Hugh Marston Hefner was born in Chicago, IL. on April 9, 1926 and in his long 91 years had changed the way that many generations viewed, looked and talked about sex.

Hefner died on Sept. 27, 2017, but his dedication to freedom of speech, sexual freedom, homosexual rights, and his desire to uphold the art of journalism will live on for many more generations to come.

Despite the argument from many women’s rights groups, Hefner really gave the power to the women who modeled for Playboy. Playboy was for the beauty of women, unlike some of his competitors who just exploited women and went raunchier to compete with the empire of Playboy.

And we really did read the articles.

Hefner will be buried next to his very first centerfold back in 1953, Marilyn Monroe. Hefner bought the spot back in 1992 for $75,000.

My Playboy Story

 

My adolescence wasn’t much different than any other hot and bothered preteen. From the first twitch of my genitals I needed something to see. My brain and body needed it. It wasn’t some fading want, it was what I needed and nothing was going to stop my train from leaving the station.

I did what every boy did, I waited until my parents were busy and raided my Father’s porn stash and came across the bow-tied bunny. It stretched my pants and opened my eyes to whole new world.

The first beauty I came across was famed actress/model and coincidentally, the grand-daughter of one of my literary heroes Ernest Hemingway; of course I had no idea about that at the age of 11. That sultry and powerful woman was Margaux Hemingway.

I made sure that the bathroom door was locked behind me. I didn’t have to learn that the bathroom was a better option than the bedroom…it was instinctual.

Much easier to hide it, even though everybody in the house knew. Ignorance is truly bliss.

The real trick as we all know, was getting the Playboy back into the stash without Dad knowing that you abused his precious issue.

So what was a hot blooded American boy to do?

Well, you went over the top, devising a plan that would have made Mission Impossible look like a cake walk. An 11 year old couldn’t have just walked into the room the same way he came into the room and took it, of course not. That would have been too easy.

I decided that the dirty magazine had to be put back in the precise way that it was, careful not to shift the weight of the drawer and trigger the giant boulder that would run me down through the whopping 6 feet of hallway outside of the room.

I made sure that my parental units were outside, but that still didn’t stop me from belly crawling across their bedroom floor, you know, in case the dog and cat saw me holding the evidence of my shame.

I made it to the bottom of the dresser, jumped up to my feet, opened the drawer and moved the clothes very gently to the side making sure that I knew exactly how it went back together the same way, and slipped the magazine back in its spot.

Then I looked around and ran back into my room. I got away with it, I thought to myself.

It was about four hours later, right before my father went to bed. He came into my room with a box under his arm, I felt it, he was going to beat me. He was going to beat me and give me a box to pack my Nintendo in and kick me out of the house.

Not a word was spoken. He set the box down on my desk and opened it. He walked towards the door, stopped right at the doorway, looked over his shoulder at me, and gave me a nod before walking out.

I still felt it was a trap of some sort. I cautiously walked towards the box. I opened it up to find a full box of back issue Playboy magazines from the 70’s and 80’s, which would explain why I like a bit of grass on the field to this day.

My Father silently gave me the “your becoming a man” speech with a single gesture. Like many fathers before him he gave me the OK and let me know that I wasn’t weird with just one simple box and a nod.

Hugh Hefner has been bringing fathers and sons together since the 50’s. Thank you Hef for everything.