ITALIANS. Even in a brothel they are real lovers. They are sexually well educated, and very devoted. They pay well and never argue about prices. They usually prefer to have a dinner date with a girl, and they are very fine people to be with. The Spaniards are similar to the Italians.

LATIN AMERICANS (including Mexicans). In general they are lovers rather than customers. They don’t mind spending their money, but they believe their $100 buys them the girl for the whole night. To them it’s not the money that matters, but they don’t want to be rushed. If I send a girl to a hotel to see, for example, a Texan, I know she will be back in half an hour, because as far as pay-for-play goes, American men know the score. However, if I send her over to see a Latin American, she’ll be gone at least two hours.

The Latins want to romance the girl in their slow Occidental English, which is very time-consuming. They are like big children in their way, but very nice, charming, and appreciative just the same.

To give you an example of their behavior in a brothel, I will tell the story of what happened earlier this year when I closed my house one Friday night at the request of a South American minister of finance and three of his country’s most prominent bankers. I assured the minister that except for his party and their two girls apiece, nobody else would be allowed on the premises. However, sitting around idly while they were all going in and out of the bedrooms made me very horny, so when a very sexy male friend of mine called up, I invited him over.

When he arrived the bedrooms were all occupied, so we had no alternative but to make love on the living-room sofa, and to hell with my promise not to let anyone else in. Although the Latins did say “no other customers,” this doesn’t necessarily mean “no lovers.”

After we made wild love for about half an hour I became aware that the minister of finance and his party had trickled out of the bedrooms and taken ringside seats with their girl friends to watch the madam putting on an impromptu exhibition.

It occurred to me they had a right to be mad at my entertaining another man, but that was not so. An hour later, when we had finally had enough, the Latins gave us a standing ovation, grinning broadly and shouting, “Bravo! Bravo!”

Charming, and sometimes childlike as they are, Latin men stubbornly refuse to go with Latin women.

ORIENTALS. We have a saying that going to bed with an Oriental is like washing your hands – clean and simple. These men are the quickest lovers and the smallest in dimensions. They are so quick and easy to take care of that when the new Chinese restaurant opened recently in my building I arranged to have regular meals sent up to my house in exchange for a monthly screw for every man on the staff, even the cook. Noodles for doodles, you might call it.

As far as Oriental clients go, Japanese patronize brothels much more than Chinese, the latter being a more discreet, private race of people.

Many Oriental men are painfully aware of their physical shortcomings and will go to bizarre lengths to conceal or compensate for them.

I once had a poignant experience in a hotel room with a high-class Japanese man who could not face up to the reality of the size of his equipment.

The man, a minister of the Japanese cabinet, visiting New York, was lying in the darkened room with the covers pulled over him when I arrived at the request of his American male secretary.

As my eyes became accustomed to the dark, I could see that he was in his early forties and quite attractive. He didn’t say much, so I undressed quickly and joined him in his bed, assuming he would leave all the action up to me.

However, in bed, when I tried to go down on him he gently but firmly pushed my head away. At first I thought this might be coyness on his part, but he kept pushing me away until he saw I was so determined to suck his cock that he allowed me to.

But he refused to remove his hands from where they were covering his balls and holding on to the base of his penis. At first I thought he was doing this to hold it up for me, but after a while I began to realize that there was something very strange about the penis I was sucking. The skin was not as soft as on a real cock, and when I went to put the point of my tongue into the little eye, I couldn’t find one.

Something, I knew, was very weird in that bed. But before I could find out, he rolled me onto my back, made quick love, climaxed in minutes, and vanished into the bathroom.

If I had not felt myself warm and wet when I reached down under the sheets, I would have suspected the man was wearing an artificial penis. It didn’t make sense.

Five minutes later when he returned from the bath room with his hands still covering his front I had made no attempt to get up and get dressed, because I wanted to get to the bottom of this, so to speak.

The Japanese cabinet minister slid back under the sheets and started talking with me in polite, labored “Engrish,” and as he did I gently pushed his hand away and found, to my amazement, a penis not even as big as my little finger.

I believe if he had been a Caucasian and the lights had been on I would have seen that man blush crimson at that moment.

“How come you were shaped so well five minutes ago?” I asked him. “Did you wear something over your penis?”

“Never mind, never mind,” he said. “Everything okay now.”

“Tell me the truth,” I coaxed. “I will understand, honestly.”

There was no point in pretending, so he admitted to me he had indeed worn an artificial penis, which, I have since found out, is quite commonplace in Japan. It is such an ingenious little device that it can be controlled to emulate orgasm at the same time as the wearer, and squirt out a semenlike liquid.

“Listen,” I said to him. “There is no need to be ashamed of your real penis. And to prove it, I will suck it again for you.” This time he let me do it, and I believe he really enjoyed it.

After I dressed and was ready to leave, I asked him would he give me his false penis as a souvenir.

“Never happen, never happen.” He shook his head. “Have several more cities to visit, and only one artificial penis.”

“Well, rots of ruck,” I wished him as I walked out of the door.

Just as different ethnic groups have their peculiarities, so do different age groups, and I have observed a consistent pattern with my customers in their specific age brackets.

The youngest customer I have ever had was seventeen, and the oldest was seventy-two. However, both these extremes are very rare.

In the old-style brothels of the 1930’s and 1940’s I believe there was such a thing as “cherry-popping” – an occasion when a father would send his adolescent son along to an understanding prostitute for an introduction to sex.

These days, the few youths who visit an establishment like mine come up under their own steam. Nevertheless, these kids are usually very nervous and very quick, and climax almost immediately. They have the strength to climax two or three times, and depending on whether they can afford it or if the prostitute really likes them, they may go again a second, and maybe a third time, in the same half-hour.

When the men reach their early twenties, they usually come up to my house in groups. At this age they are still a little self-conscious and give each other Dutch courage by the glassful. They are relatively easy to handle and last a little longer than the adolescents.

When men reach their late twenties they have also reached the height of their sexual strength, but far from being desirable as lovers, they are considered by professional girls to be a nuisance. The late twenties are the ones the girls like the least, because they demand every different position for their money, and their snotty attitude is: “I’m young, I’m attractive, I really don’t need to use a prostitute, but since I’m here, I will get my money’s worth.”