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.

I walked over to where he sat, and before I spoke he said, “I can tell you how to join in with that interesting group if you want to.”

“I’d like very much to meet them,” I said.

“Very well,” he said, “they are a sort of a club, and all you need is the right introductory passwords.

“They call themselves tulips and they are French or something like that, so give it a try.”

I walked straight over to the “flame’s” circle and said, “Bonjour, madame, je m’appelle Xaviera, et je suis une tulipe de la Hollande.” “Good day, Madame. My name is Xaviera, and I am a tulip from Holland.” Little did they know how accurate that was.

A pleasant laughter went through the group, there were introductions all around, and before I could say “Adam and Eve” they invited me for a drink inside their cabana.

Six of us crowded into the small room, which contained two single beds and little else, and without too much need for formality I was soon eating my way through my flaming redhead’s pussy. She was in her forties, I guessed, but she had a nice firm body, flat stomach, and strong breasts. Her inviting vagina was warm and exciting, and my tongue darted through her curly red hair as I was stretched out between her legs. I licked and sucked her clitoris with my vibrating tongue until it was hard and erect.

Meanwhile the “flame’s” husband was standing with his face very close to the action to see exactly what it was I was doing to make his wife moan, writhe, and have multiple climaxes. Each time she was exhausted, but I would work her up into a new orgasm with my tongue, which never seemed to tire. She tasted delicious, and my face was wet, and by this time I had made her climax three times.

As I finally stopped eating her, her husband, who had been waiting, all turned on, with a big erection, put his cock into the now soaking-wet vagina of the “flame” and it was a pleasure to watch them make love.

Her whole body was perspiring, and the squishy-squashy noises turned everybody else on. Only then did I become aware of all the other people, because I was concentrating only on my “flame.” But my hunger for pussy was not yet sated and several other girls who had been turned on and were going crazy at the ecstatic pleasure the “flame” was enjoying wanted me to eat them up too.

Afterward I was exhausted, and the orgy I had started was going strong, but some of the girls and guys went for a swim to freshen up and cool off, and there I ran into my companion, Norman.

“Go inside that cabana,” I told him, “and you will have a fantastic experience.” I didn’t see Norman again for another two hours, but while I was sitting around with some of the naked females, I found it easy to convince them that their generous-spirited talents could be gainfully employed, and they agreed to become working girls at my house.

As I expected, these girls turned out to be great professionals, because they were uninhibited in their approach, yet decent types of girls.

One of my first and most successful girls was a stewardess from El Al airlines, who was very popular until she got rerouted and we lost her. Stewardesses often drift easily into the professional life as a supplemental income, starting out with having flings with married men from the first-class cabin, then asking themselves why do this for free. After a while they do regular stints in houses from Hong Kong to Helsinki, and London to Los Angeles.

Among my early girls was also a young Englishwoman, a former stewardess, recently separated from her violent American husband and just wanting to make enough money to support herself and pay for her divorce action.

How many times I wished my business were legal so I could, indeed, advertise in the employment columns of the newspapers: good pay, flexible hours, opportunity to meet lots of men.

Another madam I knew recruited her staff entirely from among bored Westchester housewives, and her house flourishes in Manhattan on a modest scale to this day. Inés was a Cuban girl who married an American, went to live in Westchester, and spent her days sitting around with other neglected wives listening to them talk about how they screwed the window’ washer, the gardener, the delivery man, and anything moving slower than three miles an hour.

“Listen,” she said to them, “if you like screwing so much, why don’t you come down to Manhattan with me and make money out of it?”

Inés herself got divorced and devoted her time to running the brothel in a midtown apartment, and the girls worked for her in rotating shifts. But she had her staff problems, too, because married women are always taking time off to go on vacation with their husbands or to have babies and hysterectomies.

I started hiring girls who had daytime jobs as secretaries and salesgirls and wanted to make some money on the side. I found they were less jaded and more enthusiastic than a “working” girl who’s been screwing her brains out ten times a day in another house. Many high-class call girls, on the other hand, are also known to be cold and businesslike.

The next step was promotion. A high-class house advertises strictly by word of mouth of satisfied customers, and never goes out soliciting.

Other areas of prostitution go to any lengths to solicit business, like the semilegit massage parlors that even put cute little girls on Lexington Avenue these days posing as poll-takers. The only answers they want are the man’s opinion of “special massage,” his name, and office telephone number.