In Hamilton Heights free porn video

The story of how I landed my first ever girlfriend is pretty unconventional.  At first glance, one would think we were totally unsuited for each other. Yet, although we irked each other at times, for a while we clicked.

Before her, my expectation was that I would meet a “nice” girl, however that was defined. I was looking for something long-term, not merely causal sex. What I did wind up with was more than I had bargained for. This girl was a fellow student, but she also did some amateur hooking around campus to make ends meet.  She was brazen, profane, and she could turn nasty; she had an attitude that said she didn’t give a shit about anything.

Yet I found her to be very witty and smart too. In the right mood, she could be quite affectionate towards me. And Jesus, the sexual stuff she offered to me, including her kinky side, was beyond whatever I had ever hoped for.

She drew me into her web; then I turned it around and pulled her into mine. We’re weren’t particularly subtle about how we did it. She was too brash; I was too inexperienced to do anything but run on instinct. Love can be a wonderful but strange thing.

******

Throughout my freshman modern European history course in the spring of 1974, Nora Meara sat between me and the windows. I caught her name during some first-day introductory chat but I then quickly forgot what her last name was.

Out of habit, most students in college classes gravitated towards the same spot in the room every day. I always kept an empty seat between us. Had I been more experienced and more assertive, I might have simply dropped in right next to her and chatted with her at the beginning and end of each class.

For a while, I noticed her clothes more than anything else. During the winter months, she wore jeans and boots most of the time. As the weather warmed up, I saw more of her body. She went for pullover tops and short skirts. One of my favorites of the latter was a cute blue denim one. Once in a while, she had a mid-length skirt for variety.

If she did wear jeans during the spring months, she invariably had a midriff-baring top. She seemed to need to have a certain amount of herself on display. When I was bored in class I would try to glance over at her; she never seemed to notice. If her navel was exposed I tried to look at that.

On her more numerous skirt-wearing days, she had a habit of splaying her legs out carelessly. I tried to determine what kind of panties she had but I never could get the correct angle for a view. I amused myself by imagining she had no panties at all.

After being in schools of one sort or another for fourteen years, my mind wandered at times in class. As the weeks passed, I assessed her more carefully, comparing her to other girls I had seen but didn’t really know on campus. She was probably about five-foot-seven, but her legginess made her seem taller. I noted her lanky dark-blonde hair, fair skin, and steel-rimmed glasses.

I speculated about socializing with her somehow, even asking her for a date, but I never seemed to get an opening. She rarely – perhaps actually never – participated in class and she had little to say to me. In fact, she said very little to anybody else in the room.

Nora’s attention must have wandered too as she spent a fair amount of time looking out the window. Our building, City College’s Wagner Hall, was on a bluff called Hamilton Heights. Alexander Hamilton had indeed once lived in this neighborhood and his house still stood on Convent Avenue, just north of the campus.

Now, nearly 175 years later, the view from up here to the east showed long blocks of Harlem tenements and newer housing projects with the gray-green towers of the Triborough Bridge beyond. I wasn't t sure this was what Hamilton had intended for America, but that was what we now had.

When the midterm papers were returned to us, she did complain to me about her low grade. She said, “Oh man, I can’t believe it – he gave me a D. This really sucks.”

I wasn’t sure she was even addressing me, but there was no one else close enough. I looked over and she turned the paper so that I could see it. By chance, I could also read the info on the title page and I finally caught her last name again: Meara.

“So what did you get?” she asked me.

“Ah, it looks like an A.”

“It doesn’t merely look like an A, it is one.” I caught a tone of mean-spirited envy. She grimaced and turned away. By this point in the semester, I was getting the impression that she wasn’t merely quiet; there was something morose about her.

***

In June, after the end-term paper had been assigned, I heard her say, “Hey, Paul.” I glanced over at her. “Look, I’d like to talk to you about something, I mean something about this course.”

I replied, “Sure, what is?”

“Tell you what, meet me over in the Finley cafeteria . . .” She looked at her watch, a delicate gold one. “In say, twenty minutes. We can have some coffee.”

I nodded, “I’ll be there.” I tried to sound casual, but if she asked me to meet her in the Mojave Desert I might have checked the Amtrak schedule to Barstow. In actuality, all I had to do was walk across the driveway to the student center.

“Great. I’ll see you there.” She grabbed her bag and walked out. I watched the back of her skirt, her white legs moving as they carried her out of the room.

An anomaly that I couldn’t figure out was why she just didn’t walk over to Finley with me. But I accepted that as a minor detail. In fact, I felt upbeat. I had joined one of the student newspapers the previous fall but hadn’t managed the land a date with any of the girls on the staff. For one thing, the number of female members was considerably lower than the male ones.  

Now, in a surprising development, this Nora girl had suddenly chosen me – for something, I wasn’t quite sure what yet. When I got there I purchased my coffee and then went to look for her. She saw me and waved me over to her table

Her first few sentences seemed inconsequential, but I let her talk. I sat there thinking, hey I’m on a date, just a coffee date, but it’s a start. This Nora girl was a bit on the sullen side from what I had seen of her so far; there was some kind of unhappiness in her – but, on the other hand . . .

I had the habits and thoughts of a nineteen-year-old virgin. I remembered the masturbation fantasies I had had about Nora: lifting up her little skirts, finding pretty panties or no panties at all. That was followed by coupling with her while standing up in a Wagner Hall restroom or taking her on the grungy sofa in a student newspaper office.

There really had been no Nora with me in that stall or office, but now she was here at the table – steel-rimmed glasses, dark-blonde hair, short skirt, the whole package. For the first time, I was close to notice a few freckles on her face. It was just the two of us there with our lousy cafeteria coffee.

She spent about a minute complaining about that coffee. Then she said, “So, Paul, I’ve got a deal that I want to discuss with you.”

I had expected some sociable student chat and I didn’t know what she was talking about.

“Okay, what do you mean?”

She needed to set the scene first, “As I mentioned, I haven’t been doing that well in this course. In fact, I’m sort of in trouble with it. As I told you, I got a D on the mid-term paper. You remember that?”

“Sure, I remember it.”

“Well, since you seem to be doing so well with it – I mean the course – I could use some help with all this. I mean from you.”

A fantasy came to me, sudden but almost complete. Maybe we could have study dates, I could help her with her work, and then, well, romance would bloom.

I said, “I could do that.” I thought I would do more than that if she asked me, like throw my coat into the mud so she could cross a puddle. Of course, it was June and I didn’t have a coat, but the point was – this is really great, something very interesting is shaping up.

She leaned forward and continued in a lower voice, “I have a very specific request. So here’s the thing: I’d like you to write a final paper for me, I mean another paper in effect just for me. If you do that, I’ll give you a blowjob in return.”

Did she really just say that? I know I heard it, but I couldn’t believe it. Her voice had been so calm and unaffected. I think she saw the complete confusion in my expression. In any case, she continued her pitch, “I’ll sweeten it for you. During this, you can feel me up too, as much as you want.”

Something made me simplify the issue to its essence, “Exactly what does that mean?”

“Come on dummy, you know. It goes like this: I’ll lift my clothes up and you can rub my tits, my pussy, my ass.” She put on a goofy smile which somehow suggested that I wasn’t that sharp. Does she think I’m book smart but socially inept? I was projecting one of my own fears onto her.

“Then you’ll take out your stiff cock – and it will be stiff – and I will kiss, lick and suck said cock until you bust a nut.” She made a pouting expression with her lips.

I knew what she meant but I still said, “Bust a nut?”

“Shoot your load, come, ejaculate, have an orgasm. Whatever you want to call it.” She leaned a bit closer to me, “One thing though; in all seriousness, I’m not going to swallow. In other words, don’t come in my mouth.”

The strangeness of this conversation paradoxically allowed me to think rather clearly. I asked, “Why not?”

“Because I don’t want to, that’s why. When the big moment comes, pull out and aim somewhere else. Don’t get cute and shoot it into my face. Guys often try to pull that stunt.”

I wondered if she had blown those guys for fun or profit, but I wasn’t going to ask. Anyway, she seemed to have the logistics worked out. “I think a good place for this would be that newspaper office of yours.” That would be The Salient’s office on the third floor of this Finley Hall we were in now. “On the evening that you have the paper ready, we’ll meet up there.”

She could see that I was mulling over this proposal. A pleading tone came into her voice, “Oh please, I really need to pull my grades together, I mean finish this semester doing better. This course has just been a big sore point for me.” 

I was excited by the blatant sexuality of her proposition, but yet I was also upset. My sweet little fantasy evaporated.  This was a bald business deal; she was prostituting herself. Has she done this kind of thing before with other guys? I guessed that she had planned this sometime before she invited me over there for coffee.

Then she pulled a real Jezebel act on me. She smiled, warmly; maybe she faked it. I was too inexperienced to truly judge that. She said, “You have everything to gain from this. I know Paul. . .” I should have been wary that she dropped my name in at that point. “I know you’ve had fantasies about me, I know you’ve wanted to lift my skirt up and pull off my panties.”

I was foolish; I blurted out, “How do you know that?”

She was still smiling, “Silly, I know how guys are. You think I haven’t banged my share of them before?”

I had an erection. If I had stood up it would have been visibly pushing the front of my pants out. Much later, I knew that she had figured that out without actually having seen it. I tried to salvage some manly pride, to show some – well, if not dominance, at least backbone. I wanted to sound aloof but I failed, “So why not bang me too?” I knew immediately that turning it into a question was a misstep.

She laughed, “Oh, you mean actually fuck you? I’d need a lot more than a term paper for that. I doubt you could afford it.”

I almost asked her what her price would be. Would I actually take out money, money my grandfather had put into an account, to pay for this chick? How pathetic have I become?

She wanted to close. She put a hand over one of mine as I rested it on the table. It was the first time a girl had ever so much as touched me.

“So sweetheart, how about it? Curious to know what kind of panties I wear? Sometimes I don’t wear any.” She leaned back and put on – faked I am now sure – a look of wantonness. “I love the feeling of the warm spring air around my bare hips and crotch. It makes me feel like a femme fatale. My cunt gets wet when I walk around like that.”

I agreed to have the paper for her in ten days.

She said, “Another thing, I’m going to need cab fare. I’m not riding the subway back at that hour.”

I tried some chivalry, “I can take you home.”

She looked annoyed now, “To Maspeth, Queens? And there’s a bus ride too. Just give me twenty dollars; that should cover it.”

I shouldn’t have asked this, but I did, “So you said you’ve done this kind of thing before?”

I was surprised at how defensive she got, “What I have to do to get by, to survive, is not your business. If it offends your delicate sensibilities then don’t do it.”

I think she knew that was a rhetorical statement; she already had me. I got apologetic, “No, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have . . . “

She was giving me a self-righteous look that might have been appropriate on teetotaling Carrie Nation. Then that changed to a smirk, “That’s okay, I knew you’d come through for me.” What she really meant was, I know what your weaknesses are and how to exploit them.

***

On the designated evening I was sitting in The Salient office waiting for her. The old building was beautiful on the outside but the interior spaces were grimy rooms lit by harsh fluorescents.

Then I heard a knock on the door and I went to open it. Nora was there, much like she had been in one of my fantasies. She was wearing a black blouse with spaghetti straps, a flowered short skirt, and white sandals. The blouse had various circular items on it, circles within circles, and these things that might have been stars but seemed more like big asterisks. Although her breasts weren’t that large, it was obvious she didn’t have a bra. I wondered about her panties but I’d find out soon enough.

I tried to appear cheerful although I was very nervous, “Hi, Nora.”

She got right to the point, “Let me see the paper.”

“I’ve got it over here.”

We went to the far end of the office by the windows. For about a minute she stood, leaning back on a table, flipping the through the pages. I stood facing her.  After glancing at the notes/bibliography at the end she said, “It looks okay. So let’s go to the couch and get this done already.”

“Ah, I was going to feel you, remember?”

She put on the expression of somebody trying to recall a fact, then she yanked her top up and pushed her breasts forward. “Here, sport, feel these.”

I stepped forward and did start fondling them, but something seemed wrong; somehow this so far wasn’t that compelling. Some initiative on my part seemed necessary, so I dropped my hands to her waist. For a second she seemed to resist but then she said, “Okay, I get it, petting below the waist, as they said at the malt shop.”

She quickly lifted her skirt; I saw her underpants: basic white bikini drawers. She dropped those down to her ankles and stepped out of them. 

As she leaned back a bit she held her skirt up, “Ever see a pussy before?”

“Ah, of course.”

“Yeah I’m sure, maybe in Penthouse or something, and even there it isn’t true spread beaver.”

I had seen a few Playboys and Penthouses and I made a comparison. Her exposure of herself had been so sudden that I still had the clarity of mine for objective assessments. Her pubic hair was thicker, more springy than the magazine models. I had the odd insight that the models probably trimmed their bushes.

She said, “How about some ass?” She turned around and bent over the table. Her buttocks were trim and pale.

I tried for a joke, “Hah, no tan lines.”

“Baby, I just burn at the beach. Besides, it’s only June. You know, I bet you’d like to give me a good spanking.”

“Why would I do that?”

“Because I’m a bad girl and all guys like spanking girls, bad or not. Even so-called nice guys like you are sadists. But I don't do that kind of thing  – well, maybe for a huge amount of cash, which don’t have.”

When she turned back, I had more insight into what was bothering me. I had expected some act of affection from her – that she would take my hand, kiss me, give me a gesture of fondness. I tried to rectify that by moving my face towards hers. She shook her head so quickly that her hair whipped across my cheeks. 

“Hey, no lovey-dovey.” She continued, “It’s so fucking obvious that you don’t have the slightest idea of what you’re doing.”

I was unable to say anything more coherent than, “What?”

“Look, I’ve been around the block with my share of guys and I can just see your utterly unbusted cherry. You just exude virginity.”

In my confusion, I actually, for a moment, pictured the little red fruit in a bowl. Later I understood that she really didn’t know anything about me, but she was holding control over the situation. Her insults were tests; she wanted to how much she could get away with and how much ground I’d concede. I think she also enjoyed getting under my skin and being rude for its own sake.

I was still smarting from her statements when she reached out and squeezed my crotch. “Okay stud, at least you’ve got your boner going.”

While my mind was dealing with Nora’s attitude, my body had responded automatically to the sight and presence of her unclothed form. I almost hadn’t noticed that I had an erection now

She ordered, “It’s time – come over to the couch and stand in front of me.” She sat on the cushion – I knew she’d be more comfortable that way rather than kneeling on the wooden floor. I considered complaining that I had hardly copped enough feels yet, but I thought better of it. Even looking at her crotch was impossible now; she clamped her knees together as if she was sitting on the subway.

She had put her glasses on the table. I asked her about that and she looked at me like the question was not worth an answer.

She said, “Well, take it out already.” I unzipped myself and let my cock pop out. She issued more directions, “You’ll find it easier if you just unbuckle your pants and pull it all down, like to your knees.”

I tried for a bit of erotic banter, “Do you like my cock?”

She scoffed, “Basically, if you’ve one seen one you’ve seen them all.”

I said, “Maybe I should be a little stiffer for this.”

I must have looked puzzled because she replied, “You must have done this bit often enough.  Take your own useful little hands and stroke yourself.”

I was still looking for the sexiness in all this, “I was hoping that you would lend one of your own hands for this too.”

I had expected that to sound playful. Instead, she made a raspberry/Bronx cheer noise and said, “Well, you hoped wrong.”

With no other options, I started caressing myself with both hands. I decided to reveal one of my secrets, “Nora, I’ve jerked off thinking about you a number of times.”

She laughed out loud.

“Is that funny?”

“Yeah, in a way. For one thing, I already figured that out.” That could be interpreted as an encouraging sign. “For another, I just don’t care one way or the other. I’m sure I’m in the puppy-whipping rotation of several other pathetic guys.” That was definitely not encouraging. Darker thoughts were coming to me: you are a mean little bitch, aren’t you?

In a few moments, she deemed the situation satisfactory to continue. “Bring it over here.” I got in close to her and she leaned forward; I had to use my hands to guide myself because she kept her own resting on her knees. Her mouth opened and my cock went in. I looked down; hey, she’s really blowing me.

She did virtually nothing to help me; the promised kissing and licking of my penis was not forthcoming. Her hands stayed in her lap. As I rocked my hips back and forth, I thought, this does feel – pleasant, but there’s got to be more passionate stuff beyond this.

After about a minute of this Nora noticed something about it too. She let me drop out of her mouth and she said, “This is going to take all night. I’ve got some tricks to speed it up.” I thought: tricks, yes, the tricks whores know.

She leaned back on the sofa and spread her legs wide; her skirt fell away and I finally saw her bare vulva. She said, “Lean forward and use your left hand to brace yourself on the back of the couch.” That sounded like gymnastics instructions, perhaps. I remembered the parallel bars at my high school.

As I looked down at her I said, trying to sound both sly and amused, “Wow, I’d really like to stick it into your cunt.”

She was not amused, “You try that, and I’ll put my knee into your balls.” I could vividly imagine that.

She had one more gimmick: she finally touched me. She put her left hand under my shirt to hold the bare flesh of my waist; her right hand rubbed one of my buttocks.

Now when I put my cock back in her mouth these methods seemed to click. My youth and my own mental tricks either saved me or betrayed me, depending on how one looked at it. But I didn’t care: now I felt real pleasure. My moans grew louder and higher and my body thrust more insistently. It was mostly a delusion, of course. I was really masturbating using her lips and my own right hand, but I imagined myself with my new girl, one who found me sexy and lovable.

Her hand rubbing and squeezing my backside clinched it and sent me over the edge. I imagined that she was eager for my seed, sperm, essence, whatever porn-like word would fit. Then as I said, “Oh Nora, I’m coming, I’m coming right in your hot little mouth,” there was a flurry of activity on her part. She pulled my cock out and pushed it up. I ejaculated into the air.

In my delighted daze I heard her voice, “You stupid little bastard, you splooged all over my hair.” I looked down at her. “And to top it off, you got the first little spurt into my mouth, which I specifically told you not to do.” She pushed back on me and I stood upright.

She grimaced, “Ew, just yuck!”  Then: "You got a handkerchief, I assume?” I pulled mine out and gave it to her; she dabbed at her hair. An impressive amount of semen had indeed landed on top of her head.

“What a fucking mess! I’ll have to shampoo all of this stuff out. And now you know why I don’t wear my glasses for blowjobs.” She looked down at me; my cock was still out, stiff and wet. “You probably want to put that away, you’re done with it for tonight.”

I said, “I’m really sorry.”

She must have detected a weakness in me because he started a tirade, “You, Paul, you are an asshole, an arrogant motherfucker in fact. You think your shit doesn’t stink because you can write these stupid term papers. And yet you couldn’t cop a feel with a girl unless you gave her five bucks first. Actually, I’d probably charge you ten.”

I was suddenly triggered, as the expression goes now. I knew I losing my temper; in fact, I was furious, but I couldn’t control it. I was about to blow up.

In her next motion she swung her legs over to stand on the floor and she got in front of me. What she did next was foolish. She slapped me in the face, just hard enough to get my attention. “That’s for splooging in my hair.” Her expression seemed to show both contempt and self-satisfaction.

Now I did blow up. I charged her and grabbed her arms, pushing her against the wall.

“Get your fucking hands off of me.”

I held one of her arms while using my other hand to point a finger at her. I got really close, but I didn’t yell at her. It seemed that my voice was near a normal level.

“And you Nora, you’re a filthy little whore. You’re also a bitch, a cockteaser, and a slut as well as an all-around cunt. Five dollars? That’s what you charge to blow vagrants in the Port Authority Bus Terminal.”

“Jerks like you have no right to talk to me like that.” I detected a note of defensiveness in her.

“It’s not about rights; I’m doing it anyway.”

She raised a middle finger at me and said, “Fuck you.”

I knew I was going to hit her too. I can hit a woman on her ass, but not her face. But standards of decency were leaving me. Her glasses were still on the table. I can beat her on her behind after this, assuming she doesn’t run out of here.

She was still talking, “So you’ve used me in your disgusting masturbation fantasies . . .

I backhanded her across her face, then slapped my palm on her other side. Then I backhanded her again. These were about as hard as the one she had given to me. For a moment I wondered what would happen if she took me on, physically. She was slender, but I’m not a big guy. What if she has a knife in her bag?

But she didn’t retaliate, she just looked shocked. She was staring at me and her mouth was hanging open. I could see the redness where I had struck her; she rubbed those places. I thought this act would lessen my anger, but it didn’t.

I said, “You act like a queen, but you’re trash, you know that? You’re like dirt on the soles of my shoes.”

She recovered a bit. “I don’t care what you think.”

“What I think is that I’m going to take you to the couch and spank your bare ass until it falls off.”

“Yeah, I like to see you try it.”

She was more than hinting that she wanted it, so I said, “I’m going to do more than try.” I pulled her over to the couch, and I sat down. I put her over my lap, sort of sideways so that her feet were on the floor. When I flipped up her skirt; she said, “Oh, my God.”

I looked at her long legs and tight, compact ass. I was almost going to compliment her body, but I decided she didn’t need praise now. Her panties weren’t on because they were still lying on the floor.

I had never spanked a girl before, but I figured it couldn’t be that complicated. My left hand was around her waist and I started whacking her with my right. I didn’t have the strength to force her into position; she could have gotten up at any time if she wanted to. But she never even tried.

The sounds of the smacks were loud in the room. She groaned and made other noises; she wriggled her body around. At one point she stamped her feet against the floor. She said, “You’re being pretty hard on me.”

I replied, “Honey, you’ve earned every bit of it.” She glared back at me, but she seemed to have run out of insults.

It was fascinating to see her formerly pale behind as it reddened. I wasn’t quite sure what to expect and  I was impressed by the effect I was having on her. After a while, she seemed to give up and she didn’t move at all although she yelped each time I struck her.

I said, “That’s enough.” She immediately reached back to rub her own rear end. I pushed down on her back, “Don’t get up yet.”

It had taken a while, but now I was aware that my right hand felt numb. On some instinct, I put it between her legs and felt her. “You slut; you’re all wet down there. You liked it, didn’t you?”

She was quite honest with me, “I’m as surprised as you are.”

“Well, we’re going to take care of that. Let me get up and then you get back on the couch.”

I went around to the far end and stood there. There was no armrest to get in the way. “Get up on all fours; scoot down this way.” She complied. When she had her sandals at the edge, I started rubbing her pussy again.

She reacted favorably. “That feels so nice.”

“I bet it does.” After a bit, I started to undo my pants again. After I had dropped them down, I held my erect cock.

She had heard me and she looked back. “So you’re going to fuck me?”

“I certainly am going to fuck you.”

“Then go ahead, do it already.” I supposed that qualified as consent.

Maybe I figured, that with my lack of experience, a rear-entry position would be easier than trying to get on top of her. I gripped one of her hips and with my other hand guided myself into her. My worry was that the pressure against her spanked ass would bother her, but through the whole event, she never mentioned it.

Once I started going in and out of her I thought, now I understand what the big deal about this is.

I had come earlier near her mouth, so I had plenty of stamina now. I banged away at her as quickly and as deeply as I could. She started moaning almost immediately. “You twat, you’re in heat, aren’t you? You enjoy getting fucked by anybody who can grab you.”

“Will you shut up already?” She didn’t sound too convincing.

“No, I’ve listened to your bullshit for a while. Oh man, I really wanted a sweet screw with you for so long and now I’m getting it.”

“Oh yes, please, please, give it to me.” That did sound convincing.

It seemed that she climaxed rather abruptly. She got halfway up and put a hand on the back of the couch to steady herself; her right arm waved around in the air. For a few moments, she rapidly pushed back on me. All she said was, “That’s it, fuck me, fuck me but good.” Then some kind of long, loud yell came out of her mouth.

After that, she appeared to be on the verge of collapsing downwards. I said, “Don’t go anywhere; I’m not done with you.” Yet her impressive orgasm had inspired me. I was soon on tiptoes and saying trite things like, “I’m going to put a big, hot load into your cunt.” That’s exactly what I then did. I said various other things during that, but all I remember was repeating her name several times.

When we were done, we stayed coupled together for a few moments. When I pulled out of her, she fell face down on the cushion and I backed up against the wall. My breathing was heavy and I couldn’t talk yet. In any case, I didn’t know what to say to her. I felt completely drained, and more than a bit uneasy about what I had just done. When I had calmed down and pulled my pants back up, I went to one of the windows.

Downbeat thoughts arrived. I’m in this shabby office in this dilapidated old building. 1888, that’s when it was built. And I’m with whoever that person is over on the couch.

I thought of the drug dealers and streetwalkers out there in the New York night, the noisy subway trains far down in their tunnels under Washington Heights. Some of the stations were so deep that they were connected to the street by elevators.

I remembered a Langston Hughes poem about being on the edge of hell in Harlem, about doing things in the face of what we remember.  I decided it was now time for me to leave. I saw Nora still lying face down on the couch. She was awake but she didn’t look at me. As I went past her, I yanked her skirt up. “This is a version of corner time, I suppose.”

She didn’t answer me, but she pushed her garment back again.

I said, “I’ve had enough of this; I’m getting out of here.”

I was turning to walk out when she looked over at me and said, “Don’t go.”

“What?”

“You heard me. Don’t go, don’t leave me here. Walk me over to Amsterdam Avenue.” Right, she needed to hail a car service.

I took out the twenty-dollar bill and threw it on the floor. “Here’s your cab fare, as promised.”

Instead of going for the money, she got up and retrieved her glasses from the table. I assumed she wanted to see me better. As she stood there, I looked her over. Maybe I was trying to grasp the totality of this person.

Man, she’s so pretty and yet she looks so vulnerable now. And she’s my age; I don’t want her to get hardened by what she’s been doing for money. And then there was the fact that she had just busted my cherry. In all of the weirdness of that evening, that hadn’t registered with me yet.

I said, “I suppose we’ve seen some things in each other, I mean our hidden dark sides.”

“What you saw, that wasn't really me.”

“Then who is the real you? A sweet girl who goes to church?”

She shook her head, “I think I should go home now.”

I made an instant decision, although actually, I had been fantasizing about it for months.  “No you’re not; we’re going downtown and you are going to have dinner and drinks with me.” I added, “I’ll pay for it.”

“You want to go on a date with me now?”

“Yes, right now. I just said that.”

She didn’t have to think about it much, “All right, that’s fine, I’ll go with you.”

I pointed to the floor. “Then get your panties on and let’s go.”

*****

We wound up in a casual dining place in West Midtown. She was very subdued during the cab ride down there. At the restaurant, I got a beer with my meal and she ordered a vodka and tonic. When she got it, she drank deeply from her glass. “Oh yeah, I really needed a drink tonight.” Then she squirmed in her chair, “Man, you really busted my ass.”

I shrugged, “Well, you deserved it. Next time I’ll use my belt on you.” I wasn’t sure if I was joking.

I saw her briefly lick her lips, “I see you have some ambitious plans for me.”

She was more talkative now and she soon blindsided me with something. “I guess I really am a whore, but a part-timer – sort of casual, you might say.”

I tried a lame joke, “Ad hoc, that’s what I’d call it.

She cracked a smile; she did get what I meant. “But I never let men have me vaginally.” God, does she have to share this with me?

I said, “You just did, with me.”

“Yes, but you weren’t paying for it."

I tried to untangle the difference, but she kept talking. “That leaves, you know, three things I can use.” I knew exactly what she meant. “Well, there’s my tits too, but they’re not big enough to be effective.”

I commented, “There are also your feet.”

“I did have one of those guys. And here are actually a couple of other things.”

“Nora, must we talk about this?”

“Come on, let me complete the story. I could rub them with my ass cheeks; that works very well. There are guys who want to do a peep-show thing; they want to jerk off while looking at me. And I dabble in being a dominatrix too.”

Now I was curious. “What do you wear when doing that?”

“Just business clothes and high heels. Or a garter, straps, and nylons if I am going for the ‘pro’ look.”

“Really? I’d like to see you in all of those things.”

“I’ll wear them some time for you. I could do the suit with the garter belt underneath. Anyway, I only have one suit. If I ever go on a job interview, I’ll need it.”

Damn, I have another question. “So you were never – what do they call it? A submissive, a bottom?”

“No; well, not until tonight and you came along.” I felt oddly proud of myself. And she had liked it too.

She said, “I knew you were looking at me all semester.”

“I think you were teasing me, with your legs splayed out and such.”

“I was, but if you had asked for a date back then, I would have turned you down.”

“Ah, but when it came to writing a term paper, I was your go-to guy.” I knew it was in her bag. “Let me see that thing again.”

When I had it, I noted the title page. Nora Meara. Orwell's Homage to Catalonia: A View of the Spanish Civil War. History 11-330. Then, blah, blah, blah, a lot of words written by me.

She said, “I never could have written it myself.”

I pondered that. “No, Nora, I think you could do it if you just applied yourself a little more.” She seemed surprised I had said that.

Some of her previous snippiness came back, “What, do you expect me to turn into a good girl now?”

Yes, you should stop whoring around and attend to your studies. Man, that would sound so pretentious. I had the insight that this mean side of her, and in fact the profession that she was experimenting with, was a façade to protect her from certain uncomfortable feelings.

A little bit later, we got to talking about cars. She said, “This summer, I going to get a convertible, maybe a 1970 or ’71 Mustang.” I knew how she had the money for that. “We should go to Mohansic State Park or Bear Mountain.”

“They have pools there, but I know you don’t like to swim.”

“I know how to swim; I just don’t like the beach. Too much sun, all that hot sand. Pools are fine.”

The implications of all that hit me. She doesn’t even have the car yet, but she just invited me to go on trips with her in it. I guess she’s my girl now. In my mind, I could see us in the car, with the top down, going up the Taconic Parkway or some such road. She was at the wheel, her hair tied up so it wouldn’t blow around in the wind. It was all very vivid.

This is a really strange date. I’ve already done all of those sexual things with her and now we’re having our first dinner together. We hadn’t even had our first kiss yet. I tried to imagine what the older people in the room thought of us. Look at that nice young couple. They’re having a getting-to-know-each-other date. Boy, had we gotten to know each other.

I said, “Next semester, you should join the paper with me.” Maybe that would give her something constructive to do.

“The Salient? But I don’t know what to write.”

“We’ll give you something, or you’ll figure it out yourself. They’re open to almost anything over there.”

I knew some of my male colleagues were, well, starved for pussy. That had been me too until about two hours ago. The men there probably outnumbered the women by five to one.

Wait until September and I come strolling in with this chick on my arm. Then I wondered if any of them had been her customers. They would have blabbed about it if they had been, right? Oh, fuck it, I don’t care; that’s the way it is.

Then something I didn’t expect happened. I wasn’t holding my beer; my right hand was on the table. She put one of her hands on the back of mine. Her warm touch jolted me more than all of the previous wild acts we had just done.

I looked at her, and she shrugged and smiled at me.

######

The buildings described here actually existed in 1974, but have since been demolished.