He was so gorgeous that I would think about him when Larry was making love to me.

But the closest we could get in the first couple of days was flirting across the casino tables under Larry’s hawklike gaze, or splashing each other in the pool during the day.

On the third night, when I saw him appear immaculately dressed in a black velvet suit and black tie, I decided to do something about my passion for the kid. I engineered an argument with Larry at the tables. “Listen, you are losing too much money on the tables, so if you want to keep gambling, count me out. I’m going for a walk,” I said, and left in a huff and rode the funicular down to the swimming pool, where I had already arranged to meet the kid.

When I arrived, I found he had his young brother with him; and he explained that his parents would not let one of them out without the other as chaperon.

Well, the two innocents lit up joints and started smoking them as we sat around the pool talking and kidding around. I was wearing a slinky décolleté dress, and the mosquitoes started biting my arms, so the kid gallantly suggested I go up to his room and protect myself. He was staying in his family’s huge suite, so he had to smuggle me inside by checking first to see if they were asleep, then leading me on tiptoe to his room, where he bolted the door behind us.

The whole scene of seducing this beautiful young boy while his mommy and daddy slept unaware in the next room was very exciting.

As I started to undress, the kid wrapped his arms around me and engaged me in the most exotic kiss as he skillfully started from my shoulders.

When I was as bare as the day I was born, the kid lowered me onto the bed like priceless porcelain and took off his own clothes, revealing that beautiful chest on which the hairs were not completely grown. I had a tantalizing glimpse of his young, strong penis before he snapped out the light and joined me.

As in my early days in Puerto Rico when I taught all the young boys the art of love, I was prepared to show my present lover the way. But before I could assume a lead, he started caressing and kissing me in a way that would make Don Juan look like an amateur, and he ate pussy perfectly.

Half an hour later, after making love passionately, we lay relaxing, and my curiosity about the sexual skills of this baby got the better of me.

“Tell me, how come you know so much about making a woman happy at your age?” I asked.

“My father is actually responsible for it in an indirect way,” he started telling me. “You see, he came to visit me on the West Coast, where I am studying cinematography, and while there introduced me to his mistress.

“During the course of an evening he became involved in a business discussion with an associate, and his mistress and I were left to ourselves and soon became interested in each other.

“When my father returned east, warning me never to let my mother know about his girl friend, she and I started seeing each other.”

Although I had been careful to conceal my profession from the kid, he told me his father’s mistress, whom he now secretly lived with, was a “business” girl and ten years older than himself.

As we talked lazily, I happened to look at my watch and discovered with horror that it was four A.M. – four hours since I had flounced out of the casino for a short walk.

“My God, I’ve got to get out of here,” I told my boy lover. “I’ve got a boyfriend waiting upstairs.”

As I threw my clothes on, the kid jumped into a pair of jeans, and, as any well-mannered man would do, insisted on escorting me home.

After waiting for the funicular for what seemed like an eternity, we rode up; we were to be confronted by the moon-washed outline of a very irate Larry standing on our balcony, which looked directly into each train car as it passed by.

There was no way he wouldn’t spot us, and no way he wouldn’t guess what we had been up to, since the kid was wearing a dinner suit when last seen, and suddenly he was in jeans.

We jumped off the funicular as it came to a halt, and hurried up to my floor. As we rounded the corridor corner, my bedroom door opened, and out into the hall came all my belongings – clothes, mirrors, brushes, combs, and luggage – onto the floor. I wouldn’t be surprised if next came Larry with a knife in his hand, so I told the kid to vanish. “El splitto, go, don’t hang around.” But Larry didn’t appear in the hall. Instead the bedroom door slammed, and I could hear him yelling at the kid as he boarded the funicular. “You fucking bastard, you fucked my wife. I’m going to tell your mother and father about this!” he screamed from the balcony at the top of his voice.

Lights of rudely awakened guests started peppering the front facade of the hotel, while meantime I was desperately trying to turn my key in the lock to get inside and shut Larry up. But he had jammed the keyhole with a toothpick.

As I poked and prodded, a well-dressed guest coming home late from the casino appeared in the hall.

“I’m sorry to trouble you, sir,” I said, “but, my lock seems to have stuck. I wonder, could you help me?”

The poor man looked a little tired, but he did his best to oblige. As he was bending down squinting into the stubborn lock, the door flew open to reveal a furious-faced Larry.

“You’re trying to fuck my wife, too,” he accused the poor passerby. “I’ll fix you all.”

Everybody started coming out into the hall, and it was excruciatingly embarrassing. I had to stop his paranoia at once, so I gave him a terrific shove back into the room, jumped inside, and slammed the door. Then the battle was on. We went for each other hammer and tongs, and I, being the stronger of the two, knocked Larry down onto the floor, grabbed his thick silver hair, and started pounding his head on the marble floor. One, two, three times I whammed it, until I realized that the next strike could kill him.

I let him up on the promise he would calm down and forget about what had happened. I spent the rest of the night trying to placate him, and the next morning we decided to move out of the hotel, taking the seven-A.M. helicopter down to the El San Juan.

The next day Larry took off for New York, and I stayed around. It was Christmas Eve, and all the crowd from the El Conquistador came over to my new hotel for the occasion.

When they saw me, they said, “You’re the girl who cheated on her husband and seduced the young boy.” They laughed and said the story had traveled all around the hotel like a flash fire.

Larry eventually got over the incident and forgave me. He knows that when I am horny I have to find a victim. Besides, those episodes are like ships that pass in the night. It’s the ships that dock for a while that really drive him mad. I occasionally have an affair with a man I might meet on the job that could go on for weeks or months.

Last winter I fell in love with a thirty-three-year-old banker named Skip, who looked like Sean Connery in his younger years. Larry knew about it, but accepted the situation as long as the man paid me. If there was a check from him in the morning when Larry came by, he would feel reassured, but if it was missing he would be angry. Which is hypocritical in a way, because I could still love my banker whether he paid me or not. Although sometimes I love to mix emotions with physical pleasure and business, and Skip used to pay a considerable sum to spend the night with me. He was fabulous-looking, with a fantastic body, and a witty sense of humor.

Skip used to come by around nine P.M., mingle with the group of people in the living room, tease the girls, and drive them out of their mind – since he knew he was a good-looking flirt, being very conceited indeed. At times he would parade around the house in one of Larry’s silk morning gowns, and while chatting on the couch, he would reveal certain parts of his body by letting the gown drop open halfway “accidentally.” All my girls liked him, and if it wasn’t for my house rule, the code of ethics – “Don’t touch Madam Xaviera’s lover” – they sure as hell would have liked to make a pass at him “for free.”