Hugh Marston Hefner

thirteenbyseven

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When I was still in grade school, a buddy of mine absconded one of his father's prized editions of Playboy magazine and ran over to my house where we :shocked: at the centerfold, Miss December 1980, Terri Welles. A beautiful statuesque blonde with big rosy jugs and a perfect equilateral pubic triangle, she later went on to become the Playmate of the Year in 1981. With only the slightest persuasion on my part (I told him I'd tell the whole world he got a boner looking at the magazine) he subsequently ventured over with additional issues, each containing a beautiful centerfold with differing anatomy! Yes, I had made the stunning discovery that every set of hooters was different and unique. Side note: that was years before I made the additional observation that women of this ilk were frequently like Ferraris, beautiful to look at, tempermental and very high maintenance.

The man behind this magazine was said to live in an enormous Tudor mansion that looked as if they had plopped a peice of Merry 'ol England right in the middle of L.A. off of Sunset Blvd. Stories spread of incredible parties with bevies of these naked beauties roaming the grounds of the Playboy Mansion, parties that went went on all hours of the day and night! And Hef, the ultimate stud, had his choice of every one of them. A broke lanky school kid with no driver's license could only dream what it must be like to be the ultimate stud of Playboy magazine.

One day years later while perusing a used bookstore I found a hardback with a red cover and the dark silhouette of the Playboy bunny with a tear running down its face; Bunny " The Real Story of Playboy." Written by insider Russell Miller it was alternately hilarious and a little sad at the same time. Tucked in the 371 pages were chapters entitled Godzilla of Sleepy Hollow and The Best Party That Never Was that painted a much different fantasy that the one inside my head. Blended in with the ultimate stud was an oh so definate percentage of Don Knotts as Abner Peacock in The Love God. A man who only ate fried chicken and Wonderbread, never went any place outside the gates of his mansion, a host who would breathlessly announce to his captive party guests "it's movie time!" whereupon they would be treated to the 500th showing of Casablanca and most greviously, flew on only one transatlantic overseas flight aboard his private DC-9-30 the entire time he owned it! No I thought, this is not how an ultimate Playboy stud is supposed to act.

More time had passed. I came upon a rival men's magazine showing some candid photos of Hugh Hefner in bed with a few of his playmates. They were not a flattering poses, in fact they looked like jail booking photos with a startled guy on a bed sporting a six inch erection. Ultimate Playboy studs are not suposed to have small six inch erections.

Now years later, I've had time to distill the whole Hugh Hefner Playboy mystique and I'm as big a fan as I was as a kid looking at nude centerfolds. True, I still stumble across nasty anti-Hef news from bitter ex-playmates who spread gossip that his three live-in girlfriends are actually catagorized as staff empoyees at $10,000 a month. "Frankly (Victoria) my dear, I could give a damn." Hugh Hefner intoduced me to the wonders of womanhood- albeit the two dimensional pictorial kind. And for that alone I am eternally appreciative.

Today, here's to you Hugh Marston Hefner, on you're Eightieth Birthday!!!:birthday:
 

B_Stronzo

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What I like about Mr. Hefner is that long into his career he shocked the heterosexuals of this society by admitting he'd had sex with men. Good for you Hef!

He's also a distant cousin through his Marston side of his family.

Plus I have the same affection for those Playboys since three of my 12 year old buddies and I used to used them to provide the proper mood for a good fondling session.