Xaviera Hollander - The Happy Hooker - My Own Story

“C’mon, we don’t need that bullshit,” they said. “Give us a quick screw and $100.”

Nijinski, being drunk, offered to give them a check because he didn’t have enough money. Now, the rules of the business are that girls don’t accept checks. A street hooker would never consider a check, so when he started writing it out, they got mad and grabbed a bread knife from the kitchen and lunged at him with it.

Together they held him down, stuffed a handkerchief in his mouth, and blindfolded him. They broke a Coke bottle and buried the jagged end in his face, smashed the legs off the coffee table and used them to brutally beat him. Then they kicked his body and his balls and finally stabbed him repeatedly with the bread knife, and today he still has the ugly scars under his heart, on his abdomen, and around his throat.

The girls fled when he passed out, but not before taking with them everything of value they could carry from the apartment.

Mercifully he regained consciousness and managed to drag himself along the hall, and the last thing he remembered was pressing the elevator button with his chin before tumbling into the opening door.

Nijinski is a very subdued man now and leads a very secluded life, but that terrible experience has not cured him of his hang-up. However, he is very careful whom he conducts his erotic ballet sessions with these days, and has definitely changed his taste in “professional” ballerinas. When he phones up now he still specifies two girls, but they must be Anglo-Saxons.

There is one other branch of the sickies or weirdos whom I definitely would prefer never to have to do business with. The ones whose hang-up is filth.

Their scenes include anything from messy meals to urine to feces, to put it bluntly, and even though they are willing to pay a fortune for their scene, I usually turn them down unless they can conduct their repulsive activities someplace other than my house.

One famous television producer wants to pay through the nose for what girls do through the bladder – which is otherwise known as the “golden shower.”

This man was quite straight when I first met him, and I saw him gradually go from wanting the vibrator on his penis to the dildo in his anus, and finally one day asking me to urinate on him.

In time this became obsessive, and one day he called me and said, “Xaviera, I’ve been dreaming about having a dozen pretty girls pee all over me, and I will pay anything you ask if you would arrange it.”

In those days I was not a madam yet, and I had lots of trouble rounding up eight girls who would participate. Then my boyfriend, Larry, had to go over to Alexander’s and buy some plastic and rubber sheets to protect my bed, because the scene was to be held at my place.

The girls had been warned, before they came over, not to go to the bathroom, and were promised a $25 bonus on top of the $50 fee for the one who peed the longest. Just for good measure, I told them to drink a lot of beer before leaving for my place.

The producer arrived slightly crocked and drank a half-bottle of Scotch before he lay naked on the waterproofed bed and the bizarre scene began. All this time the movie projector was showing blue films on the wall, and now I sat on a chair with the stopwatch to time the girls as the first one came in and stood astride him and relieved herself.

Then the second, third, and fourth girls performed. Urine was starting to overflow on my bed and onto the floor, and I was getting fed up with the nauseating spectacle.

By the time the last girl had gone, the place looked like a pigsty with puddles around the floor and pee in the producer’s hair, eyes, and everywhere. A little Puerto Rican girl with a bladder infection won the contest by maintaining a weak dribble for sixty-five seconds.

But he still hadn’t had a climax, so I took the biggest dildo around and jammed it in his rear end, and he popped his cookies. Then I threw him in the tub with lots of Vitabath and scrubbed him all over, took him out, and dried him off, then remembered I had not washed his hair, and had to bathe him all over again.

The beer, the birds, and the bath cost him $600, and he was pleased to pay the price. However, I didn’t want my house turned into a public urinal ever again, so I sent him to a rival madam.

Mr. Filthyrich is something else again. This incredibly handsome, intelligent, charming, and wealthy man wants you to feed him your shit – literally – with a silver spoon out of a plate. One girl I know makes a fortune by telephoning him when she feels the urge, and he always tells her to get in a cab and come right over.

But most of my girls don’t like going there, easy money though it is, because Mr. Filthyrich at thirty-two is so handsome and would make some girl a gorgeous lover that they can’t bring themselves to do what he wants.

One thing more that especially bothers me about Mr. Filthyrich is that the crockery he uses for his revolting deviation is a blue Delft plate – my country’s most treasured export!

Henry the Eighth is one of the heaviest “filth freaks” in the whole of my black book, and has been thrown out of every respectable hotel in New York because he is such a big pig.

In truth he looks more like a frog than a pig. He’s a repulsive man with olive eyes that sort of pop out of his head, and a fat slobbery mouth.

If a girl is smart, she can get a lot of money from him, but it takes a lot of patience and a strong stomach. This big fat Jewish slob’s hang-up is ordering huge quantities of food up to his room and wolfing it down while he gets stoned on grass, amyl nitrate, and other stimulants.

He pushes it all into his mouth in large fistfuls while grunting and snorting like a pig; then, when he can’t fit any more in his mouth, he starts hurling it around the room. He throws peas, carrots, chicken bones, gravy, all over the room, in the light fixtures, the draperies, the girl even catches it on her dress, and, of course, there’s food all over the bed.

Then, depending on how freaky his mood is, he wants the girl to kick him, slap him, tie him down, spit in his face, and sometimes even pee on him. Finally he gets his rocks off when the girl uses a strong vibrator on his penis while he is slobbering with his liver-lips on her vagina.

You can imagine the screams the maids let out when they come in to clean up his room next morning.

It’s a repulsive scene, but of course he means well, he’s just a big baby. However, that’s not the way the hotel managers look at his behavior, and that is why he has freaked his way through every hotel in Manhattan.

When Henry the Eighth first called me up, he had a suite in the Plaza. Last time I heard from him was from a rundown motel on Tenth Avenue in the Twenties!

Everyone seems to think that high-class prostitutes, especially madams, have a lot of money. Lawyers in particular must believe this, because they always charge me three or four times what they would charge a regular client for their time and effort.

Now it is true that my business – as my stockbroker would put it – does generate a large cash flow. The top madams in town can make $4,000 a week during a good week in January, February, and March, but the rest of the year it’s much more likely to be $2,000 a week. And expenses are large the year round.

I almost always have four or five girls working in my three-bedroom apartment from Monday through Thursday nights. On weekends, however, the johns desert New York and go back to their families in Long Island, Ohio, or wherever they are from. Summer weekends, they take off as early as Thursday to go out to the Hamptons.

In addition to the girls at the apartment, I am usually sending another five girls out to apartments and hotel rooms each night. Some customers, and this is particularly true of Latins, want to make a big occasion out of seeing one of my girls. Dinner, champagne, a floor show, these johns want to lavish on the prostitute before fucking her. So I won’t send a girl out on a three-hour dinner date for under two hundred dollars. But the rich South Americans have their own style and don’t mind paying to maintain it.