Another request is for Greek style. That is, anal sex. If the man makes his desires in this direction known to the madam beforehand, he can be put to bed with a specialist. My Greek-style girl is a slim pale American blond who digs it no other way, despite warnings from her gynecologist to lay off, as it were.

Around-the-world, or analingus, is another popular request, but, needless to say, not every girl wants to accommodate this desire unless she can diplomatically coax a man into the bath first and scrub up his rectum good. With this technique, men usually don’t insist if the girl says it turns her off.

On the other hand, some men expect to be taken not only around the world but also to the far side of the moon and back for their money.

There are those who want ten different positions, and their general expression is, “I want my money’s worth,” because to them $50 represents a stiff fee, so to speak. A funny thing about these types is that many of them want to eat pussy, but practically never kiss a girl on the lips, even when they are coming.

What a girl does depends on the amount of time she has, or sometimes the appeal the man has for her.

Some customers are so nice you want to give them the world on a silver platter. I recently had such a man.

This man, Kenneth, was so delicious, with a beautiful body, but had been screwed up by bad sex. He was about thirty-two years old, married to a very square woman, and he had never fooled around or seen a prostitute until he came to us. The man’s looks and manners turned me on.

Even though he was clean, I had in mind something special to do with him, so I suggested we take a shower together, and I washed him up back, forward, upside down, until he was squeaky clean.

Then I took him to bed and started to make real love to him, starting at the toes, sucking each one as though it were a cock.

Then I started kissing and sucking from his toes up and his legs and his knees, at the same time that I was crawling all over his body with my fingers.

I worked my way up to his balls, which I sucked one at a time, while my fingers went to the bridge between his balls and his rectum, which caress he loved.

Then I lifted his ass and went in with my tongue; and he had never had this done to him, and he flipped out of his mind. He was so beautiful, responsive, and clean, and I was going deeper and deeper with my tongue, and his cock and his balls too were going up and down, he was so excited.

Then I put a little jelly on my indicator finger, and I started putting it in his ass, just a little bit, and I could feel that he got very tense. The ass is like a vagina sometimes – a warm opening to put a finger or a cock in.

Then I took my hand away from his rectum, turned him gently over, and gave him a back rub. Then I teased him with my tongue from the top of his neck to his bottom.

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.