Xaviera Hollander - The Happy Hooker - My Own Story

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From Publishers Weekly
Xaviera Hollander has been writing a Penthouse column for 30 years. She chronicled her life as a "high-class New York madam" in 1972's The Happy Hooker: My Own Story, which now returns to print. Frankly discussing lesbianism, bondage, voyeurism and run-ins with lawyers and the FBI, Hollander's book was an international bestseller. In her new epilogue, Hollander rather questionably attests that although her stories may not be as shocking or taboo now as they were in 1972, "the business of sex [has] a new relevance" since September 11. Regan Books will also publish Hollander's new memoir, Child No More, in June (a review will run in an upcoming issue).
From Library Journal
Dutch madam Hollander scored big with this 1972 autobiography, which became a best seller 15 million copies worldwide. Although the book ended up in the hands of respectable readers, it's little more than smut, as Hollander recounts how she left Holland for a job as a secretary in New York, got bored, and became a prostitute and brothel manager (doesn't everybody?). Three decades later, when you can find raunchier stuff on prime-time TV, this is kind of kitschy. This 30th-anniversary edition contains a new epilog.
***
An astute historian of New York prostitution might have heard a small bell ringing in their head upon reading the name of the woman accused of arranging prostitutes for Eliot’s Emperors Club VIP: Tanya Hollander. You see, New York’s most notorious prostitute (and madam) ever, the Happy Hooker, was named Xaveria Hollander. Was it now a family business? We called the old girl in Amsterdam to check.
“No, she’s not my daughter,” Hollander tells us from what she refers to as her “bed and brothel” on Amsterdam’s Gold Coast. “But it’s a wickedly chosen nom de plume.” (We prefer to think of it as a "nom de poon.") Was the Happy Hooker herself shocked by the news of Spitzer’s dalliances? Not really, save for the prices being bandied about. “Is that what they get paid these days?” she asks, referring to the $5,000 allegedly earned by Ashley Alexandra Dupré. “I was in the $100 bracket.”
Let's talk quality of clientele. Is Spitzer really that big of a deal? Who did Hollander meet in the boudoir? “I had my dealings with the White House,” she says. “But it was more discreet. Newsweek offered to pay me a lot of money if I’d admitted that Sinatra was my client. But I never talked. My affairs we’re never sleazy. I might have mentioned something about a crooner from New Jersey, though…”
Hollander has written eighteen books since her seminal tome in the seventies, in addition to writing the "Call Me Madam" column in Penthouse from 1973 to 2005. Coming soon to a bookstore near you: The Happy Hooker’s Guide to Sex-69 Orgasmic Ways to Pleasure a Woman, from New York’s very own Skyhorse Publishing. We're the hooker capital of the world! -Duff McDonald

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Being Greek, Takis had one of the famous Greek weaknesses, and that was gambling. He would not, like most men might do, cheat on his girl friend, but the few nights that he did come home in the early morning hours he always confessed to me that he had gone to some after-hours gambling joint, where preferably his favorite Armenian game of “barbout,” a game similar to crap shooting, was played. Takis was constantly broke. I used to support him, not in great sums like Carmine allegedly did, but with a ten- or twenty-dollar bill here and there. One night when he left, all he had in his pocket was twelve dollars, but when he came home at ten the next day, he was exhausted but very satisfied – he showed me proudly how he had won with his small sum the big sum of two thousand dollars.

However, the money seemed somehow to burn the proverbial hole in his pocket, and like a masochist he had to go back to the tables and lose it all. Since it was not actually money from my savings or anything like that, I could never really get mad at him. Of course, I wished he would save his winnings or get a steady job, but lazy as he was at that time, he preferred to be the boyfriend, almost gigololike, of Madam Xaviera. Not that he ever purposely took advantage of me – that I can guarantee. It was always my own idea when I decided to be generous with him. And he never asked for a thing. Some days I would take him downtown and buy him some new shirts or some jockey underpants or a nice woolen sweater that revealed his sexy body even more. All this while, we really were tremendously turned on by each other, and used to make love night after night till sunup.

To be sure, it didn’t take Larry long to realize that my Greek boy who acted as bartender and played gin rummy with the customers was actually living in the apartment.

“Have you fucked Xaviera, Takis?” Larry asked bluntly on more than one occasion.

“Oh, no, of course not,” Takis would answer. “We are friends. I am happy to get the work and a place to sleep.”

I always denied that I made love to Takis, but Larry, of course, knew me too well to believe it, and finally, stupidly, I admitted that Takis and I did it. I am too honest to be able to lie.

When Larry heard this, he virtually threw Takis and me out of my own house, stating that since the apartment lease was in his name, I had no right to put another man in the house.

That morning, like a beaten-up dog, my Greek packed his one big suitcase and I checked him into a little hotel not too far away from where I lived. I paid the bill for the coming week, and at night he would sneak back into my house, when he knew that the coast was clear and that no jealous maniac, namely Larry, was there anymore.

This was an impossible situation, and it was ridiculous to pay a hotel on the side, while he as a matter of fact was still spending every night except the weekends – then Larry was there – with me. After a week I said to Takis, “This is crazy. Let’s stop throwing money away on the hotel. We’ll face reality and tell Larry he can’t stop us, from being together anymore.”

I decided to tell Larry about our deep feelings for each other. Amazingly, Larry took the news very bravely, almost fatherlike, although it was very hard for him to accept the three-way situation. Once again he was being cheated with his eyes wide open. His ego was crushed, and, what’s more, he liked Takis, who is truly an amiable person. Still, Larry couldn’t really blame me for being in love with this gorgeous boy so much younger than he, and finally agreed to accept the situation so long as I didn’t treat him badly or embarrass him in front of other people.

The high – or low – point of this uneasy triangle came when we spent a summer weekend at the beach home of friends in Westhampton. Larry and I had a bedroom together, with an adjoining bathroom, and beyond the bathroom was the bedroom given to Takis.

The first night, as soon as I thought Larry was asleep, I sneaked into the bathroom and locked the door to Larry’s and my room and went into Takis’ room. But Larry was not asleep and was listening at the bathroom door, trying to peep through the keyhole. Takis and I were so horny, I first gave him a blow-job, and as I later found out, Larry heard me washing my mouth out afterward. Then he even heard when I put my diaphragm in and went back to Takis for my straight lovemaking. When I finally returned to the room I shared with Larry, he was furious, and we had a big fight and he threatened to walk out. While I didn’t want to lose Larry, I could understand that the weekend was going to be a depressing experience for him if I were horny for Takis all the time. We went to bed, still together, but still upset. Whatever I do, it is not in my mind ever consciously to hurt Larry.

The next day Takis, in a very suave and civilized manner, asked why we couldn’t lead a three-way relationship – in other words, why can’t two men love one woman at the same time? Often a man has an affair with two girls, he reasoned. Why not vice versa? However, even for me, working out this arrangement was a very weird experience. Larry gave in to it because there was no way out. He knew I would choose Takis if I were forced to pick between them, and he did not want to lose me completely, I guess.

So on Sunday morning we decided to make our strange little ménage à trois start to work. The weather at the beach wasn’t too good that day, and not many people were out. We walked down to a secluded part of the beach, where nobody was in sight, the sun was behind a heavy cloud cover, and we put a towel down on the sand.

I lay in the middle of the big beach towel, and Larry rolled my bikini down a bit and began to play with my clitoris. My head was resting on Takis’ lap, and I could feel his powerful hard-on against my shoulder. He was caressing my breasts and kissing my mouth – I never kiss Larry, as I have mentioned, but Takis has the most sensuous mouth, and a beautiful way of kissing me. Soon I was having a delicious climax, wriggling like crazy all over the two of them, although at the same time I was also conscious that I was being selfish, since the two men had not been able to enjoy the same pleasure all the way.

After this beautiful one-way sex ritual with my two lovers, I began to notice what was going on around me. Several men had pulled their beach chairs closer to us and were looking our way through their sunglasses. It was time to leave. People were getting too curious. We decided to drive back to the city late that afternoon, and I thought it would be nice to give both of them a blow-job on the way back. But they were both too embarrassed to expose themselves in front of each other, so I ended up putting my head on Larry’s lap while he drove, and my toes teased Takis’ prick. Back in New York we all had dinner together, and then Larry had to go home to visit his kids. By then Larry had realized I was in love with Takis, my steady paramour now.

“Good night, Takis. Have a nice evening,” Larry ground out between his teeth when we parted. He gave me a bitter smile.

It was all very depressing, because I really hated to hurt Larry in any way. After all, we had been together for so long. So I have instructed both my lovers that I want no more scenes like that. And as of now, when we are together, we all keep our cool at all times. If I want to make love to Larry, which basically happens only once a week during the weekend, Takis is asleep or else he goes out or we close the door tightly. Nobody shows any emotion.

And now, ironically enough, I find Takis becoming more and more jealous of my other swings just for kicks.

I was invited to the home of New York’s most notorious pimp, a Jewish boy. I didn’t bring either Larry or Takis with me. This pimp, who was written up in a much-discussed two-part story in New York magazine, has a swimming pool in his Greenwich Village townhouse – and weekly orgies. The night I attended one of them, after a refreshing dip in the pool I fucked and sucked five male guests in and around the pool. I also ate a delicious young girl, who somehow had gotten involved in all this, while the other guests looked on from a balcony and cheered. Somehow Takis found out and was outraged. He wouldn’t make love to me for several days. I began to wonder about Takis’ sense of my life. Larry, in the long run, is so much more understanding in spite of his temper.

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