated that her dormant dominatrix skills were still sharp. She inflicted a pretty intense punishment on me and I proved to be quite kinky too. I had a very insistent erection during the whole event. However, she stuck with authenticity and did not give me a sexual release at the end.

Instead, she threw me out of the house and I didn’t see her for another three days. I certainly gave myself some sexual releases while imagining her disciplining me with various implements, including simply her hands. On the fourth day, I was invited back to Maspeth, and I really made up for lost time on that day.

Anyway, after our fun and games, we would get into her Mustang and drive somewhere in Queens for a late lunch. (A chick with her own ride! Yet that was fine with me.) She was quite relaxed about dating, and she didn’t require three-star restaurants. Sometimes she’d even split the check with me, although she never paid for the whole bill.

So there I was, starting my sophomore year, with my relatively new (two months), first-ever girlfriend (she was the first one I had even kissed) and I thought I was in college guy heaven. I had never expected that I would start out so well on the first time out.

Despite her unconventional past, I loved her. And she did indeed have a very unconventional past. I didn’t know it when I first met her, but she had spent her freshman year as a part-time hooker. She would turn tricks both on the campus and at the house in Maspeth. As I will describe below, I actually started as one of her customers.

By September, she was out of that field and living a conventional life as a young student. Not only was she very sexy, but she was smart and funny too. I wouldn’t call her “sweet,” because she had a very edgy side at times, but she could also be affectionate when she was in the right mood.

One thing was certain: I was never bored when I was with her. We always had plenty to talk about.

Yet on that particular September day, I could tell that something was different as soon as she opened the door. Instead of coming forward to kiss me, she stepped back and gave me a dead-eyed look. She didn’t even say anything.

I looked her over. She was fairly tall, with dark-blonde hair that came down to her shoulders, plus she had steel-rimmed glasses. It would be another couple of weeks before she got her first bob-cut hairdo.

She was wearing some of her bad girl hot-weather clothes: a white blouse that exposed her midriff, a short black skirt with white dots, and white sandals. Of course, I speculated about what kind of panties, if any, she had on. Soon she’d also be upgrading her wardrobe for a more adult look, but that hadn’t happened yet either.

After a couple of seconds, I said simply, “Hey, Nora.”

She crooked a finger at me and said, “Come in here, I want to talk to you.”

Some paranoid thoughts went through my mind. She’s not going to dump me here and now, is she? Why would she do that?

In the living room, she pointed to a chair that was at a right angle to the couch. “Sit over there.” Then she took her own position on the sofa to my right. Why didn’t she want me to sit next to her?

Nora turned to me and immediately got into her act, “I know you’ve been looking at me since you walked into the class in January.”

For a moment, I was completely baffled. She was speaking as if it were still last May or June.

“Don’t pretend that you don’t know what I’m talking about. You think you’re so smart but hey baby, I’ve been on to you for a long time.”

I suddenly got that she was playing a game, a sort of role with me. I didn’t know her motive yet, but I knew her well enough to understand that she was capable of doing some pretty good acting.

I tried a neutral response, “I don’t know, maybe I have been, maybe I haven’t.”

“Oh please, you’ve been there, two seats over, and you’ve been salivating over me. You’ve been trying to look up my skirts, you’ve been checking out my ass when I wear jeans, you’re been scoping out my tits, especially when I have a halter top on.”

I was getting indications that this revisiting of the recent past wasn’t all tongue-in-cheek. There was something aggressively nasty about whatever she was doing with me, even if it was partially faked. I tried a push-back as an experiment. “It might help if you weren’t displaying yourself like that all of the time.”

“You’ve got some nerve, you horny little twerp. I’ll wear whatever I want, whenever I want.”

I was feeling the first flush of anger; my face was warming up with emotion. She kept ragging on me, “You’re saving up memories of me for your gross masturbation fantasies, I know that for sure. So what do you think about during these whack-off sessions?”

I had to decide how to play this conversation as if it were really happening last May or thereabouts. I went with a mixture of honesty plus some cockiness to show that I wasn’t intimidated by her.