The Playboy Mansion on New Year's Eve; all that and more.
I was invited to the Playboy Mansion for the annual New Year’s Eve Party. My escort's father is good friends with Hugh Hefner. It is a black tie affair, although the dress code for women was (I kid you not) "evening gowns or lingerie."
We arrived at a respectable 10 o'clock. And I was struck immediately by the women. One, quite honestly, cannot really imagine all the women; it was sort of breathtaking. I worried about being rude to my date, but here really was no need to stare at any given one woman, because the next girl that walked by would be just a stunning, with just as much cleavage, with just as sexy a see-through dress, where ever your eyes landed was a scantily clad woman. My neck is still sore. My guess is that there was about 400 to 500 people there, and the ratio of beautiful young women to men was a conservative 3:2.
We found a good table right away, up front by the dance floor, the next table over from Hef. The whole party was set up out in the back yard under an immense tent (or perhaps two or three tents), with about 30-40 tables (each seating eight) lined up between the house and the dance floor. There were two big buffet tables, two bars (open), and four huge video screens at the four corners of the party that played a constant stream of video clips (from past Playboy parties, interspersed with Playmate videos -- naked girls lounging about on a sofa, or playfully showering, all bubbly and wet (very distracting)), chandeliers, balloons, clusters of white palm trees, waiters circulating with hors d’oeuvres (wonton and croquettes).
This being the Playboy Mansion, it was all about the women. No excuses, no embarrassment. The women were dressed in tasteful evening gowns, to spaghetti-strapped nightgowns that barely held their ample assets in, bustiers with garters, brassieres and thongs, see-though dresses. Really just about anything you can imagine. Cleavage for days (nay weeks and months).
When we sat down for dinner, Hef was sitting with the twins (20 year old playmates from a couple years ago (they were dressed in long form-fitting gowns, off the shoulder, and not a little see through). Seated at our table was one of the first playmates from the 50’s (Annie something), Mr. and Mrs. Walter and Colleen Ralph (of the supermarket fame), Downtown Julie Brown (MTV VJ) and a couple of her weird friends. Also in attendance at other tables, that I could see were: Drew Carey, Kevin Spacey (who I almost knocked over by mistake (he was there with his boyfriend)), Bill Maher, of course Fabio, some actor guy from Beverly Hills 90210 (the blond one, I almost knocked him over too (it was a crowded party)), Vincent Bugliosi (ex Los Angeles DA, wrote Helter Skelter, etc), Jerry Vale, Ray Anthony, Denis Farina, Robert Preston (who I think thought I was someone else because he said hello to me as he wandered by), and of course Mame Van Doren (50’s B Movie bombshell, looking a little old and scary in her white teddy (but apparently at last year’s party her breasts kept popping out – her outfit apparently fit better this year, so thank god for small favors)). I honestly couldn’t tell which women were playmates and which weren’t (but did it really matter? Especially when they started to dance (!). Oh, the triplets were there too (the Misses November I think) all in matching white lace bustiers, panties and garters. I did meet a Miss January of a few years ago (Peggy), very attracting and classy in a white satin gown.
At one point I was out on the dance floor with my date, doing the two step (a little bit of the bump, the electric slide … the hustle), a few couples over was Hef and the twins, a TV camera filming them, behind me was Robert Blake (of Baretta fame) doing a pretty darned good swing dance with, I guess, his wife. Over my date’s head I could see an eight foot video woman, an eight foot macromastic video woman (if you know what I’m saying) playing with a hoola hoop (very, very distracting, hard to keep rhythm). At another point, sitting at the table having dessert, my date whispered for me to turn around. “Look,” she said. As I turned, I was treated to the view, not a foot from my face, of a woman’s behind, in a see through lace dress (and it was callipygian to say the least). But thank god I missed, during the fish course, the view up Mame Van Doren’s teddy (she apparently doesn’t wear underwear).
After dinner, I wandered about through the house leaving my date talking with her father, the movie room where an A&E biography of Hef was showing, Hef’s private study that had a pad of note paper with “From the Desk of Hugh Hefner” the bunny symbol stamped on the top (I should have taken one), old covers of Playboy framed on the wall. The house was actually very tasteful, kind of low key and comfortable. Waiting in line for the bathroom beside Hef’s study, three catty girls slink up in nightgowns, “Oh I’m back at UCLA full time now,” one says, “but I’ve gained so much weight!” (Hardly) Coming out of the Grotto (which really must be seen, a swim-in cave with a Jacuzzi, big soft cushioned beds in the alcoves, soft steamy light), I passed by Scott Baio (Chachi from Happy Days, Charles from Charles in Charge) looking happy with a drink in his hand. My date whispered that he’s quite the cocksman (who would’ve guessed?).
It was over all too soon. Too soon ended the pushing though the crowds of girls, packed so tightly together you literally had to squeeze through their satin wrapped bodies, ended those same girls smiling at you thinking you might be somebody, or at the very least were an invited guest so you were part of the club. Sigh.
We found a good table right away, up front by the dance floor, the next table over from Hef. The whole party was set up out in the back yard under an immense tent (or perhaps two or three tents), with about 30-40 tables (each seating eight) lined up between the house and the dance floor. There were two big buffet tables, two bars (open), and four huge video screens at the four corners of the party that played a constant stream of video clips (from past Playboy parties, interspersed with Playmate videos -- naked girls lounging about on a sofa, or playfully showering, all bubbly and wet (very distracting)), chandeliers, balloons, clusters of white palm trees, waiters circulating with hors d’oeuvres (wonton and croquettes).
This being the Playboy Mansion, it was all about the women. No excuses, no embarrassment. The women were dressed in tasteful evening gowns, to spaghetti-strapped nightgowns that barely held their ample assets in, bustiers with garters, brassieres and thongs, see-though dresses. Really just about anything you can imagine. Cleavage for days (nay weeks and months).
When we sat down for dinner, Hef was sitting with the twins (20 year old playmates from a couple years ago (they were dressed in long form-fitting gowns, off the shoulder, and not a little see through). Seated at our table was one of the first playmates from the 50’s (Annie something), Mr. and Mrs. Walter and Colleen Ralph (of the supermarket fame), Downtown Julie Brown (MTV VJ) and a couple of her weird friends. Also in attendance at other tables, that I could see were: Drew Carey, Kevin Spacey (who I almost knocked over by mistake (he was there with his boyfriend)), Bill Maher, of course Fabio, some actor guy from Beverly Hills 90210 (the blond one, I almost knocked him over too (it was a crowded party)), Vincent Bugliosi (ex Los Angeles DA, wrote Helter Skelter, etc), Jerry Vale, Ray Anthony, Denis Farina, Robert Preston (who I think thought I was someone else because he said hello to me as he wandered by), and of course Mame Van Doren (50’s B Movie bombshell, looking a little old and scary in her white teddy (but apparently at last year’s party her breasts kept popping out – her outfit apparently fit better this year, so thank god for small favors)). I honestly couldn’t tell which women were playmates and which weren’t (but did it really matter? Especially when they started to dance (!). Oh, the triplets were there too (the Misses November I think) all in matching white lace bustiers, panties and garters. I did meet a Miss January of a few years ago (Peggy), very attracting and classy in a white satin gown.
At one point I was out on the dance floor with my date, doing the two step (a little bit of the bump, the electric slide … the hustle), a few couples over was Hef and the twins, a TV camera filming them, behind me was Robert Blake (of Baretta fame) doing a pretty darned good swing dance with, I guess, his wife. Over my date’s head I could see an eight foot video woman, an eight foot macromastic video woman (if you know what I’m saying) playing with a hoola hoop (very, very distracting, hard to keep rhythm). At another point, sitting at the table having dessert, my date whispered for me to turn around. “Look,” she said. As I turned, I was treated to the view, not a foot from my face, of a woman’s behind, in a see through lace dress (and it was callipygian to say the least). But thank god I missed, during the fish course, the view up Mame Van Doren’s teddy (she apparently doesn’t wear underwear).
After dinner, I wandered about through the house leaving my date talking with her father, the movie room where an A&E biography of Hef was showing, Hef’s private study that had a pad of note paper with “From the Desk of Hugh Hefner” the bunny symbol stamped on the top (I should have taken one), old covers of Playboy framed on the wall. The house was actually very tasteful, kind of low key and comfortable. Waiting in line for the bathroom beside Hef’s study, three catty girls slink up in nightgowns, “Oh I’m back at UCLA full time now,” one says, “but I’ve gained so much weight!” (Hardly) Coming out of the Grotto (which really must be seen, a swim-in cave with a Jacuzzi, big soft cushioned beds in the alcoves, soft steamy light), I passed by Scott Baio (Chachi from Happy Days, Charles from Charles in Charge) looking happy with a drink in his hand. My date whispered that he’s quite the cocksman (who would’ve guessed?).
It was over all too soon. Too soon ended the pushing though the crowds of girls, packed so tightly together you literally had to squeeze through their satin wrapped bodies, ended those same girls smiling at you thinking you might be somebody, or at the very least were an invited guest so you were part of the club. Sigh.
