Xaviera Hollander - The Happy Hooker - My Own Story

The funny thing was that on that day I had an invitation to go sailing on a huge luxury yacht, but David’s suggestion, appealed to me more.

We paddled a long way out to sea, talking and laughing and falling into the water and scrambling back on board, and as I hung on to his strong sunburned shoulders, I started to get really turned on.

He wasn’t good-looking, but he had a sexy Jean-Paul Belmondo kind of face, arid he also had a big Jewish nose. There’s a saying in German – “An dem Nasen eines Mannes erkennt man sein Johannes” – which means you can guess the size of a man’s penis by the size of his nose.

I also believe you can tell from his hands. If he has long, slim fingers, he usually has a long, slim cock. If he has short, thick fingers, he usually has a short, thick cock, and if he has meaty, fleshy hands like a butcher, he usually has a flabby, fleshy cock.

I take the liberty of making these generalizations because I have seen enough cocks in my time to consider myself an expert on the subject.

After paddling around for a while, David and I came back ashore, left the raft in the shade to dry out, and went to the hotel’s outdoor bar for a piña colada and a fruit punch, my favorite drink. There we met his roommates, Ricky, Hood, and Brian, and together we spent the rest of the afternoon running around the beach, talking, and, of course, getting around to the topic of sex.

The boys, aged between twenty-eight and thirty-two, complained how square the vacationing New York girls were and how innocent and stupid. “What we need for us is a woman like you,” David said, to which the others all agreed. When one of them suggested I move into their guest house, I jumped at the idea.

Why not? Their place was close by the beach and the action, and what more could I want than four strong, horny young men to play with in my free time?

We all walked over to the little white two-story clapboard house, where we found the landlady, a dear old German grandmother type, in the garden watering her plants.

I approached her in German requesting a room, and she was so charmed and flattered that she said I could have the best room, on the boys’ floor, with airconditioning and a bathroom all to myself. The guest house was modest, but clean and unbelievably cheap for Puerto Rico, only $10 a day.

“Okay, I’ll move in,” I told the boys. “So let’s go over to Carmen’s and get my belongings.”

When the boys brought me back with my luggage, which had increased since I arrived in Puerto Rico, they went to their own room to freshen and relax, and I went to mine down the hall to unpack.

Half an hour later I went to their room, which was very big and had several single beds in it, and I found them all fresh out of the shower with towels around them, all except David, who was walking around naked, proving my theory about big noses.

There was the smell of grass in the room, and they were lazily smoking, and the sound of rock music was roaring in the background, and soon somebody suggested we have an orgy to celebrate my arrival.

Nobody needed much persuasion, and pretty soon we were all stripped naked, tangled on the floor between the beds sucking, fucking, blowing, laughing, and climaxing. It was an unbelievably beautiful scene. Our bodies were hot and perspiring because there was no air-conditioning in their room, so we showered and did it all again.

Caught up in the abandon of the whole scene, I forgot my resolution never to allow compromising photos to be taken of me.

We took out the Polaroid camera to make some pictures, one of which was an absolute masterpiece. The Tourist Bureau should have used it on a scene card. It was a picture of me wearing David’s Spanish matador hat, sitting on his cock on the floor while Ricky was standing on my right getting a blow-job and, Brian to my left getting a hand-job.

Hood, the one who took the pictures, had never been in a group scene before, and he was so bashful he could not get it up, so I had to fuck him privately in my room later on.

As we jumped around and carried on, I started to get a sneaking feeling that somehow we were being watched. Nobody else seemed to notice, but they were so whacked out of their heads on grass that they couldn’t care less if we were on Candid Camera.

But I couldn’t shake the feeling there was someone observing our scene, and as I looked toward the window that led onto the veranda, I saw the venetian-blind slats almost imperceptibly move.

Without being obvious and not saying a word, I casually climbed off David’s cock and walked to the bureau under the window, pretending to get something in a drawer.

When my hand was out of eye range, I took hold of the blind cord and yanked it open, and there, staring me in the face, were the startled eyes of the landlady’s forty-five-year-old spinster daughter. Her peroxide-blond hair was all matted in the perspiration on her forehead and she was blushing and flushing and was very embarrassed indeed.

“Madam,” I said to her, “would you please keep your nose out of private parties unless you are invited? Furthermore, I would be grateful if you do not shock the sweet old landlady by telling her what you have seen.”

Without saying a word, she hurried away along the veranda, and we all cracked up laughing. And that, more or less, was the reckless tone of my next few weeks with the band of vagabonds.

The boys were on “extended” vacation in Puerto Rico, living the best way they could, which was not always something their parents would approve of if they knew. They were all law-school graduates, except David, the dropout, who was a larcenist by nature and the biggest, horniest fuck of all.

But Hood was the one I liked the best emotionally. He was sensitive, intelligent, and from an aristocratic New Jersey family. Together we all lived like beach bums, wildly and sometimes childishly, but it was a good balance for the work I was doing twice daily.

In the mornings we would all go to the beach, pinch some chairs, fool around, then around four P.M. I would leave for my afternoon’s business and join the boys back at the house later for a relaxing orgy and a siesta.

If the landlady’s nosy daughter was still interested in our activities, she no longer showed it, and always made a point of darting out of sight whenever my band of “freak hippies” walked by.

However, one morning when I broke our regular routine of being absent from the house all day and ducked back to pick up my suntan lotion, I discovered that I was wrong.

As I climbed the wooden stairs, I could see the sandaled feet of the spinster daughter standing motionless beside my bed. “Oh, my God,” I thought, “the busybody old snoop has found our orgy pictures.” Then I remembered she had seen the live performance, so what the hell, let her have her kicks as long as the dear old landlady was not exposed to it.

But as I tiptoed barefoot into the room, I saw none other than the old lady herself holding our pictures up to the light and discussing our various positions as though she and her daughter were Masters and Johnson!

They were both so absorbed in the pornography that they didn’t hear me enter at first.

“Good morning, ladies,” I said., “Are you enjoying our happy snaps?”

They wheeled around, mouths open, dropped the pictures like hot coals into the open drawer, and slammed it shut.

“Madam,” I addressed myself to the daughter, “it is not enough that you snoop around things that don’t concern you, but you have to get an innocent old lady involved, too. You should be ashamed of yourself, you really should.”

They didn’t wait to hear any more, they just bowed their heads and hurried straight out of the room.