Xaviera Hollander - The Happy Hooker - My Own Story

An unhappy case of one pimp refusing to let go of his bread-and-butter body was Greta, a small-time madam who operated from the York Avenue building and was managed by a “connected” Italian type who took care of payoffs and made sure she never got busted. But the pimp himself got sent away for armed robbery. This did not make him surrender his suffocating hold on the girl, and even from prison he managed her via two of his lieutenants, who kept her under a twenty-four-hour surveillance, even when she went out to visit her mother in Queens.

Different madams have different methods of finding girls to work for them, and on a couple of occasions I tried to follow their examples.

A lesbian madam named Janet cruises the gay-girl bars like Cookies, the Three, and Harry’s Back East to find working girls. She finds some little dyke, seduces her, invites her to live in her apartment for a few days, then persuades her to go into the game. This isn’t too difficult with lesbians, because basically they hate men and enjoy taking their money in exchange for sex.

I tried Janet’s approach one night in Maxwell’s Plum. I struck up a conversation with a gorgeous little gray-eyed straight girl in the powder room.

“You’re a very lovely-looking girl,” I said. “Are you by any chance a model?”

The girl stopped applying her lipstick. “Oh, no, I’m a legal secretary,” she said.

“How come you dress so beautifully on a secretary’s salary?” I asked. “Do you have a rich fiancé?”

“Heavens, no,” she laughed. “I wish I did, then I wouldn’t have to spend every cent I earn on clothes.”

“A girl like you should not have to work, you should have men spending money on you,” I told her. She was so delicious I would have liked to make love to her myself.

“Where can I find that?” she asked, showing casual but genuine interest.

“I know lots of rich men who would like to spoil you. Are you interested?”

“Oh, sure, I’m interested,” she said earnestly. “As long as there’s no sex involved.”

I met a cute little girl named Jenny at a gay bar, and although my intention was not exactly recruitment, it developed that way.

Jenny was twenty, looked fourteen, with short-gamin hair, and she told me she was a butch.

“It’s impossible to be butch when you are a virgin,” I explained. “You become one gradually after having sex. You might look a little tomboyish with your short hair, but you’re feminine – so let me be the butch.”

Jenny had a beautiful body, with silky pubic hair, and she turned me on tremendously. However, she wasn’t clean and fresh down there, and I had to teach her all about washing up, because she couldn’t douche, being a virgin, with her little hymen still in place.

We’d sit in a tub together, and I would play with her little titties and suck them and go down on her. I adored her so much I became protective, like a lover, toward her.

Poor little Jenny was slightly chaotic in her private life. She couldn’t keep a job, she was always broke, and at one point didn’t even have a place to stay. So I let her move in with me for a little while, but it was no atmosphere for a virgin. So I decided she had to get enough money to take care of herself and I suggested earning it from my customers.

“Look,” I said, “I’ve got a couple of johns coming up tonight. You can earn a quick fifty, and you don’t have to fuck, just blow.”

She’d never blown in her life, so I taught her on a banana, and she seemed, timidly, to get the hang of it.

That night when the two customers came up, I had decided to entertain them in the bathtub, because some men love to watch girls performing their ablutions, among other things, especially if one of them is like a little baby. But these two horny bastards got so excited seeing us in the bath, they took off their pants immediately and stuck their cocks into our mouths. All of a sudden I felt afraid for Jenny. At least these guys were Jewish and circumcised, but hers was so carried away he was being very rough.

Jenny was holding on to me like a little kitten, and she was making little choking sounds, and her neck was convulsing because he was penetrating too far. Then this bastard came down her throat, and the poor little mouse vomited and started to cry. Clearly, sweet little Jenny was not cut out for this calling.

Somehow, short of advertising in The New York Times I felt there had to be a source of enthusiastic amateurs who could be turned into gifted professionals. Quite by accident I came upon a virtual De Beers diamond field of untapped talent when a friend named Norman took me one late summer weekend to a nudist camp.

This was my first experience of en-masse nudism, and although I certainly was not inhibited, it was a case of not quite knowing where to put one’s hands, figuratively as well as literally. However, it wasn’t long before I was given my direction.

As I sat by the edge of the pool just taking in the scene, my eyes fell on a rather enchanting sight. Sitting a few yards away from me, in the middle of a group of people, was a woman with stunning red hair and a silky pubic triangle to match. As I watched, this inviting flame sparkled at me, and she moved her legs so that I could have a closer look, almost inside her vagina. And I must say that had I been a man then, my anatomy would have betrayed my mentality. As I wondered what to do next, I caught sight of the suntanned lifeguard, who had been watching the silent exchange and now gave me a wink and a beckoning look.

I walked over to where he sat, and before I spoke he said, “I can tell you how to join in with that interesting group if you want to.”

“I’d like very much to meet them,” I said.

“Very well,” he said, “they are a sort of a club, and all you need is the right introductory passwords.

“They call themselves tulips and they are French or something like that, so give it a try.”

I walked straight over to the “flame’s” circle and said, “Bonjour, madame, je m’appelle Xaviera, et je suis une tulipe de la Hollande.” “Good day, Madame. My name is Xaviera, and I am a tulip from Holland.” Little did they know how accurate that was.

A pleasant laughter went through the group, there were introductions all around, and before I could say “Adam and Eve” they invited me for a drink inside their cabana.

Six of us crowded into the small room, which contained two single beds and little else, and without too much need for formality I was soon eating my way through my flaming redhead’s pussy. She was in her forties, I guessed, but she had a nice firm body, flat stomach, and strong breasts. Her inviting vagina was warm and exciting, and my tongue darted through her curly red hair as I was stretched out between her legs. I licked and sucked her clitoris with my vibrating tongue until it was hard and erect.

Meanwhile the “flame’s” husband was standing with his face very close to the action to see exactly what it was I was doing to make his wife moan, writhe, and have multiple climaxes. Each time she was exhausted, but I would work her up into a new orgasm with my tongue, which never seemed to tire. She tasted delicious, and my face was wet, and by this time I had made her climax three times.

As I finally stopped eating her, her husband, who had been waiting, all turned on, with a big erection, put his cock into the now soaking-wet vagina of the “flame” and it was a pleasure to watch them make love.

Her whole body was perspiring, and the squishy-squashy noises turned everybody else on. Only then did I become aware of all the other people, because I was concentrating only on my “flame.” But my hunger for pussy was not yet sated and several other girls who had been turned on and were going crazy at the ecstatic pleasure the “flame” was enjoying wanted me to eat them up too.