College Hooking Memories Ch. 05

I had plenty to buy smaller items like clothes, but for big-ticket items like a car -- which I was going to purchase that summer -- it was best not to walk into a dealership and plop down thousands of dollars in cash.

After Uncle Tony snooped around and found my stash of bills, he made me open bank accounts. While my income was piddling compared to the real "earners" in the underworld, I was still cautious and spread my money among accounts in different banks.

In one of those branches, I rented a safe deposit box and filled it with a thousand dollars in cash. This sounds strange, but I went in there a couple of times just to take the box out and look at the contents.

Yet Uncle Tony did have a showdown with me about one of the last tricks I ever did at Maspeth. He came home early one day and found me on my knees blowing a customer on the living room floor. My tits were hanging out and my panties were on the carpet.

The client got thrown out, of course. The next thing Tony did was to threaten to evict me if I didn't contribute something to housing expenses. I hadn't offered anything in all those months because supposedly I was unemployed. His statement unnerved me enough to make some vague promises to find a real job.

But my uncle punished me immediately after that anyway. First, he took me over his knees and spanked me with his big, hard hands. Then he gave me a real big-girl whipping with his belt as I bent over the couch. He stopped when I collapsed to my knees.

Yet even though it all hurt, I had an insight into the satisfaction that my dominated clients had experienced. I knew I deserved it, and I was glad that it had been imposed onto my body.

I was too sore that night to sit on my bed, so I masturbated by getting on all fours and thrusting one of my dildos into my pussy. The resulting orgasm was intense. I had to do it twice more before lying on my stomach and finally going to sleep.

And I did get my first legitimate job soon after.

Dominatrix: Semi-Professional

For a couple of years after the spring of 1974, I was a normal college student going to classes, writing for a student newspaper, working part-time jobs, and having some boyfriends.

My first lover (well, technically the second ever), Paul D'Amato was very fond of me. He was the one who had that springtime crush on me. He also didn't judge me even though I told him all about my dubious past. But maybe nice guys do finish last because I soon dumped him for an older guy with a good job, a car, and an apartment.

Also, by that time I had confessed everything to Paul and I now wanted someone who didn't know about me. Now I know I acted badly regarding him, but that was hardly surprising.

I can see now that something else was a mistake, but in September of 1976, I let myself be talked into the life again. It was one of those women who was looking for recruits, but she was also a student trying to balance hooking with her studies.

Gilda was also entering her senior year but at New York University (NYU) downtown. That was a private institution not connected to the city system. Even then, it was an expensive school to attend.

I didn't think the cost was justified by what the place offered, but somehow I was impressed by Gilda. Even though she was my age, she was like the big sister I never had.

Her deal was that I'd be a part-time, semi-professional dominatrix and I wouldn't have to do any other sex acts. Guys could masturbate after their punishments while I watched -- if they paid for it of course - but I didn't have to deal with their splooge myself.

When I heard how much I could earn in that new career, my greed got to me again. I had spent two years working at various jobs like office temping, fast food, and retail sales when I wasn't attending school.

I never met the people running the operation, but I guessed they might be a Mafia family. In those days the mob was very much into the sex rackets. But that was on a need-to-know basis, and it wasn't deemed important for me to know.

There was a safe and comfortable working environment, a very nice BDSM club in the basement of a loft building. During the day and on many evenings, it was empty and available for my use with clients. They contacted Gilda and arranged payments with her. Then she'd call me to see if I'd accept the deal.

Usually, I did accept it. Gilda knew that I wouldn't do a number of more extreme acts, like pissing into someone's mouth or wrapping some guy in layers of cellophane ("mummification," hah!). I did the bread and butter of spanking, padding, or belting naughty men. I rarely used a cane because it was possible to really injure someone while using one of those.

Some of them requested being restrained, usually to a spanking bench or trestle. If one of them seemed somewhat nervous, I might recommend that he allow me to tie him down.

*****

Gilda arranged for an apartment on the Upper West Side for me to sublet, and I was finally able to move out of Uncle Tony's house in Queens. I was also given a "job" with the same organization which rented the apartment. That way I could file taxes on at least part of the "laundered" money I was receiving.

It worked, at least for my eleven-month time there when I was never audited. The company that supposedly employed me had some generic name that I don't remember. My private joke was that it was "Genco Olive Oil, Inc."

My new place also had the benefit of being much closer to City College with only a twenty-minute commute at most.

Gilda told me ahead of time what each customer wanted. Then they would meet me at that club on West 27th Street. The clients were usually older than the students at CCNY. Most of them seemed to have decent jobs and they dressed far better than the deliberately shabby look preferred by young academic types. (They also bathed regularly, which a few of the students were lax about.)

Yet, despite the benefits, the psychological pressure of that life got to me. I was consumed by loneliness, something I had experienced before. I had no boyfriend during those last two semesters. Many of the clients were better "catches" than the student tricks I had known, and they usually were far more polite.

Yet I didn't dare ask any of them for a date (I am usually not shy about doing such a thing) because that was not why they had come to me.

Also, I think Gilda and her unseen "backers" would not have approved of me breaking those boundaries. Since they were probably mobsters, I was paranoid about crossing them in any way. I pictured some guy like Clemenza ambushing me in the evening.

Yet it was the first time I experienced true "dominatrix horniness." After punishing some of those guys, if they were tied to a trestle, I wanted to soothe them by kneeling in front of them and giving them a decent blowjob or two. Or if they weren't restrained, I would want to lie on a couch and be penetrated by their stiff cocks. Those were all things I couldn't do.

****

The women I had known at the newspaper had mostly graduated or moved on. I wasn't the type to spend time in bars or clubs. Manhattan may be busy, but it can be a difficult place to live alone.

When I wasn't at school or doing a gig, I was at loose ends. Sometimes I'd wander the streets just so I didn't have to be isolated in that apartment. Fortunately, I didn't get into using hard drugs, but I did drink and smoke pot too often.

I also fell back on a reliable mainstay, namely masturbation. My fantasies became stranger, and I often imagined myself as the recipient instead of the giver of corporal punishment. My scenarios became increasingly masochistic, for the most part. Shame and guilt affect all hookers, I guess, to some degree.

Moving on

After months of that, I finally graduated -- on time, unlike some of the newspaper staff members, who were sometimes years late. They couldn't bear going into real life, I suppose.

For me, however, I had more than enough of City College. We seniors gathered on a hot day in June for our commencement ceremony. It was outdoors on the field in front of the old stone pile of the Finley Student Center, a 19th Century leftover from Manhattanville College days. That had been an eventful place for me, but I never wanted to see it or the rest of the campus again. I haven't been back since then.

I had to give up my mob-supplied (probably) apartment and move to a more modest place in Queens. But I was happier there, and I took legitimate jobs from then on. "The life" was another thing I never wanted to go back to, ever.

Uncle Tony still gets a few calls per month from guys looking to contact me. A couple of times per year, one of them will mail a "love letter" to me at that address.

Man, you busted your nut while with me. That is not love!

I assumed they'd eventually find some other paid outlet for their desires. Men have been doing that since pre-history, and I don't suspect it will ever end.

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