Then I tied a little tourniquet of surgical tubing around the head of his cock. This technique delays a man’s orgasm. You tie a piece of surgical tubing, or venetian-blind cord, around the head of his organ, but after he has a hard-on, because otherwise the blood can’t get through. The tourniquet stops the blood from circulating, so the balls get really big and the cock stays up, and he cannot climax.
While I had him this way I greased up a little vibrator and put it in his ass at the same time as I started sucking his cock, and with all that going on he nearly flipped out of his head.
After I had almost driven this gorgeous man wild, I pulled off the tourniquet and made love to him first doggie style, then with my legs around his shoulders, and finally tree style – him standing beside the bed and I hung on to his broad shoulder like climbing a tree. I gently put his big cock into my vagina and a bit awkwardly we climaxed.
On the matter of orchestrating a climax, there is a professional secret to delay premature ejaculation, too. If a girl is sympathetic to the man’s problem, she can give him a tube of ‘Detane’ and tell him to rub some into the head of his penis. It will be sure to slow him down. Sometimes I use a psychological approach, like jokingly telling him to think of his mother-in-law’s funeral if I sense he is going to explode too soon.
Usually, though, the reverse is the problem – to make a man climax when the meter is running over.
I had one situation where everybody was screwing and nobody seemed to reach their climax, and my German girl, the resourceful Grethe, worked out a solution.
I sent Grethe as captain of a group of girls to participate in a bachelor party a group of rich young men-about-town were holding in the penthouse at the New York Hilton.
When my girls arrived they found a wild scene in progress, with a band and dancing on the ground floor and several bedrooms were filled with young couples, copulating in various positions.
Grethe and my girls sat by quietly talking to their partners and awaiting their turn at the beds. However, after half an hour nothing was happening except a lot of quiet swishing around going on.
Grethe grew restless and decided to hurry them up by staging a sexy atmosphere. On the same principle that one makes noise like running water to encourage urination, Grethe started puffing, panting, and groaning, and simulating orgasm sounds, and within five minutes everybody was doing the same. Then the first session of girls all ran to the bathrooms to wash up, and my girls and their partners hopped into bed.
Needless to say, hygiene is a very important aspect of the profession on everyone’s part. A girl doesn’t want to do all kinds of intimate things with a man who is not fresh, and the reverse is true, too. Since I sell girls, I make sure they know all about shaving their underarms and legs, using lotions, bathing, and douching. A professional girl should be able to douche two to three times a day without exceeding a danger limit and risking drying the sensitive internal tissue.
To protect herself against infection a girl tries to look at a man’s penis before he goes to the bathroom and has the chance to urinate, thereby concealing traces of disease. However, in a house like mine this danger does not occur.
If a man wants protection for himself, he will ask for a rubber.
Once or twice I have had a customer who behaved like a kid in a candy store, having several girls in a session, and the unaccustomed activity has caused a strain resulting in a slight discharge.
However, in my two years as a professional, whether it is luck or the result of hygiene vigilance, I have never come across a case of venereal disease. I maintain that it is the little freebies giving it away in the First Avenue bars who spread this hazard.
I am known to be obsessively clean, and the first thing I notice about a person is his or her fingernails. I drag a man over to the wash basin and scrub his hands if he looks grubby.
Careful as I am, early in my career I caught a little devil called the crabs. At the first itch I took myself off to the gynecologist to be checked out.
She was a dear old motherly type who probed around, located the demon, and took it on a slide to the microscope, where she confirmed my suspicions.
“My goodness,” she said, “a crabbie, dear.” Then she added apologetically, “I don’t want to alarm you, but have you been with a man you don’t know very well lately?”
Obviously I changed gynecologists and found somebody a little more broad-minded and equipped to understand the problems of a working girl.
The man I found is the “trade” specialist, a groovy man with a practice near fashionable Fifth Avenue in the Seventies. This man is to prostitutes what a trainer is to professional football players. He keeps in good playing condition all the muscles and tissues and tubes that in our trade get overworked and sometimes abused.
Although it is a myth that professional girls rush to their gynecologist for fortnightly checkups, whenever we have a problem, Dr. Jonathan Sayer, as I’ll call him, is the man we go to.
He is a good doctor, broad-minded, devotes a lot of time to each patient, and his prices are fair – $50 for the first visit and $25 thereafter.
He is also the first doctor I have come across in this country whom it is possible to be alone with. Unlike in Europe, doctors here have you all bundled up in gowns and tied with strings and presented like a giftwrapped package, with the nurse looking on like a hawk.
Dr. Sayer, however, sees you alone, and while his bedside manner is devastating, so far as I know he has never made a pass at a patient, despite many of their attempts to persuade him to do so.
Several girls, I understand, who have fallen on lean times have asked to pay their bills in trade, but he has politely declined. One lovestruck patient, recognizing that she would never get him into bed, bought him a bullwhip one Christmas and pleaded, “Doctor, just beat me up a little, please.”
How do professionals protect themselves against pregnancy and other occupational hazards? How do they overcome the unproductive four-day period?
Most girls prefer to protect themselves by using the Pill, although some use a diaphragm. This useful little gadget is also a professional trick for holding back the menstrual flow.
The way we do it is to douche thoroughly first, then insert the diaphragm, then douche again to remove traces of blood and the vaginal jelly, and it is impossible to detect that a girl is in that time of the month.
Although this effectively holds back the flow, this method gives you only half an hour’s respite, and has to be removed immediately.
Some girls overcome the four-day inconvenience by using large wads of cotton. I do not recommend this method because a strong partner can push the cotton to regions from which only a gynecologist can retrieve it.
A little sponge is another handy gadget that serves the same purpose, and unlike the cotton, retains its cohesion.
One of the working girl’s best friends is a little product called Koromex jelly. This violet-flavored lubricant will ease the way when passion does not. That is to say, if a girl has spent her natural lubrication or is not turned on by a man, a little lubricant helps out. Too much friction can injure a girl’s vagina.
Who are prostitutes, and how did they get into the business in the first place?
A lot of them are part-time models or actresses failed in their ambitions or waiting to realize them.
A lot are dyed-in-the-wool whores who have known no other gainful employment. On the other hand, many girls come into the business for a specific amount of time to make quick money, and then split.
Only stupid girls are likely to hang into this business until they are forty or worn-out or pregnant or drug users and don’t know what to do anymore.
I admire the girl who is smart enough and has sufficient willpower and resistance to get out after she has made a killing; and keep a straight job with less money.