About the Book

Have you ever wondered what happens in the Manhattan sex trade behind closed doors? Then you won’t want to miss this revealing collection of tell-all stories from the an elite Manhattan Madam. 

I once knew this guy —  a smart John, very sharp — who worked on Wall Street. He was addicted to money and sex, like most of the guys downtown. He told me that by watching me move he could tell how much risk I lived with and how I handled it. Just from watching me walk across the street, he knew.  You see, I walk quickly, with great energy. Purposefully is a better word, like I have to get somewhere important. You’ll never see me drifting down the street, taking it easy. Some girls look hunted, the ones that don’t really fit in this game or  had too much bad luck. I’m a hunter, but a cautious one.

You cannot fake the vibe, and it takes an Oscar winning performance to hide it, because the sexual vibration is primal. But, even if you can somehow fake it, maybe it’s costing you on a personal level. In my case, it is costing thousands of men in Manhattan a fortune.

I am the NYC Madam that has never been caught. If you get one look at me it’s obvious I’m… different.  The way I move, the way I react. The animal in you smells me across the busy avenue. Heads turn, people bump into each other, men walk into the street unwittingly trying to catch a second look. The cells phones come out for a shot of my body, especially the small of my back where it meets my ass, solid, rounded muscle shaped like two teardrops. Hands brush crotches and sometimes touch their wallets, right there on the street. People sense I am not free, expensive. They wonder, “Can I afford her?”  For a fact, most Johns cannot, sadly enough, afford my pleasures.

But in a moment I’m usually gone. Carrying this kind of magnetic load, I have to be so much smarter to avoid trouble.  Sometimes I need to vanish into thin air.

I decided early on to roll with this and not fight it. My dreams were probably not that different from yours. But I got hammered down so hard by my life that, by the time I was nineteen, I had been force-fed the first law of this universe: you only have yourself and no one else will help you. Anyway, no one did help me. Other people were mostly a curse.

Bitter fruit. A lost child.  But I kept pushing, literally, and I am now on top of my game.

I’m beautiful, but I’m also practical. By age fourteen  I was a woman. Boys fought over my body, first with fists and then with knives. A man’s knees shake with that first touch when I wrap my lips around his swollen horn. It was what is still is, right from the beginning, and it’s been impossible for me not to try to profit from these gifts.

Every beautiful woman is sitting on a fortune.

I could win an academy award every time I go to bed. I can act as well as Nicole Kidman or Naomi Russell (check out her performance in Big Butt Parade). In the fucking-business you need to be a skilled actress.  Make no mistake, as much as I enjoy the dance, for me this is a business. But my clients want to be fooled, and I fool them each and every time.
And yet that vibe I spoke of — the real one — is always right there. Just beneath the surface.

I take all my performances seriously, by the way. When there is serious money involved, I don’t joke around. My clients are putting out a lot of cash and deserve the best.