At one point I hired a girl who had worked in a cheap house, and as a result, got exactly what I should have expected. Cheap behavior. In this case I relaxed my policy because the girl, Misty, was outwardly attractive. But when she undressed, there were stretch marks all over her body from children she gave birth to when she was fourteen and fifteen. At nineteen, when she came to me, she was already used up. And I soon found out her niceness was a very thin veneer.
As is my practice with new girls, I gave Misty a pleasant, attractive man as her first customer. The man, a stockbroker, was slightly drunk, but the easy-to-handle type.
Misty retired to the bedroom with him, but within five minutes dramatically reappeared, charging stark naked into the living room, cursing and swearing.
So I went inside and walked into a screaming match between the customer and Misty. “Listen,” I cried, taking the customer’s side, “you’re not working in a twenty-five-dollar whorehouse, so don’t behave like a whore.”
“Goddamnit!” she screamed. “I’ve already taken care of that bastard, and now he wants some more.”
It is my philosophy that a man is entitled to more than five minutes of a girl’s time, and even if he climaxes quickly, he can expect to be treated warmly and even babied and washed up, if that’s what he wants.
Misty quieted down and promised to cooperate, but her background was too strong, and twice next day I had complaints that she was a hard, cold bitch. So I had to dismiss her.
The others who were not attached to madams already usually had pimps behind them, and pimps are bad news because sooner or later they try to move in on your business.
In the beginning I did hire some girls who had pimps, and only one of them, a lovely-looking blond named Leonora, worked out well. I met Leonora through an old white pimp named Tony Roland who was known to handle the best-looking “working” girls in New York, and he saw that they were punctual and reliable. However, this particular girl had aspirations higher than hooking, and through a customer of mine, landed herself a television commercial, and her face is now splashed across the home screen.
The exceptional thing about this story is not that a prostitute achieved legitimate fame, because some major celebrities we all know began that way, but that her pimp let her get out of the business. But I suppose she is making more money now as a minor celebrity, arid in his way, Tony is still her pimp.
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.