The Happy Hooker: My Own Story

by Xaviera Hollander

  The man, a minister of the Japanese cabinet, visiting New York, was lying in the darkened room with the covers pulled over him when I arrived at the request of his American male secretary.

  As my eyes became accustomed to the dark, I could see that he was in his early forties and quite attractive. He didn’t say much, so I undressed quickly and joined him in his bed, assuming he would leave all the action up to me.

  However, in bed, when I tried to go down on him he gently but firmly pushed my head away. At first I thought this might be coyness on his part, but he kept pushing me away until he saw I was so determined to suck his cock that he allowed me to.

  But he refused to remove his hands from where they were covering his balls and holding on to the base of his penis. At first I thought he was doing this to hold it up for me, but after a while I began to realize that there was something very strange about the penis I was sucking. The skin was not as soft as on a real cock, and when I went to put the point of my tongue into the little eye, I couldn’t find one.

  Something, I knew, was very weird in that bed. But before I could find out, he rolled me onto my back, made quick love, climaxed in minutes, and vanished into the bathroom.

  If I had not felt myself warm and wet when I reached down under the sheets, I would have suspected the man was wearing an artificial penis. It didn’t make sense.

  Five minutes later when he returned from the bath room with his hands still covering his front I had made no attempt to get up and get dressed, because I wanted to get to the bottom of this, so to speak.

  The Japanese cabinet minister slid back under the sheets and started talking with me in polite, labored “Engrish,” and as he did I gently pushed his hand away and found, to my amazement, a penis not even as big as my little finger.

  I believe if he had been a Caucasian and the lights had been on I would have seen that man blush crimson at that moment.

  “How come you were shaped so well five minutes ago?” I asked him. “Did you wear something over your penis?”

  “Never mind, never mind,” he said. “Everything okay now.”

  “Tell me the truth,” I coaxed. “I will understand, honestly.”

  There was no point in pretending, so he admitted to me he had indeed worn an artificial penis, which, I have since found out, is quite commonplace in Japan. It is such an ingenious little device that it can be controlled to emulate orgasm at the same time as the wearer, and squirt out a semenlike liquid.

  “Listen,” I said to him. “There is no need to be ashamed of your real penis. And to prove it, I will suck it again for you.” This time he let me do it, and I believe he really enjoyed it.

  After I dressed and was ready to leave, I asked him would he give me his false penis as a souvenir.

  “Never happen, never happen.” He shook his head. “Have several more cities to visit, and only one artificial penis.”

  “Well, rots of ruck,” I wished him as I walked out of the door.

  Just as different ethnic groups have their peculiarities, so do different age groups, and I have observed a consistent pattern with my customers in their specific age brackets.

  The youngest customer I have ever had was seventeen, and the oldest was seventy-two. However, both these extremes are very rare.

  In the old-style brothels of the 1930’s and 1940’s I believe there was such a thing as “cherry-popping” – an occasion when a father would send his adolescent son along to an understanding prostitute for an introduction to sex.

  These days, the few youths who visit an establishment like mine come up under their own steam. Nevertheless, these kids are usually very nervous and very quick, and climax almost immediately. They have the strength to climax two or three times, and depending on whether they can afford it or if the prostitute really likes them, they may go again a second, and maybe a third time, in the same half-hour.

  When the men reach their early twenties, they usually come up to my house in groups. At this age they are still a little self-conscious and give each other Dutch courage by the glassful. They are relatively easy to handle and last a little longer than the adolescents.

  When men reach their late twenties they have also reached the height of their sexual strength, but far from being desirable as lovers, they are considered by professional girls to be a nuisance. The late twenties are the ones the girls like the least, because they demand every different position for their money, and their snotty attitude is: “I’m young, I’m attractive, I really don’t need to use a prostitute, but since I’m here, I will get my money’s worth.”

  By contrast, men in their thirties and forties are the ones the girls like best.

  These are the men who know what it’s all about. They usually go twice in half an hour, and as far as the girls are concerned, it is a pleasure to make love to them. They usually are the kind who look after their bodies, work out in a gym, play tennis, wear nice-smelling colognes and after-shaves. They really appreciate a woman, and are not too demanding. The men in their thirties and forties are not too choosy about whether a girl is twenty or thirty, as long as she is attractive and has a nice personality.

  Men between forty and fifty are similar in their attitude to the previous group except they usually request a blow-job instead of a screw. They are from the generation whose wives are not so liberal about going down on them, so they come to a brothel for what they cannot get at home.

  In my experience and opinion, a man has certainly peaked sexually and begun to decline in his late forties.

  Men in their fifties start asking for very young girls, preferably little Lolita or “daughter” types. These customers are usually wealthy semiretired businessmen who winter in Miami and fly between there, Puerto Rico, and New York for their pleasure-seeking. They usually have a nice suntan, are always very gentlemanly, arriving often with a bottle of Scotch or perfume for the madam. Men over fifty start to feel that what they lack in performance they make up for in generosity. They always seek more privacy than the younger men, are gentle lovers, and can make it only once per hour, if at all.

  Anyone over sixty is, with very rare exceptions, content to give or receive a blow-job. If the girl eats them, they come in three strokes, and if they eat the girl, they can go on contentedly forever.

  However, you are never entirely certain which they will prefer, as I found out one night when I had a social appointment with a famous, elderly banker from Philadelphia. The man was very charming and, very sweet, and during the evening I learned to like him so much that on the way home in the taxi I told myself, “Poor man, he is so nice, why shouldn’t he be entitled to his pleasure the same as everybody else?” And I decided I would give him a beautiful blow-job.

  But when we got into my apartment he lured me onto the sofa, removed my panties, and, fully clothed himself, ate me for half an hour as though I were caviar.

  One of the rare cases of men over sixty still being strong enough to screw is an American movie magnate, and I know this because he has made love to me several times.

  This famous man always specifically requests me and another of my girls to come to his suite in the Plaza Hotel, where he waits for us dressed in an expensive silk morning gown.

  There is very little conversation when we arrive, and we usually have time to admire his beautiful original Dali and Picasso canvases before his imported girl friend saunters in with the air of someone just passing by, then undresses and lies on the bed.

  For some strange reason the movie man never makes love to his young girl friend, although he keeps her in high style and has bought her a co-op in a luxury East Side building.

  The two hired girls undress as well and begin to make love to the foreign girl while he sits there, his gown falling open, of course, in a splendid Louis XV chair. And I must say for an antique himself, this movie man has got a beautiful big cock.

  After the three girls on the bed have been making it for about fifteen minutes – with one girl kissing the foreigner’s breasts
while I give it to her with my vibrating tongue – she curls around and whispers in my ear: “All right, I’m going to fake it now.” And she pretends to have an orgasm to please her movie-magnate lover.

  Her trouble is, she has been using a vibrator since she was about seventeen, and she is now nineteen and cannot have an orgasm without it, because nothing can match up to the action of one of these machines – which, of course, is why I advise my girls not to use them very much.

  After she pretends to climax, the tycoon takes off his robe and screws one of the hired girls, usually me. And I must say he is pretty strong and fantastic for over sixty – as long as you close your eyes.

  Young or old, Afghan or Eskimo, all men who pay for play in a house of pleasure come under the heading of “johns,” and all fit into one of the following categories.

  1. THE EASY CHOOSER. He comes in horny and in a rush and hardly has the time for a drink. He just wants to get a quick blow-job, and absolutely no more involvement. No kissing, no holding, no need for faking it on the girl’s part. He is in and out in fifteen minutes.

  There is a variation on the type of “john” who wants only a blow-job. This one rationalizes that if he does not put his penis inside a vagina he is not being unfaithful to his wife. Strangely enough, this is usually the kind of man who was one of the biggest and wildest swingers before he was married…

  2. THE LOVER. He gets emotionally involved with a girl, requests her all the time, and doesn’t want to see anybody else. He tells her his life story, and often wants to convert her – take her away from all this – usually without offering her any alternate means of support. The lover is happy only if he feels the girl is satisfied with their lovemaking. He is time-consuming, but worth the effort, because the “lover” is always a steady customer.

  5. THE WHORE-AT-HEART. He likes variety without being especially selective, and always prefers the atmosphere of a madam’s house to that of a loner. He usually brings a bottle of booze or some other gift for the madam, feels very much at home in the brothel, and goes through several girls in the course of a night. By the time he is finished it is usually approaching dawn, and for the extra fee he usually decides to use the pull-out-sofa privileges and sleep over.

  4. THE DON JUAN. He comes carrying tales of all the gorgeous airline stewardesses, secretaries, and models he has slept with and who are all after his fantastic body. This type is always young, not necessarily goodlooking, and almost never good in bed either. You often wonder where he gets the strength to spend money at your house, because, from the stories he tells, it sounds like he has a pretty good business going for himself!

  5. THE INTROVERT HIGH ROLLER. This man, usually more of an intellectual than the usual john, wants to see a girl only once in his lifetime and never again. He uses the madams because he knows they have connections with girls all over the city and can give him access to the variety he craves. He is either a hardworking bachelor concentrating too hard on his career to hang around parties and pick up girls, or if he is married, he usually turns up in the summer when his wife is on vacation. He will call any time of the day or night, whenever the urge strikes him.

  6. THE HAGGLER. He sits down and hangs around for half an hour smoking as many of your cigarettes and drinking as much of your liquor as he can get his hands on, while making up his mind whether he will go at all. He puts you out of your way to get a special type of girl, even if there are several already sitting around, and when he finally decides to give it a try and you are about to straighten out prices, he gives you a hassle and tries to chisel down your prices. He usually throws in how much it cost him to park his car.

  7-A. THE TEMPORARY IMPOTENT. He is impotent on account of too much to drink, fatigue, a fall in the stock market, or pressure at the office. But whatever the cause, it is generally short-lived, and when he comes back in another week he will probably be a good, strong lover again. This man is usually the slightly nervous, sensitive type, and with him we always have patience and try to give him a second chance.

  7-B. THE PERMANENT IMPOTENT FREAK. He likes lots of girls in group scenes, or likes to watch lesbian scenes and doesn’t care whether the girls are black, white, or green. His permanent debility is caused either by age or some massive complex, and his preferences include fingering the girls until they climax (or fake it), just eating them, masturbating while the girl looks on, and some even like anal intercourse with a dildo or even go as far as carrots, sticks, beads on a string, ice cubes, or any other miscellany that will go up there.

  12. BIFF-BAM-THANK-YOU-MA’AM

  As long as there are grown men with adolescent-originated emotional hang-ups that bubble to the surface as their sex drive, there will always be the “freak…” A freak is basically anyone who needs fantasy, degradation, or punishment in order to achieve his interpretation of erotic gratification.

  I classify freaks in two categories: sadists and masochists, who need to inflict pain or have it inflicted; and weirdos, or sickies, whose preference is for more subtle, way-out fantasy.

  Based on what I see and what I hear, I would guess that as many as one in ten adult American men has a freak streak, latent or blatant, in his sexual makeup.

  Sadists and masochists, referred to by the cognoscenti as “S and M,” or “slaves and masters,” are the most prevalent of the freak syndrome, and ninety percent of those that I know are slaves, preferring to have punishment inflicted rather than mete it out.

  Being both master and slave is very rare and would be like being heterosexual and homosexual all at the same time.

  There appears to be no obvious reason for a man becoming one in preference to the other, and an interesting illustration of how two people, exposed to identical environmental influences, can react in opposite ways is a pair of brothers I will call William and David Lyons.

  The Lyons brothers grew up in a home presided over by a tyrannical mother and a doormat of a father, and both harbored tremendous amounts of filial resentment. As a result, both men became freaks – one is a heavy sadist and the other a meek masochist.

  William, the masochist, is called the “Humble Servant” in my house and pays to be treated like one. He comes up regularly, gets into an apron, and wants to be ordered around like a houseboy.

  If by chance the Humble Servant completes his list of chores, like running the errands, doing the dusting, and even washing out the girls’ stockings and underwear, we accidentally on purpose drop ashtrays full of matches, ash, and cigarette ends on the floor, and he gratefully cleans them up.

  Freaks are not, as many people suppose, faceless little misfits slinking around corners hoping to get splashed by a passing taxi or stepped on for free.

  Some of America’s wealthiest and most respected citizens have been beaten, chastised, insulted, dressed up like girls, chained like dogs and even ordered to bark in my house, and have paid big money for the privilege.

  There is so much money in freak scenes that one girl I know bought herself a beautiful villa in Switzerland with the proceeds of a twice-weekly visit from her freak boyfriend over the period of only a year.

  But to me that higher fee is still not always worth participating in freak scenes, for both moral and business reasons. You might think it would be quick, easy money to land someone a quick right to the jaw or give him a push down a flight of stairs, but that is not the case. Freak scenes are far more subtle and require the patience of a Job and the psychology of a Freud.

  For that reason there are professional girls who specialize only in freak scenes. A recently published book on sex claims that sado-masochistic scenes are generally done by older prostitutes who are no longer attractive enough to get straight customers. This is not entirely true. The girls are older, and often unattractive, but that is because they have the maturity to understand where a freak’s head is at and the experience to know how to cope with it. As far as looks go, freaks are generally not interested in attractive feminine girls as masters in their scenes, preferring tougher-l
ooking types.

  Freak scenes are just that – scenes. They are well-staged one-act plays with a beginning, a story line, and an end, but not necessarily a climax, as sex is often an unimportant aspect of their game.

  To many it’s a harmless romp elaborately acting out an immature fantasy. To others it can be a sick and degrading addiction.

  One of the most tragic I ever witnessed involved a stage and movie star, and it happened just this spring.

  One Sunday afternoon when it was quiet and I was looking forward to a much-needed rest, I had a phone call from Laura, the black girl I’d swung with at Madeleine’s. She wanted me to do her a favor, for money, of course.

  “I know you don’t make house calls anymore if you can avoid it, Xaviera;” she said, “but do you think you could break the rule this once for me?”

  Laura explained that she wanted me to participate in a way-out freak scene involving a famous showbusiness couple who had a townhouse in the fashionable East Sixties.

  “You’re the only one I know who can get into it without a whole lot of hassle, and you may even enjoy it,” she said.

  I liked Laura. She was fun-loving, freaky, and, like me, she really enjoyed her work. Since leaving Madeleine’s she had become a top-notch courtesan, catering only to the crème of the carriage trade. I wanted to help her out, and I also remembered that caramel-colored body of hers and got horny just thinking about it.

  “Okay,” I told her. “Give me the address, and I’ll come right over.” Twenty minutes later I entered the four-story brownstone and met the famous couple.

  “Thanks for coming,” Laura said. “Let me introduce you to Mr. and Mrs. Showbusiness.” Through the grapevine I was already aware that the woman and her former husband were well-known swingers in New York high-society bedrooms, but she divorced him when his gradually increasing hang-ups finally turned him homosexual.

  Her current husband, it was said, now scouts the city for young girls to give her for their little slave scenes. The actress, however, picks up the tabs.