The Happy Hooker: My Own Story

by Xaviera Hollander

  Dr. Sayer, however, sees you alone, and while his bedside manner is devastating, so far as I know he has never made a pass at a patient, despite many of their attempts to persuade him to do so.

  Several girls, I understand, who have fallen on lean times have asked to pay their bills in trade, but he has politely declined. One lovestruck patient, recognizing that she would never get him into bed, bought him a bullwhip one Christmas and pleaded, “Doctor, just beat me up a little, please.”

  How do professionals protect themselves against pregnancy and other occupational hazards? How do they overcome the unproductive four-day period?

  Most girls prefer to protect themselves by using the Pill, although some use a diaphragm. This useful little gadget is also a professional trick for holding back the menstrual flow.

  The way we do it is to douche thoroughly first, then insert the diaphragm, then douche again to remove traces of blood and the vaginal jelly, and it is impossible to detect that a girl is in that time of the month.

  Although this effectively holds back the flow, this method gives you only half an hour’s respite, and has to be removed immediately.

  Some girls overcome the four-day inconvenience by using large wads of cotton. I do not recommend this method because a strong partner can push the cotton to regions from which only a gynecologist can retrieve it.

  A little sponge is another handy gadget that serves the same purpose, and unlike the cotton, retains its cohesion.

  One of the working girl’s best friends is a little product called Koromex jelly. This violet-flavored lubricant will ease the way when passion does not. That is to say, if a girl has spent her natural lubrication or is not turned on by a man, a little lubricant helps out. Too much friction can injure a girl’s vagina.

  Who are prostitutes, and how did they get into the business in the first place?

  A lot of them are part-time models or actresses failed in their ambitions or waiting to realize them.

  A lot are dyed-in-the-wool whores who have known no other gainful employment. On the other hand, many girls come into the business for a specific amount of time to make quick money, and then split.

  Only stupid girls are likely to hang into this business until they are forty or worn-out or pregnant or drug users and don’t know what to do anymore.

  I admire the girl who is smart enough and has sufficient willpower and resistance to get out after she has made a killing; and keep a straight job with less money.

  Two examples are Gayle and Gilda, both very intelligent girls and both knowing exactly what they wanted from the business.

  Gayle got out when she married a very nice account executive from a big ad agency. She thanked me for helping her earn the money that made it possible to attract her man, and moved out to Westchester County with her husband.

  However, three months later she was on the phone again saying her husband was gambling two nights a week and she needed extra money to pay some of his debts; also, she didn’t dig sitting around at home doing nothing. She came and worked for a while, but vanished when her husband gave up his gambling.

  Gilda was working for a big brokerage house in Wall Street when her boyfriend got involved with the Mafia bad guys and was in debt to the tune of several grand.

  Gilda, who had absolutely no head for prostitution and was basically very square, indeed prudish, turned out to be a great $200 dinner date whom men took on social-business dinners. She came to me knowing exactly what she wanted, and after earning it, left again. She had what I called willpower, because when I have called her up since to offer her a quick $50 or $100, she has refused.

  Some little rich kids get into the business for kicks or out of a desire to be rebellious, but in my experience they get out quick and marry the guy back home whom they ran away from in the first place.

  There is a saying that prostitutes make the best wives. This to me is definitely a myth.

  Prostitutes either become nymphomaniacs or get to hate men, and it is almost impossible for them to settle for one man.

  Madeleine has now been married four times, and each relationship has crumbled, sending her back into the business.

  As for myself, many times I have been asked, “Xaviera, what’s a girl like you doing in a business like this? Why don’t you get out? You’d make someone a great wife.”

  I am not so sure. For me the madam life has become a big ego trip. I enjoy the independence and what’s more, for me prostitution is not just a way to make a living, but a real calling, which I enjoy.

  11. DIFFERENT STROKES FOR DIFFERENT FOLKS; OR: WALL STREET AND ME

  I’ve got a friend at the Chase Manhattan, the First National City, the Franklin National, the Marine Midland, the Dime, the Greenwich, the Bowery, Manufacturers Hanover, Bankers Trust, the New York Bank for Savings, the Bank of America, the Bank of Israel, the Bank of Tokyo, and just about every other bank, major or minor, operating in this country.

  In other words, bankers are among my very best customers.

  These money men account for about ten percent of my business, and when you consider the dozens of other professional categories – from athletes to aristocrats, doctors to diplomats, publishers to politicians, lawyers to judges, company presidents and other businessmen, and even some clergy – all patronizing my house, this occupation makes up a substantial share of the market.

  There is only one other profession that outranks bankers as dedicated clients, and that is the stockbroker. These are such a horny bunch of brothel-creepers that I would estimate fifty percent of my business is directly tied to the market trends.

  If the averages take a significant tumble – the stockbrokers will not!

  Happily, the reverse is true, and if it has been a good day on Wall Street, I can be certain that by eleven o’clock that night my phone will ring red hot, or groups of six or eight juiced-up stockbrokers will appear at my door. When the stocks go up, the cocks go up!

  Brokers, as a group, are likelier to patronize my premises, whereas the more conservative bankers tend frequently to call up for take-out service. But no matter where, when, how, or why their desire, I always go out of my way to satisfy their demands, because if I don’t, there is always a rival madam who will.

  One relatively quiet Friday night this summer I received a late-late call from a regular New York banker customer wanting six girls for the same number of out-of-town investment bankers he was entertaining. It happened that the girls who were not otherwise professionally occupied were already away for the weekend or relaxing with their boyfriends, so in order not to let the bankers down, I decided to take on the assignment by myself.

  I was pleased to discover when I went over to the Hilton that they were all staying on the same floor and had appointed their New York host as treasurer, so it was just a matter of negotiating with him a package deal and zipping from one room to the next, boom, boom, fifteen minutes, in, out, and I was back home in two hours considerably richer.

  Another time I took it upon myself to attend a mortgage bankers’ convention in Miami to further my goodwill, and, naturally, increase my wealth.

  On that occasion last winter, I took along one of my stronger girls, Raquel, and checked into the Fontainebleau, where the convention was being held. During the day we would sit by the pool soaking up the warm sun and engaging in social chitchat, while, all the time, I kept my eyes open to see which cabanas the bankers occupied.

  On the first afternoon we squeezed in a couple of customers before our late-afternoon nap, and after dinner that night we made our pitch in the Poodle Lounge, where the delegates were all relaxing. I would start up a conversation about being down from New York, and the banker would usually ask, “And what are you doing here in Miami?”

  “I am here for entertainment purposes,” I would answer.

  “Are you a singer or a dancer or something like that?”

  “No,” I would reply, “I am here to entertain the mortgage bankers.” It was as simple and direct as
that, and to show you what good customers they were, the first night we had about six men each, and the second night, after word spread like a brushfire, I remember going up and down in the hotel elevator ten times in less than three hours.

  Business was so fantastic that we didn’t have the strength to last for the four-day convention. On the fourth morning I woke up so exhausted that I told Raquel, “Pack your bags, we’re flying back to New York today.”

  At home in my own house I could earn the same money as administrator while my girls did the strenuous work. However, I believe I built up several lasting contacts in Miami, because many of these bankers still call me whenever they are in New York.

  I first gained my good reputation with the stockbrokers in my fledgling days when I operated alone in my little studio and was known to be able to take on half a dozen at one time. While I would be screwing one, the others would be lining up in the kitchen boozing and joking. The more I screwed, the hornier I became, so that everybody went away happy and we all had a lot of laughs as well.

  With bankers, and especially brokers, it is important that they are given a scrupulously honest financial deal, because if one of them felt cheated out of his money’s worth, word could spread along Wall Street, and you could lose a slice of your business.

  Brokers, while they may be my biggest customers, are not necessarily my favorite ones, especially when they arrive at my house polluted and rowdy and arguing about who goes with whom and for how much. The loud behavior of this particular raucous type, I believe, is a reflection of their ethnic origins, because most of them are of Irish descent.

  Last St. Patrick’s Day my house was like Belfast under siege. They arrived in drunken groups, and I had a difficult time keeping order, with them running around wearing nothing but green neckties or bright green ribbons around their cocks, boozing and carrying on more than they were using my girls.

  I will say one thing for the American-Irish-stockbroker types, though – they are always horny, and even if the market dips, they still want to come around. But they try to get away for less money.

  In a bordello, most ethnic or geographic groups conform to distinct behavior patterns, and I have compiled an alphabetical list of twelve of my most regular patrons and their sexual or social attitudes (otherwise known as Madam Xaviera’s dirty dozen).

  AMERICAN ITALIANS are second on the list for the title of most-high-spirited customers; however, unlike their Irish counterparts, they rarely quarrel about costs. On the other hand, they are more selective about their girls than the Irish, and usually demand to go only with blonds.

  AMERICAN JEWISH men are among my favorite and most frequent customers. They are also, sadly, among my biggest freaks and weirdos. Many of them seem to be in psychoanalysis with problems arising from a domineering mother or a Jewish American Princess wife who walks all over them.

  In the days before I was a hard-working madam I could take the time in bed to discuss their problems and persuade the surprising number who were on the verge of leaving their wives to stay with them. At the same time, I would convince them they were better off spending their money to work out their hostilities in their favorite freak scene, or their frustrations, with an understanding woman than on the couch of some boring shrink. I still have many of these same customers to this day.

  A lot of the Jewish doctors who come to me are freaky, usually wanting to be slaves. But I recently had one who told his girl to “lie absolutely still, don’t say a word, act like you’re dead.” This is the syndrome of necrophilia – a desire to copulate with the dead.

  As lovers the American Jewish men are capable and considerate, but very uptight about eating pussy. This just doesn’t happen naturally, but once you teach them how, they are not bad at it. They are well behaved in my living room, and even though they drink very little, they usually tip the bartender and often also the maid and the doorman.

  BRITISH. They are reasonably skillful, civilized, but slightly cold lovers. Also, they practice a kind of class consciousness even in a brothel. Unlike most other men, when they have concluded their physical activity they never mingle in the living room with other customers. They pay their bill, shake hands, and depart.

  DUTCH. Unfortunately, I have to condemn my own countrymen as perhaps the most unromantic and unimaginative lovers of all. After they make “dull Dutch” love, they plonk themselves flat on your body like a pancake and nearly squash the life out of you. What’s more, their living-room behavior is no more redeeming. They sit around for an hour and drink your liquor before agreeing to your price, and sometimes after all that, decide not to go at all.

  FRENCH. It is no coincidence that the “trade” name for soixante-neuf is “frenching,” because these men have exquisitely trained tongues. However, their personal hygiene leaves a lot to be desired (that goes for French women, too; I have one girl working for me whom I had to teach to shave her underarms and bathe and clean her teeth properly!). If you can talk Frenchmen into the tub before making love, they are cute little lovers.

  GERMANS. They are reasonably robust, rather unromantic, and downright dictatorial in bed. “Mach sofort die Beine offen!” (You will now open your legs!) is their attitude. I have, however, one beautiful German boy who is out-of-sight as a lover, but a pain in the neck as a person. He always gets into arguments with my Jewish customers. Even though he claims his parents’ generation was responsible for what happened in World War II, he still can’t stand Jews, and I always have a problem averting World War III whenever he is around.

  GREEKS. On a private basis, Greek young men are the ones I adore most as lovers. They are sensitive, strong, warm, and exciting. Greeks are rarely circumcised, but they are very clean. The older, richer Greeks as customers are very charming and sophisticated in bed, and sometimes slightly kinky. They tend to prefer anal sex, a taste which I believe they acquired in the days when their girls were expected to be virgins when they married and yet their hot Greek blood dictated otherwise. To overcome this technicality, they invented what is known professionally as “Greek style,” and the men still enjoy it that way today.

  HUNGARIANS. They are usually an older, gentler generation of men who come in full of European charm, usually carrying gifts of flowers for the madam and a compliment for the girls. “Ein kleines Kompliment hört jede Frau gern.” The Austrians of the same generation are almost the same as the Hungarians.

  ISRAELIS. Could not be more totally different from their American brothers. To begin with, they love eating. They are very virile, nicely shaped, hairy, and always horny. But their trouble is that they are very cheap and always try to turn my house into a cut-price bazaar.

  ITALIANS. Even in a brothel they are real lovers. They are sexually well educated, and very devoted. They pay well and never argue about prices. They usually prefer to have a dinner date with a girl, and they are very fine people to be with. The Spaniards are similar to the Italians.

  LATIN AMERICANS (including Mexicans). In general they are lovers rather than customers. They don’t mind spending their money, but they believe their $100 buys them the girl for the whole night. To them it’s not the money that matters, but they don’t want to be rushed. If I send a girl to a hotel to see, for example, a Texan, I know she will be back in half an hour, because as far as pay-for-play goes, American men know the score. However, if I send her over to see a Latin American, she’ll be gone at least two hours.

  The Latins want to romance the girl in their slow Occidental English, which is very time-consuming. They are like big children in their way, but very nice, charming, and appreciative just the same.

  To give you an example of their behavior in a brothel, I will tell the story of what happened earlier this year when I closed my house one Friday night at the request of a South American minister of finance and three of his country’s most prominent bankers. I assured the minister that except for his party and their two girls apiece, nobody else would be allowed on the premises. However, sitting around idly while
they were all going in and out of the bedrooms made me very horny, so when a very sexy male friend of mine called up, I invited him over.

  When he arrived the bedrooms were all occupied, so we had no alternative but to make love on the living-room sofa, and to hell with my promise not to let anyone else in. Although the Latins did say “no other customers,” this doesn’t necessarily mean “no lovers.”

  After we made wild love for about half an hour I became aware that the minister of finance and his party had trickled out of the bedrooms and taken ringside seats with their girl friends to watch the madam putting on an impromptu exhibition.

  It occurred to me they had a right to be mad at my entertaining another man, but that was not so. An hour later, when we had finally had enough, the Latins gave us a standing ovation, grinning broadly and shouting, “Bravo! Bravo!”

  Charming, and sometimes childlike as they are, Latin men stubbornly refuse to go with Latin women.

  ORIENTALS. We have a saying that going to bed with an Oriental is like washing your hands – clean and simple. These men are the quickest lovers and the smallest in dimensions. They are so quick and easy to take care of that when the new Chinese restaurant opened recently in my building I arranged to have regular meals sent up to my house in exchange for a monthly screw for every man on the staff, even the cook. Noodles for doodles, you might call it.

  As far as Oriental clients go, Japanese patronize brothels much more than Chinese, the latter being a more discreet, private race of people.

  Many Oriental men are painfully aware of their physical shortcomings and will go to bizarre lengths to conceal or compensate for them.

  I once had a poignant experience in a hotel room with a high-class Japanese man who could not face up to the reality of the size of his equipment.