Xaviera Hollander - The Happy Hooker - My Own Story

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.

Inside their house, where the atmosphere reeked of money, and success oozed out of the woodwork, we had a brief guided tour before the raven-haired woman, dressed in an exquisite turquoise silk house gown, led us upstairs.

Adjoining the bedroom was a bathroom where a Jacuzzi whirlpool bath was all ready. Without any prompting from the couple, Laura started to remove her clothes, and asked me to take mine off. The idea was for her and me to get into a swing. We started caressing each other as we climbed into the whirling tub. Laura sat on the side of the bath, and I knelt down doggie fashion and started kissing her all the way down her sinuous brown body to her familiar purple pussy with the springy hair.

All the time I was doing this the water was gushing against my clitoris from behind, and we were both getting very excited. The couple stood near the door, and the actress started stroking her own body through the soft silk of her gown, while her husband was saying, “Wow, give it to her, baby.”

Laura too was gurgling with pleasure, and soon she started to squeal as she climaxed and slid down into the tub.

This turned the actress on like a 100-watt lightbulb, and she wanted her own action. “Let’s go inside and get down to some basics,” she said impatiently. So we climbed out of the tub, toweled off, and adjourned to the bedroom for the heavy freak scene.

Laura, who knew the script well from regularly doing it, shoved the beautiful actress roughly down onto the bed and started undressing her. Without any resistance she removed her gown, panties, and bra, and I must say, for a forty-year-old woman who was the mother of a child, she had a dynamite body – slender and delicate, with big, strong tits and milk white skin.

Laura grabbed the actress’s wrists and bound them with her gown sash and tied them to the top of the bed, while I pulled her legs apart and tied each ankle to the other end, using her husband’s expensive neckties.

Then I was handed a huge double dildo – a rubber penis with identical heads on each end – and I was to abuse this beautiful creature with it. After I greased it up with Vaseline I inserted one end into her vagina and the other into her rectum, and not very gently, either. The treatment this woman wanted was rough and painful.

While I manipulated this monster, Laura slapped her around the face and breasts as she writhed with pleasure, making low moaning sounds.

During all this her husband stood leaning against a bureau calmly watching, popping amyl nitrates for himself and feeding her cocaine, which whacked her out of her head and sent her almost berserk.

Her husband was not allowed to touch the hired girls, although I have since found out he secretly auditions the very young ones when he goes on his talent-scouting sorties to brothels.

“Give it to her with the vibrators now, Xaviera,” Laura, the director, said, so I withdrew the double dildo and replaced it with two little rapidly whirring mechanical devices.

Her passion rose to a crescendo, and her husband could tell the climax was not far off, and in their twisted thinking the whole scene is justified as love if he completes it with her. He dropped his robe, climbed onto her convulsing body, and banged away for minutes until she climaxed, hysterically shrieking, “My God, my God, my God.”

It’s sick and it’s pathetic. Here’s this gorgeous-looking woman who should be in a sensitive, gentle love scene with someone tenderly kissing her all over, and instead she is hooked on this hideous depravity.

Furthermore, she is torn between her heterosexual duty to her husband and her increasing need for female domination, even though she is not yet a lesbian.

The couple paid me a substantial amount for my part, but really it was money I could live without, so I told Laura to forget about inviting me again.

But the scene left a lingering impression on me, and I figured maybe the actress needed the debasing to balance the heavy adulation she gets from her theater audiences and movie fans.

Who knows? All I know is she’s lucky she earns so much, because she spends big money for the freak scenes. Laura alone is paid $1,000 to stop by five times a week and give a convincing performance.

German George is another pathetic case who needs to be cruelly degraded before he can get his rocks off. He is a wealthy forty-five-year-old businessman who got his first taste of sex under the most extreme kind of conditions as a teen-age Jewish prisoner in a German concentration camp.

A tough woman guard, naked under a raincoat, ordered him behind the lavatories one night and forced him to perform cunnilingus.

To this day German George remembers vividly the fear mixed with reluctant excitement that he felt. And he has failed to overcome the trauma to the extent that he cannot have sex without re-creating the sights, sounds, and smells of that carnal moment.

I came in contact with German George when he called the house where I worked before I became a madam, requesting a girl who spoke fluent German, was reasonably strongly built, and could freak a man out. The madam assured him I was tailor-made for the part, and sent me to his apartment in a luxury high-rise building in the East Fifties.

German George, after greeting me politely at the door, wanted to get right down to brass tacks, and the first thing he did was lead me to a locked hall closet.

The slight, pale man fumbled with the locks, and from the way he acted, I thought he must be hiding the crown jewels. But as he pulled open the door with a grand gesture, I saw that the closet contained nothing else but six or seven original SS raincoats – and the smell of perishing rubber was so thick inside you could cut it with a knife.

This man wanted me to undress and put the raincoat on over my naked body and carry out a mock SS raid and a beating.

“Don’t forget to put on the belt,” he reminded me as he attached a swastika to the arm and handed me a toy gun.