But he still hadn’t had a climax, so I took the biggest dildo around and jammed it in his rear end, and he popped his cookies. Then I threw him in the tub with lots of Vitabath and scrubbed him all over, took him out, and dried him off, then remembered I had not washed his hair, and had to bathe him all over again.

The beer, the birds, and the bath cost him $600, and he was pleased to pay the price. However, I didn’t want my house turned into a public urinal ever again, so I sent him to a rival madam.

Mr. Filthyrich is something else again. This incredibly handsome, intelligent, charming, and wealthy man wants you to feed him your shit – literally – with a silver spoon out of a plate. One girl I know makes a fortune by telephoning him when she feels the urge, and he always tells her to get in a cab and come right over.

But most of my girls don’t like going there, easy money though it is, because Mr. Filthyrich at thirty-two is so handsome and would make some girl a gorgeous lover that they can’t bring themselves to do what he wants.

One thing more that especially bothers me about Mr. Filthyrich is that the crockery he uses for his revolting deviation is a blue Delft plate – my country’s most treasured export!

Henry the Eighth is one of the heaviest “filth freaks” in the whole of my black book, and has been thrown out of every respectable hotel in New York because he is such a big pig.

In truth he looks more like a frog than a pig. He’s a repulsive man with olive eyes that sort of pop out of his head, and a fat slobbery mouth.

If a girl is smart, she can get a lot of money from him, but it takes a lot of patience and a strong stomach. This big fat Jewish slob’s hang-up is ordering huge quantities of food up to his room and wolfing it down while he gets stoned on grass, amyl nitrate, and other stimulants.

He pushes it all into his mouth in large fistfuls while grunting and snorting like a pig; then, when he can’t fit any more in his mouth, he starts hurling it around the room. He throws peas, carrots, chicken bones, gravy, all over the room, in the light fixtures, the draperies, the girl even catches it on her dress, and, of course, there’s food all over the bed.

Then, depending on how freaky his mood is, he wants the girl to kick him, slap him, tie him down, spit in his face, and sometimes even pee on him. Finally he gets his rocks off when the girl uses a strong vibrator on his penis while he is slobbering with his liver-lips on her vagina.

You can imagine the screams the maids let out when they come in to clean up his room next morning.

It’s a repulsive scene, but of course he means well, he’s just a big baby. However, that’s not the way the hotel managers look at his behavior, and that is why he has freaked his way through every hotel in Manhattan.

When Henry the Eighth first called me up, he had a suite in the Plaza. Last time I heard from him was from a rundown motel on Tenth Avenue in the Twenties!

Everyone seems to think that high-class prostitutes, especially madams, have a lot of money. Lawyers in particular must believe this, because they always charge me three or four times what they would charge a regular client for their time and effort.

Now it is true that my business – as my stockbroker would put it – does generate a large cash flow. The top madams in town can make $4,000 a week during a good week in January, February, and March, but the rest of the year it’s much more likely to be $2,000 a week. And expenses are large the year round.

I almost always have four or five girls working in my three-bedroom apartment from Monday through Thursday nights. On weekends, however, the johns desert New York and go back to their families in Long Island, Ohio, or wherever they are from. Summer weekends, they take off as early as Thursday to go out to the Hamptons.

In addition to the girls at the apartment, I am usually sending another five girls out to apartments and hotel rooms each night. Some customers, and this is particularly true of Latins, want to make a big occasion out of seeing one of my girls. Dinner, champagne, a floor show, these johns want to lavish on the prostitute before fucking her. So I won’t send a girl out on a three-hour dinner date for under two hundred dollars. But the rich South Americans have their own style and don’t mind paying to maintain it.

Most of my customers come to me as a result of word-of-mouth publicity. If somebody arrives at my place and he looks like a wealthy man and can spend large sums of money, I’ll first of all ease the price up above my fifty-dollar minimum. If I think he can go for more money, I give him two or three girls and, bending my rule, let him pay up front. For a trip around the world, if indeed the girl is willing to perform this intimate service with her tongue around the john’s behind, we usually charge double. If he hasn’t enough cash with him, I accept a check, even if he’s new to my place. You can tell if a man is wealthy.

When a man leaves my place and he’s from a city like Washington, Chicago, or Philadelphia, and not New York, I give him a few of my interior-decorator cards and ask him to give them out to his groovy friends and tell them to just call me anytime.

When a Texan walks into my place, the price is immediately a C-note, a hundred dollars. They generally are the best-spending customers I get. For his money a customer is entitled to one half-hour with a girl – and no money back if not delighted.

We squeeze in the little brokers for a quick fifty dollars. They’re not demanding because they’re always horny. They come up often, and they’re not the type to hang around for three hours drinking up my booze. Basically they’re very easygoing.

Sometimes I get men who are impotent and want to eat up two or three girls while still not being able to come. They waste a lot of time and are usually the ones who give me a hard time when it’s time to pay. But most of my customers reach their rocks off in much less time than the half-hour due them. Then if they want another go, even with the same girl, and even within the half-hour, they must pay again.

I split fifty-fifty with my girls, and every night is pay day. The girls I send over to hotel rooms usually come back to me each night after they’ve finished work to give me my fifty-percent madam’s fee. Sometimes, however, they are so tired that it is not until the next day they bring my money to me. Almost always my outside girls are honest and split fairly with me. Since both they and their customers need me, they would not lie. For instance, if I send a girl to a hotel room and instead of only one fuck, she makes the customer climax three times, she could collect $150, and tell me he came only once. But this almost never happens, especially since the customer likes to remind me how much he’s paying me. Maybe he hopes I will give him a discount someday.

A lot of men seem to wake up horny in the morning and would like to see me, but can’t get to my place. For them I have a special service. I let them telephone me, and I talk them into an orgasm while they jerk off. For this I usually don’t get paid, but I know they’ll be back as paying customers some night.

Quite a few of these, what I call dial-a-jerk calls, come from masochists and slaves who jerk off while I describe how I am going to tie down their balls and put pins through them, then I’m going to beat their behinds with my steel-bristle brush and handcuff them and whip them with my cat-o’-nine-tails. But to tell the truth, I am trying to stop this service now, because I am usually up until five in the morning carrying out the administrative duties of a madam, and just getting my beauty sleep when these horny guys or sickies wake me up.