After two uncomfortable but entirely platonic hours he pays us $200 each, and we dress and leave.

Mr. Bigwheel always keeps me awake throughout the night finding sets of two prostitutes to send over to him, and about nine in the morning, when you would think he would be exhausted from all the cocaine and cavorting, he calls up, wants me to come over to straight screw him, boom, boom, twenty minutes and out. Then he goes off to a business conference, and that night he freaks out in the same fashion all over again.

Another thing that is very big with sickies who want to do anything but screw is wrestling. The “Referee,” a New York literary critic, has this activity down to a fine art.

The Referee comes to my house carrying a little black suitcase from which he pulls out an old-fashioned flowered garterbelt-corset type garment that he wants me to undress and get into. Either it’s too tight or I’m putting on weight, because I really have to squeeze to get it on.

Then I have to put on fishnet stockings and high heels and lie down on my bed. The Referee undresses too, and gets on the bed beside me with his little black bag.

He opens the treasured bag again and pulls out a neat folder, which I first thought would be the same old pictures of men sucking women and women sucking men, but no, instead it’s a whole collection of women wrestlers, which he spreads around the bed.

The pictures are ancient, and the paper is yellow, and even though he has looked at them hundreds of times, he still gets juiced up showing them to me. “Look how this one’s tits stick up, and look how this one’s got her cunt in the air!”

He gets very carried away as we discuss the wrestling postures of the funny-looking women with their old-fashioned hair styles.

After awhile he puts them all neatly away and takes out another folder full of pictures of movie stars like Sophia Loren and Brigitte Bardot, as well as beautiful models in ads, and the women all have one thing in common, they are all wearing some kind of foundation garment, like corsets, garters, or stockings.

Then the Referee wants me to match them together as wrestling partners. “Who do you think could really give it to the other one?” he asks lasciviously. Apparently I do an expert job of pairing them, because he gets so excited he starts jumping around on the bed, and asks me have I ever wrestled with a woman.

With freaks and weirdos, psychology is one of the most important attributes, so I tell him, “I love to wrestle, and I always win, because I am very aggressive.” I make up a vivid story about having a fight on the beach in Puerto Rico with a stuck-up English girl with red hair and freckles, whom I couldn’t stand on account of some boyfriend.

“I grabbed her head and pulled her hair and kicked her left and right, and we flew all over the place, and I even tore a clump of hair from her pussy.”

The story really freaks him out, and all the time I am talking, I am jerking his cock. “And finally I beat her black and blue and practically senseless, and I was the winner,” I conclude. And so does the Referee, who climaxes, thanks me, dresses, and goes.

I’m a big hit with the wrestling weirdos because I am strongly built and sometimes can look slightly butch. I also have, as one of them told me, perfect balance. And that’s my problem, because this fatiguing freak Gorgeous George will wrestle with nobody but me.

I met Gorgeous George before I was a busy madam and could devote the time it took to tumble around the floor with him, but these days his hang-up is far too time-consuming – and painful – for me.

Gorgeous George is skinny and kind of ugly, but a genius mentally, a brilliant pianist-composer, a financial wizard, and an accomplished tennis player.

He is also the father of a young son, which amazed me when I found out, because all he ever does for his $150 is roll around the floor and wrestle. He never screws, and he never even jerks off. How, I wondered for a long time, did this man make a baby when he never even climaxes? Then I accidentally found out at a social Christmas party, and it was Mrs. Gorgeous George herself who told me!

Evidently it was no secret that he was spending his money with me to get his weirdo gratification. His wife knew about it and entirely approved.

“So you’re Xaviera?” she said when she was introduced to me by him at the party. “Please let me thank you for all the wonderful things you have done for my husband. You have improved our sex life enormously.”

Mrs. Gorgeous George explained that after his sessions at my house her husband was able to get aroused to the point that when he came home, he would lock her in a wrestling hold, put his penis in her, and ejaculate. Otherwise, she admitted to me, they never had any kind of sex.

I asked how he acquired his crazy hang-up, and she said when he was a scrawny little twelve-year-old in school, a fat girl whom he had a kind of crush on picked him up in the gym one day, held him over her head for a minute, then dropped him to the floor and laughed her insides out.

Her husband, she said, felt very humiliated, but at the same time experienced a kind of sexual exhilaration, and when he reached manhood he started looking around for fat or hefty women.

She claimed, and it could be true, that he even hung around circus sideshows having fantasies about the fat freak ladies.

However, until he met me he never found anyone who combined attractive looks with strength and who would cooperate with him, for a fee, of course.

At the time I met his wife I had already stopped seeing Gorgeous George, because I could not afford the time he took and did not enjoy walking around for the next two days after each session with stiff joints and a bruised body.

She implored me to start taking care of him again, and even suggested I come to their big house, where there would be more space to wrestle. “If it would make you feel easier, I could always go out to my music lessons when you are there,” she said.

I had to refuse, but to this day she still calls and says: “Xaviera, it’s George, he’s in terrible shape again today, won’t you please come over and help him?”

Apart from the uncomfortable side effects, Gorgeous George’s wrestling scene is a breeze compared with some of the group freak scenes that have to be organized.

To begin with, you often have to find and pay “extras” to participate, and that can sometimes border on disaster if you don’t get the right one.

This happened in a group freak scene with a shy businessman named Lionel, who visited New York weekly.

Lionel was a peek freak who loved to watch movies of men making it together, or, better still, observe them at close quarters through a two-way mirror. He was a married man, but I could easily see that he was a potential-homosexual, and it would only be a matter of time before he plucked up the nerve to participate himself.

It happened one Sunday afternoon. “Xaviera, do you think it would be possible to arrange a nice, discreet young man for me to experiment with?” he asked sheepishly.

It was a very simple matter to phone up the stud service of Pim Anderson, who is also described as a madam, and ask him to send me over someone attractive who is shaped huge.

And that’s where you can get into difficulties using studs.

With a girl you can see how she is built just by looking at her, but if a stud says he has a big one, you have to take his word for it. You can’t say, “Okay, let it all hang out.”

This Sunday afternoon Pim sends me over a beautiful-looking kid named Raymond who, just as the scene is about to begin, cannot get it up in the worst way.

I call him outside and ask him: “What’s the problem, why can’t you get it up?” And he says, “I already screwed five times today, and I also jerked off when I woke up this morning, because it felt so nice.”