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[Originally this was an alternate version of Nora’s Term Paper. But the female character is a different person and much of the plot is different although there are a few details in common. I decided to publish it as a separate story in a different timeline although these events occur in the same spring 1974 semester as the other story.]


Jeff said to me, “This girl on campus, one of the students, she’s really a whore.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Her name is Nancy Frisenda, and I mean she’s actually a sort of prostitute. She’ll do something with you if you pay her.”

“Like what?”

Jeff was one of my fellow staff members on a student newspaper called The Salient. We were former highs school classmates who had met again in our freshman year at City College of New York. We had been sitting in an art history class in Eisner Hall when he showed me a recruitment ad in the October, 1973 issue.

The Salient was one of five newspapers the school supported at the time, and it positioned itself as the quirky/countercultural publication although the “counterculture,” if it had ever actually existed as such, didn’t seem to be thriving at that point.

Jeff and I had found some success writing for this paper but in April, 1974, seven months after we had joined, we weren’t meeting any women there or elsewhere on campus. On this spring day we were sitting in the paper’s office on the third floor of the Finley Student Center.

He explained the situation to me, “It’s sort of a peep show thing. She’ll let you look at her pussy while you jerk off watching her.”

I tried for a joke, “Sounds like that old show me yours and I’ll show you mine act that kids do.”

He did chuckle at that, “I wish that had happened to me but it never did.” Yeah Jeff, I thought, nothing interesting ever seems to happen to us.

Then I asked him, “Did you actually go with her? Where exactly did this happen?”

“Right here in the office, last Tuesday night around nine.”

I was having a hard time imagining this scene, and I wasn’t even sure I found the whole concept that intriguing. Underneath it I was aware of a feeling of uneasiness or even distaste towards Jeff and this experience of his. I tried to express my skepticism.

“It doesn’t sound that appealing, I mean being with whores in general really isn’t that cool to me.” At this point in my early college career I was hoping to meet a nice girl who would go out with me and then willingly screw me. I imagined myself as a romantic sort, and I had a similar estimate about Jeff. We were hopeful virgins stranded at this downscale municipal campus.

He replied, “Yeah, but it’s still better than . . .” He stopped himself. I suspected he was about to say “it’s better than nothing” or “it’s better than what we got going now.” There would have been an uneasy truth there that neither one of us wanted to face.

I said, “So how exactly did this go again?”

“She wore a skirt and sat right down there on the end of the table.” He pointed towards the inner part of the room near the windows. “She took her panties off and let me look. I sat on the couch and I, well you know.”

“Choked the chicken ’til it died.” He smiled at that but I noticed some underlying discomfort in him. Anyway, I had never been to a peep show but I had heard a bit about how they operated. “Did she actually do anything, you know, like touch herself during this?”

“No, she said something to me like, ‘that’s your job.’ She hardly said anything at all.”

I asked, “So this Nancy must be into drugs or something? She’s some kind of addled slag?”

“I don’t know what she’s doing it for, but she’s really nice looking, a really cute brunette. A little on the tall side.”

I should have controlled my mind better but I could imagine the scene now: a girl spread-legged on the table and I was now the one on the couch facing her.

I asked, “Okay, I’m curious. How much does she charge?”

“Fifty dollars, and for an extra twenty she’ll show her boobs too.”

I had no idea about the going rate for anything in the sex trade but I knew that would be a lot of money for me. Being the less-than-ambitious sort that I was I didn’t have a job at the moment. I did have a savings account with about $3,000 in it. All of the funds in there had been donated by my paternal grandfather Carmine.

I tried to get more info out of Jeff. “And you’ve only done this once?”

“That’s right.”

“And does she do – ah, other things too, for different prices I mean?”

“Actually, this I know – she told me she only does that. Apparently she’s been making out okay with this one gimmick.”

I was going to make some joke about her earning “pin money” but in stuck in me before I could say it. I did offer, “It’s like a peep show except without the booth.”

He volunteered some more info, “She’s been sort of working, I mean getting clients through word of mouth. One of the canlı bahis şirketleri guys in my English class told me about her.”

I knew him well enough to ask him, “Do you think you’ll do this with her again?”

“Well, it is a lot of money, I don’t know.”

“You and I can do a whole lot better than paying this chippie for a peek.” Well, could we, really?

There were some further unspoken implications here. We both knew that if we didn’t land girlfriends by June, we’d likely have the whole summer without one. Our whole strategy, if we had one, was to meet women on campus, probably right here in The Salient office. If we hadn’t already done so by April, it didn’t look like anything was going to happen until a new crop of girls arrived the following September.

I briefly thought about the upcoming summer. It was probable I was going to work again as a messenger downtown as I had the previous year. It was a minimum wage job but I had no aspiration for something more elaborate. Even to work at a Gap clothing store I’d have to do some minimum amount of grooming and dressing up.

Of course being a foot messenger was also a total flop when it came to picking up women. Some of my co-workers were homeless guys. Walking around Midtown looking sloppy and sweaty didn’t offer many pick-up opportunities when I entered various offices on my rounds.

It was all rather depressing to contemplate, including the idea that we had to pay women to even display their cunts for us. Jeff is kind of pathetic but so are you.

I really didn’t know what I wanted to do. Jeff retained some enthusiasm, “Look at it as an experiment, or as a stopgap perhaps.”

I asked him, “Did you ever go to a peep show?”

“No come on, that’s disgusting, they never can clean out all the cum in those things.” I wondered how he knew anything about the maintenance procedures at such places. “This Nancy, you get a cute girl, all to yourself, it’s safe and clean and there’s no damn Plexiglas booth in the way.”

All to yourself. Yeah, you and how many other guys who’ve paid her before?


That night I had an intense masturbation fantasy about Nancy. I didn’t know what she looked like yet, but that didn’t matter. I could vividly image a woman’s legs spread open on the office table, and I could see her dark bush displayed for me. My imagined girl said nothing to me but as I came, in my own bed, I said, “Oh God Nancy, you have such a beautiful pussy.”


I let Jeff know about my interest in Nancy, but I tried to put on a noncommittal air about it. I said, “I only wanted to talk to her, to see what’s she is about.” He got back to me the next day.

“Can you meet her, I mean Nancy, in the Finley cafeteria tomorrow? Around three PM? She’ll tell you the arrangements.”

“Yeah, I guess so. I don’t have a class tomorrow but I could come down for that.”

He described her in a bit more detail than previously so I would recognize her. She was about five-foot eleven (about three inches taller than I was) with short dark-brown hair. He said, “I’ll tell her a little about you too; that will her help her find you.”

I joked, “Tell her I’m really good looking.”

He chuckled a bit but then said, “Let’s face it, that’s not going to matter. It’s a matter of money.”

I tried to put on an air of masculine nonchalance as if I had lots of experience with hookers, “I know, I was just kidding.” Then some of my anxiety came forward and I asked him, “Is this really worth doing?”

He shrugged, “I don’t know man, that’s sort of up to you.”

I persisted, “Well, are you ever going with her again? I think I asked you that before.”

I got the impression he wasn’t too comfortable with that question, “It’s a lot of money for what it is . . .” Then he left the rest unsaid.

Some thoughts came to me as I considered what more I should say to him. What’s with college? I thought by now we’d be getting in to the pants of some cool liberated chicks but where are they? Not with us, at least.

I wasn’t going to say anything like that to him and admit to my own disappointments.

Something else occurred to him, “She’s a junior, by the way, if you wanted to know.”

“So I guess she’s a year of two older than we are.”

“Yeah, she’s very professional in how she operates.” How would he know that? Who is he comparing her to? Some movie character?

After that we went on to another topic.


At the scheduled time I sat down at a table in the Finley Hall cafeteria with a cup of soda. I had made a brief passage around the room – it was much smaller than the one up in Shephard Hall – and I was sure she wasn’t there yet.

As I sipped my beverage I looked around the grimy, government issued eatery that had been carved out of the old building. The exterior of Finley Hall still had its beautiful 19th Century stonework but the inside of the place mostly looked like a prison canlı kaçak iddaa or a state mental hospital.

Nancy was punctual; within two minutes I saw her enter the room. Her clothing – including a jacket and blue jeans – was casual but she herself made a strong impression on me. She was tall and had short-trimmed dark hair; her face was wide perhaps but I thought she was very attractive. Her body appeared to be strong and supple and she moved confidently and gracefully.

Who would play her in a movie? Cyd Charisse, as she was the 1950s, came to mind. I didn’t want to think of who would play me in this upcoming little drama – or was it going to be a farce?

Her whole package was very sexy. This was a woman who was far out of my league for normal dating purposes. That probably sold her for me almost immediately. I waved her over.

As she sat down I said, “Hi, you must be Nancy.”

“Right, you’re Paul?” She quickly went on to, “All right let’s get down to business. First of all, The Salient office, in the evening, is probably the best place for this.”

I almost said, yeah, like you did with Jeff, but something told me not to mention that. I noticed her impersonal demeanor; she barely made eye contact with me. I was reminded of a female bank clerk who had sold me some travelers’ checks the previous year. Nancy was beautiful but she certainly wasn’t charming. Then I thought, dummy, she doesn’t have to like you or even pretend that she does.

Anyway I suggested a time two days hence and she agreed. I would get there a bit early and let her in when she knocked on the door.

Then she leaned forward a bit and lowered her voice; the place wasn’t crowded but she was careful about being overheard.

“This is the deal; for fifty you get to look at my pussy. I’ll take my panties off. I can sit on the table and spread my legs, or if you prefer, I can stand up and bend over. If I keep my legs apart you still get a good view of the snatch from that direction. Same price, either way.”

It was strange to hear this good-looking girl detailing these acts in such a matter-of-fact way. I could feel myself blushing but if she noticed that she didn’t comment.

“For twenty more I’ll bare my tits too. Now, you sit there or stand there or whatever and beat off in whatever way works for you. You can say whatever you want, but no touching of me – absolutely none.”

I was getting the weird feeling of being chastised for something I hadn’t even thought of yet. Or maybe it reminded me of the warnings proctors gave while handing out standardized tests.

She had more, “Don’t get cute, don’t lunge forward at the end and get your splooge on me; not one drop. I had one guy try that and I backhanded him so hard his teeth probably rattled.” I finally caught some emotion from her; I thought she looked angry. She’s tough enough to physically confront a guy. Or maybe he was very short or something .

“Now, I know these things vary in the amount of time needed, but don’t overly delay the process. Get the job done; guys your age shouldn’t have much trouble.”

Now I did try to clarify the situation but I couldn’t get the words to flow, “Well, how will, you know . . .”

“Believe me, I’ve seen guys jerk often enough, I can figure out if they’re trying to, call it stretch out the session unnecessarily.” Then a bemused look came over her, “I had one guy, he was so nervous, he completely failed to come at all. I gave him a discount, twenty off; it was only fair I think.”

Yes, very reasonable, I thought. Nancy continued talking, “You have to pay me upfront, as soon as I arrive, or nothing happens. No exceptions. Also, I’m going to need cab fare to get back downtown.” So she lives in Manhattan; I wonder where? “Fifteen dollars should do it. You’ll have to walk me out to Amsterdam afterwards.”

I wondered about something, “So you’re going to be on campus before this?”

“Yeah, I’ve got some coursework shit to do at Cohen Library.” Such a studious young lady. “So sport, are you on for this?”

“Ah, yeah, sure.”

She seemed to take a moment to consider me. “You might be interested in some future jobs? Because I’m thinking of branching out somewhat.”

“Really, into what?”

She was remarkably calm and conversational; she could have been talking about whatever term papers or tests she had to deal with. What is her major?

“I’m thinking of getting into the dominatrix trade.”

I knew a little about that but I feigned ignorance, “What’s that?”

She gave me a skeptical glance but she was willing to answer, “You must know, there are guys who want women to beat them or whip them. Sometimes they like to be tied up. Usually they want it on their bare ass.”

I noticed her studying me again, “Is that something you’d be interested in? Because I know a girl who is going to teach me that game soon.”

“I really don’t know.”

“Maybe you’re a top then perhaps? You want canlı kaçak bahis to spank girls, not the other way around? I’m never going to do that, but I know a couple of chicks who will. Usually starts at about sixty for ten minutes. And that’s a hand spanking, not with implements.” Wow, these harlots charged a lot; I had no previous knowledge of the economics of prostitution.

“What kind of implements?”

For the first time she smiled at me, “Oh, I get it. If you want me to talk dirty, that’s going to cost you too.”

I was about to deny that or maybe apologize but fortunately I stopped myself. Nancy did offer an opinion, “What I like about domination, I mean of men, is that’s it’s clean work. No messy fucking or sucking, no disgusting fluids. The guy can jerk himself afterwards; that’s his choice. And I hear it’s surprisingly good money too.”

She explained a bit more, “Oh yeah, I’ve heard there are a lot of businessman types that are really crazy for it. I don’t know why, some kind of guilt about power I guess. Whatever, it relieves their stress I suppose.”

It struck me that this was the longest conversation I had ever had with a girl, I mean one who was with me alone and not in a group. I noted more details: her dark eyes, red lipstick, a green beaded necklace, her oval black earrings.

Then suddenly the interview or whatever it was ended. She got up and said, “Okay” and then she confirmed the time again. For a second I wondered what would happen if I flaked and didn’t show up, but intuitively I knew that was a bad idea. Underneath her good looks and polish there was something cold and menacing about her. She didn’t seem to be the type to go for pranks or any sort of silliness.

As she walked away I watched her ass swaying inside the seat of her jeans. Then I was afraid she’d turn to look back at me so I averted my glance elsewhere.


Going to the bank on Fordham Road the next day was very strange. It was actually a simple passbook transaction to withdraw the cash. Yet I felt tense and agitated and I tried not to think about Nancy. To amuse myself I imagined a line on some bank form asking me the purpose of the withdrawal: “To pay a hooker to show her genitals to me while I masturbate.” That didn’t seem as funny as I had expected.

I could still get word to her and bail out; it was another day and half. I stood on the sidewalk outside the bank and leaned on a parking meter. Maybe I expected some divine inspiration about how to proceed. Deliver us from evil.

I thought about the power of money, but that almost sabotaged it for me. It wasn’t even my money; my grandfather had earned it. And it seemed that Nancy really had the upper hand; she had set all the conditions on how the session would proceed.

I rationalized it by thinking of it as an experiment or as a one-time deal. If it didn’t go well I never had to do it again.


On Thursday evening I was pacing around the main entrance of Finley Hall, hoping that Nancy wouldn’t arrive through another door. She was punctual again, however, and I saw her walking up the short flight of stairs from the driveway.

She was surprised to see me in the lobby and I quickly explained the situation, “There’s this guy Karl hanging around the office tonight; I don’t think he’s going to be leaving any time soon.”

She looked perturbed briefly and then she said, “All right, let’s go to one of the stalls in Wagner Hall; I mean the men’s room.”

“You sure you wouldn’t want to just put it off for another day?” I was anxious enough about this meeting, and now a change of venue made it even more difficult.

I think she obviously perceived my nervousness and my jumpiness bothered her, “No, just calm down, a stall would just be fine for this. Come on.”

Tonight she was wearing a short gray denim skirt. She had what appeared to be some kind of brown work or hiking boots and dark knee socks under the footgear. It occurred to me that her skirt would make her job easier to do. She didn’t have to undress; she just had to raise and lower her garment as needed.

We went across the drive to Wagner Hall, a classroom building, and then we climbed to the second floor. I went into the room first to make sure it was clear and then I went back to the hall to get her. She gestured to the stall furthest from the door.

Once in there I asked her, “What if somebody comes in?”

“Then just keep your voice down until they leave. Believe me, no one is going to care if they see an extra pair of legs in here.” Then she got right to the point, “Okay, it’s payment time. Are we doing the full thing with bare tits? That will be a seventy total.”

All I said was, “Yeah, the full – the total thing.” I took out the bills from my wallet and she carefully counted them before putting them in her own purse.

“All right, good, first the boobs.” Without any wasted motion she lifted her top up and unhooked the back of her lacy lavender bra. Her breasts fell out and for the first time in my life I saw a woman’s bare nipples. I dared look at her face but she didn’t make eye contact with me. Her expression was hard to read but I seemed to catch some of her impatience and boredom.

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