Over a 100+ photos
©2005 Jill Ann Spaulding© All rights reserved.
This is my account of my adventures in Hefnerland. I have, however, changed the names of many of the participants out of respect for their feelings and privacy.
This book is neither endorsed, nor sponsored by, nor affiliated with Playboy Enterprises Inc. or Hugh M. Hefner. Playboy®, Playmate of the year® and Playmate of the month® Hugh M. Hefner, HMH, Miss January, Miss February, Miss March, Miss April, Miss May, Miss June, Miss July, Miss August, Miss September, Miss October, Miss November, Miss December, Playmate, PMOY, Centerfold, are registered trademarks of Playboy Enterprises International, Inc., all pending or registered in U.S. Patent and Trademark Office. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without written permission from the author.
For all you Girl’s Next Door! One Playboy Bunny’s Intimate,
Step-by-Step Discovery of Herself and the Secret World of the Playboy Mansion
and What Hef Really Has Going on Upstairs
Praise from the First Edition formerly called Jill Ann
"Hef may think Jill Ann has a great imagination, but she also has what many others don't, and that's great courage and integrity to stand up for her beliefs, tell the world the truth and inspire others. In your amazing 'kiss and tell' book, you do just this. Congratulations!"
Georgia Cassimatis Writer
USA and International Press
Steppin Out Magazine
Interview by Chauncé Hayden
”Jill Ann Spaulding's tell-all book, Jill Ann: Upstairs is the entertainment industry’s best-kept secret... until now! Hugh Hefner's blood pressure has got to be in the red zone!"
Thanks to Jill Ann Spaulding, finally the question all the world has asked for decades has been answered! What the hell really goes on in Hugh Hefner's bedroom???!!"
Jill Ann Spaulding doesn't pull punches in Jill Ann: Upstairs. Once you pick it up, you just can't put it down! I'm not sure if Hugh Hefner is a lucky son of a bitch or just an old pervert. Maybe both! haha"
www.steppinoutmagazine.com Issue Aug 18th, 2004 Newsstands
Jill Ann: Upstairs, the "expose" by former Playmate Jill Ann Spaulding that promises "explicit details about the sexual secrets of Hefner and his playmates." Watch out, Hugh, one of your pneumatic harem is coming after you, and she's not f**king around with thinly-veiled fiction, she's going straight for the tell-all- ... We're sure the babbling waters of the Mansion's famous grotto are brown with fear right about now.
www.defamer.com Hollywood, CA
"It was impossible to put down. I was impressed by you and your ultimate message. I really think you have something very special here, not simply in the enlightening character of your book and its message, but in the strength of character you exhibit throughout. To me, yours is a very serious
6 book with an important story to tell to a ll women about character, image, self-respect and the egotistical exploitation of the false over the true.
”Jill Ann, I loved your book for a variety of reasons, but primarily because it is a story about ‘True’ character overcoming and emerging victorious over ‘False’ character. In that sense, your focus should remain upon the dynamics between you and Hefner. You and what you represent are the most important part of this message. Your True character is the heroine of this story."
Tom Wilson of the legendary cartoon character, Ziggy Character Matters
"Once I began reading, I simply could not put UPSTAIRS down. Jill Ann Spaulding is an author of remarkable natural talent and an inspiration to women everywhere. She's someone who manages to turn her dreams into reality without compromising her core values.
"Ms. Spaulding is a brilliant point of light who has managed to illuminate us all with answers to questions the world has been seeking for the past 50 years of Playboy's history. She also possesses the determination, drive and intestinal fortitude to shine the light of truth upon the shadow of darkness, no matter how great and powerful the villain casting that shadow may be. Truth seems to be one of her strongest character traits and, above all, she's a woman who not only steadfastly remains true to herself, but through her book, brings the truth to us all. Her motives are both sincere and selfless and her generosity extends beyond her merely sharing the truth with her readers. Ms. Spaulding is also donating all proceeds from the sale of her book to charity.
"Among Ms. Spaulding's other impressive attributes, is the fact that she was an honors student in school, that she began a cleaning business which enabled her to purchase and pay off her first home at age 18, and that she is currently an entrepreneur who built, and now owns, a chain of retail clothing stores. Beyond all of that, Ms. Spaulding has managed to become one of the top Professional women poker players in the world today. I agree wholeheartedly with her perspective and Ms. Spaulding has definitely earned my admiration and respect."
Hat maker for the stars
It’s sad when you think of her wasted life, For Youth cannot mate with Age.
And her beauty was sold For an old man’s gold.
She’s a bird in a gilded cage. By Virginia Vandiver (my grandma)
It’s like a pinup girl version of Survivor. Bruce (friend)
Well...I read your book — cover to cover. Wow...I had no idea!! I couldn’t put the book down. Kimmie (girlfriend) California
I read your book - wow!! I couldn’t put it down. I’m sending it to my niece. I believe it will be an eye opener for her. As it was for me. You are truly my idol! Congratulations on the book and thank you from not just women but everyone all over. You are proof that “Real” people can live in this world and not compromise their morals. Thanks again!
Katrina, Security, Las Vegas
Jill Ann Spaulding’s book, Jill Ann: Upstairs, is a much deeper and more personal account of her life than the book cover photos might indicate it might be. Once you get past some of the shocking revelations of life at the Playboy Mansion, you will find a tale of young woman caught up in chasing her own dreams and finding it wasn’t entirely what she had bargained for. Her story is takes us on her search for meaning and understanding in world that few know anything about. The choices she makes and the people she meets along the way make this more then just a sexual tale of misdeeds and exploitations—this book is truly a personal journey of inner discovery. Her experiences become an epiphany which causes her to reflect on the true destination of her life path. Her warnings at the end of the book are sober reminders of the dangers and the seriousness of what she saw.
W.H. McDonald Jr.
President of the American Authors’ Association Award-winning poet and author
Not a single dull page. Nicely done ;-) Alex Mandossian
I found your story fascinating. Getting out from under Hef’s domination was a good thing for you. You saved your pride, your integrity, and you learned you can survive and flourish by being free,
8 rather than living in thrall to a man whose apparent sole interest in life is in possessing people as though they were books www.loukriger.com play things.
Author of Poker for Dummies
As I started to read you book I couldn’t stop (laugh out loud)—there are just so many things that I can refer to. I hope your book will help other girls realize the reality of the whole business because I know there are so many young girls like me who have dreams of being in Playboy and don’t really know what is really going on
P.S. it is a great idea putting all the diseases that you might get through having sex at the end of your book. Maybe some people will wake up and realize that the reality today is vicious.
Katerina, Go-Go Dancer
It is remarkable that in all the years of Playboy, this is the first book by someone who really wanted to be (and was equipped to be) a Playboy Playmate, who has told what it takes to be part of Hef's inner circle. And what is even more remarkable is that it appears that the author has written the book on her own, describing how badly she wanted to be in that circle and what happened to her. I applaud her honesty and openness.
Robert, New York
I received a copy of Jill Ann: Upstairs at the BEA 2004. My interest in her book was at first purely philosophical. As I have an interest in the phenomenology of feminineness (that's a bit different than the physiology). I decided to take a look to see if her book could give me any insight into that impenetrable mystery, toujours aeternal, of the universe: woman. I wanted to get more insight into the self-image the female sex projects (both for-itself and for-others), the clandestine nature that supervenes in the conflictions of reality with that simulacra, and finally, the motivations, the source of that "will to power" that operates therein.
However, when I began reading Jill Ann's book, I forgot my intellectual inclinations and began to enjoy myself instead. Spaulding spins a story, histrionically, beginning from her childhood to
adulthood, and then supplanting that with a history of the impulses that operated in the creation of her ideal (the Playmate). She weaves it well, and takes you on a journey into the Hefner mansion, giving you an idea of the glitter and glamour of high society one will find therein, and the
disillusionment that tends to come after seeing through the pompery. There may be a few people who criticize Spaulding's intentions in writing this novel. However, those tend to be the type of people who make a nice person such as myself misanthropic, those selfish busybodies who always have something to say, but as a result, never have time to think about what they say (or the effects in has on another person's disposition). The truth is, Jill Ann has a story, and she tells it well. She
portrays herself as a likeable individual, full of qualities that we all possess: longing, anxiety, hope, and determination, among many others. And in the end, when one comes to a book such as this, that is what matters. Some may condone the way she describes Hefner, however, I found that she made him into the ideal of every stereotypical male (even if beauty tends not to be the judge of good character, what man would not love to be surrounded by beautiful women? Even the ancient Greek philosopher Aristotle, when asked why he associated with the most beautiful women of Greece, responded, "Only a fool would ask such a question.") Concerning the events that happened in the mansion, I know nothing, as I was not there to verify them. Nor do I find it of little account if they are true/untrue; my post-modern understanding makes me belittle the veracity of literature (in other words: truth is relative to the observer). And, so long as it is enjoyable and/or edifying, and teaches us to live well, and think reasonably, a book is worth reading. Jill Ann's book definitely qualifies.
Michael Szymcyzk Vienna, Austria Author, Toilet: The Novel
Yup, I too have been there and done that. Jill Ann tells it like it is. Her story is entertaining in a sad way. Great read. Anyone who has any illusions about the infamous Playboy Mansion needs to read this book. And all profits go to charity! Congrats, Jill Ann. You had the guts to tell the world the truth.
Starlet, Los Angeles
I read this book after reading about it on Page 6 of the NY Post. My curiosity was piqued and I wanted to get some dish on how things are "really" done at the "mansion." I wanted to know, the "TRUTH" about what goes down there. I have heard interviews with former Hef girlfriends and they don't really say if there is sex involved with being a Playmate/Girlfriend or not!? It really bothered me, because like Jill Ann I have always thought highly of the Playboy magazine and thought the girls were not having sex to get to a certain level. I guess I was disillusioned. I appreciate the brutal honesty of this book. I feel she has written a book from the heart and have a hard time doubting her. Some of the conversations that may have taken place seem very well remembered, and I did a few times wonder if she took artistic license to maybe fill in some blanks, but honestly her tone didn't give me that impression. It was just the fact that (I) am totally unable to remember conversations that I automatically question when someone else is able to.
I feel bad at how things ended up for Jill Ann. She is a beautiful woman who was working hard towards a dream, and from the sound of things because she wouldn't "put out" paired with the absolute "catty" attitudes of some of the women in the Playboy "family" she was totally shafted. I am sorry you were rejected the way it went down Jill Ann. You have written a great book and I think it shed some light on a subject many wonder about.
10 Amazon Review
“Hi Jenny, it’s Jill Ann. I gave you my book Jill Ann: Upstairs at the Chicago Book Expo. Did you get a chance to read my book?”
"Oh my gosh, yes—and it was great!" Jenny McCarthy
"Jill Ann is full of energy, very professional and it was a pleasure to interview her for German TV. Her stories are very juicy and compelling."
Daniele Salm, German TV
Dear Jill Ann,
I, too, am one of the blondes who get invited to Hef's parties on a regular basis. I have been going there for several years already. I have never been “upstairs” but I have a few Playmate friends so I know a lot about what's going on. (Even though no one really tells you the WHOLE seedy story! The girls are kind of embarrassed to admit that they've had sex with an old man). Anyway, I'm happy to hear that someone finally came out and told people the truth. It's very brave of you. I went out and bought your book last week and couldn't put it down. It was a great read, and you were very truthful in your observations. The gay stuff, of course, has been brought up by other girls before you, so no surprises there. It saddens me that people buy into this glorified lifestyle; an endless party with hot, willing beauties—especially since it's not at all what it seems. I think the parties are kind of lame, actually. I only go to hang out with my girlfriends. There is certainly no wild sex going on in the Grotto. The fun part is walking around, checking out what some celebs look like in real life, eating the chocolate strawberries and the oddly peppered sushi, and petting the animals. That's it. I think it's kind of funny that certain Macho Men are reacting to your book with skepticism. People just don't want to see that this “bachelor's dream life,” which they have read about and envy—is a total orchestrated sham. The girlfriends of the ringleader are there because they are getting paid. Though the playground is more stylish, it's certainly no different from the transactions taking place a few miles away on Hollywood Boulevard. But street hookers are usually smart enough to use protection. At the Playboy Mansion, the star-struck girls are blinded by opportunity. Gamble with your health for fifteen minutes of fame. Unfortunately, I'm thinking Hef can only benefit from your book—people used to snicker that 'the old fart doesn't have sex with those chicks, it's only for show.” But now the world knows that he actually DOES. Well, in his own peculiar way, anyway. I'm sure girls are going to start writing him left and right, willing and ready to participate after reading that the real “requirement” for getting into the magazine isn't based on their looks. This “shortcut” can kill them, but hey! At least they can now be Playmates! Sad. The thing is, after Hef is gone, plenty more girls are going to come out of the woodwork with their tell-all stories. They will no longer be on the payroll, so why not cash in on all those strange nights with the old geezer? The National Enquirer will have a field day with those stories, don't you
think? Until then, we can only hope that people will stop treating Hef like he's some kind of Sexual Semi-God who deserves respect, especially since all he really does is engage in prostitution. People can call it whatever they want, but any old man with money can buy girls for sex here in L.A.— and it's indeed spelled prostitution. I feel bad for Hef, I really do. He should have stopped while he was on top, when the hot girls would still show up in his bedroom without requiring hefty handouts in little white envelopes. It's so pathetic. Whatever happened to “growing old gracefully”? His children will be left with the legacy, and it must be quite embarrassing for them. Hef has already arranged for his demise. He will be buried next to Marilyn Monroe, whom he has never met, in a Westwood Memorial Cemetery crypt. She will be the oldest woman he has ever laid next to. I wonder how much he paid for her company?
Amber, Los Angeles
Hi Jill Ann, How are you?
My name is Bob Prince and I read your book recently while on a flight to Dubai. I was very impressed, both with the book and with you, because it took courage to pull away from your dream, when in many ways it would have been easier to have continued, having come so far already.
I'm not an expert on books, quite the opposite. This is the first book I've read in a long, long while. One of our Sunday newspapers (I live in England) ran a short article on it a couple of months or so ago, and I was intrigued to find out more. I ordered the book immediately although it took quite some time to arrive.
Having now read the book in full, I find it very sad that this guy Hugh Hefner uses women in the way that he does. You had the courage not to fall into the trap that he no doubt had hoped that you would, and thereby avoided being another notch on his bedpost. I can fully understand why you and so many other young ladies make such an effort to become a Playmate. But I'm sure that many would not even start down that track if they knew what they might have to do to finally stand a chance of becoming one. Your book has lifted the lid on Hugh Hefner and his sordid attempts to lure naive young girls to be, quite literally, his playthings. He obviously has no respect for women in general and believes that the "magic" of Playboy is enough to get him any girl he fancies. You proved him wrong and in so doing retained your self respect.
Well done, and every success in the future. With kind regards,
12 others about us. Glad to hear you are doing well. We really appreciate your Name Brand Stores continuing support for stores and clients who need clothing."
Torrie A. Taj
Director of Development (480) 464-4648 www.prehab.org
PREHAB of Arizona: Helping Families...Changing Lives
Sex is the coin of the realm, November 28, 2004 Reviewer: Andy Nelson (Colorado) - See all my reviews
This book is a good read. The author, even though a tall, blond, buxom and beautiful woman is also a decent writer. And her experiences in the shadow world of "glamour" are incredible. She certainly blows the top off the Playboy mystic.
When it comes to getting exposure in the media, sex is the coin of the realm. The exchange of body fluids becomes necessary to move ahead and get the exposure. The body and the face are just not enough. Ms. Spaulding makes a fine case for every young woman who aspires to this world of glamour to be warned of the rampant vicious charlatans that prey upon these vulnerable people.
I look forward to the next book.
A sexy adventure that you won’t be able to set it down!
What does it take? Does he really? Can all the rumors be true? Jill Ann’s well-told, arousing story is written for both men and women alike. The story is so alluring and filled with such intimate details that you’ll find yourself riveted to your seat with your eyes completely glued to the pages! Some young girls play with dolls, while others grow up wanting to be one. Upstairs is a true story about a little girl’s dream of becoming a glamorous pin up model in the most renowned of all men’s magazines. The desire to be etched on the glossy pages of ran deep in Jill Ann—as it does with many other beautiful women. Her story tells of the influence Playboy magazine had on her as a child, and how that influence became the sole obsessive driving force in her life. She takes you through the vigorous paces of the ridged workouts, extreme diets and the painful surgeries that she, and others like her, endured in their quest for their Holy Grail. But as she starts closing in on her prize, she discovers much more than physical pain and discipline is required before she can achieve her goal. The pursuit of her childhood dream firmly places Jill Ann in a precarious situation that, in one way or the other, will forever change not only her life, but also the lives of those closest to her. As she walks up the stairs and down the hall, Jill Ann’s thoughts became filled with how many careers have been made and broken in one brief moment on the silky sheets in “the bedroom.” She had gotten this far, but in her heart she comes to realize what others have tendered before her, now set the bar for what she must do? With only a few fleeting moments of indiscretion, she would be in—her dream of being a Playmate would become a reality! Just how far was this beautiful woman willing to go to fulfill her dream? What was she willing to sacrifice at the soft quilted altar to secure her place on the indelible glossy center page? What were other gorgeous young women willing to give up that night to advance their careers? The answers will surly surprise you! Jill Ann: Upstairs is the provocative account of Jill Ann’s own personal experiences combined with the real-life experiences of her gorgeous girlfriends as they pursue the most coveted of all glamour model prizes—the centerfold. You won’t be able to set it down!
Joe Ullrich President
Omni Publicity & Public Relations Group
These sexual escapades are more astonishing than I imagined. Part of his aphrodisiac and appeal is his financial and professional success at building the Playboy Empire. The details are juicy, explicit and jaw-dropping, it exposes the reality of being a Playboy model, which is not as glamorous as it seems and it has a really powerful message. I can’t believe they don’t use condoms and have no concerns for STDs. It’s like Hugh Hefner is living back in the 70s.
Anne, New York City
Jill Ann didn’t "hold 'em" and she sure didn’t "fold 'em" in "passing" on Hef and "dealing" with the
"Naked Truth" behind the Playboy Mansion... AND the proceeds are "all in" to Charities to help victims of domestic violence and fight the spread of STDs. A winner on all counts....while Playboy is left playing 52 pickup.
===== Tom Edon
Hi Jill Ann,
An employee at PREHAB heard you this morning on Howard Stern. Thanks so much for mentioning PREHAB and telling others about us. Glad to hear you are doing well. We really appreciate your Name Brand Stores continuing support for stores and clients who need clothing. Take care.
Torrie A. Taj
Director of Development (480) 464-4648 www.prehab.org
PREHAB of Arizona: Helping Families...Changing Lives
“Hey Leo did you get a chance to read my book? His response “Hey yeah! Reaches his hand out and shakes my hand! And says “How you doing”
DedicationThis book is dedicated to Bruce Gifford, my best friend, and
companion who stood by me through it all.
Help the victims of the recent hurricanes and thousands of other disasters across the country each year by making a donation to the American Red Cross Disaster Relief Fund.
Call 1-800 Help Now or Donate Online by going to www.redcross.org
To the Readers
(Spelling errors, grammar, etc. please help and send changes
) Don’t be afraid to send them, It
Prologue . . . 19
Introduction . . . 21
Chapter One Preparing . . . 30
Chapter Two Glamourcon . . . 34
Chapter Three Sneaking in to the Playboy Mansion . . . 54
Chapter Four Playmate Test Shoot . . . 56
Chapter Five Making the Cover of Poker Digest . . . 60
Chapter Six Why Poker . . . 63
Chapter Seven Strip Clubs . . . 65
Chapter Eight My Playboy Photo Shoot in Chicago . . . 67
Chapter Nine Hef's Birthday Party . . . 79
Chapter Ten Making Playboy . . . 91
Chapter Eleven Hef's Letters . . . 95
Chapter Twelve The First Night at the Mansion . . . 104
Chapter Thirteen Day Two at the Mansion . . . 124
Chapter Fourteen Day Three at the Mansion . . . 137
Chapter Fifteen Day Four at the Mansion . . . 146
Chapter Sixteen Day Five at the Mansion . . . 156
Chapter Seventeen Gossip . . . 167
Chapter Eighteen Kissing Ass . . . 173
Chapter Nineteen Midsummer Night’s Dream Party . . . 175
Chapter Twenty New Playboy Friend and Cyber Girl Party . . . 182
Chapter Twenty-One Letters to Dig Myself Out of the Hole I Was In . . . 185
Chapter Twenty-Two Halloween Party at the Mansion . . . 187
Chapter Twenty-Three Playboy Golf Host Arizona . . . 191
Chapter Twenty-Four Playboy Golf Host Las Vegas . . . 195
Chapter Twenty-Five Sex at the Mansion on My Terms . . . 198
Chapter Twenty-Six Tidbits of Fun about Celebrities at the Playboy Mansion from
Hot Girlfriend . . . 219
Chapter Twenty-Seven Agent Scum . . . 227
Chapter Twenty-Eight Moving to Los Angeles and Party at the Mansion for New
Year’s Eve . . . 233
Chapter Twenty-Nine Breaking the Inner Circle . . . 242
Chapter Thirty Playboy Super Bowl Party San Diego . . . 245
Chapter Thirty-One Playboy Party Mardi Gras New Orleans . . . 248
Chapter Thirty-Two Money from Hef . . . 259
Chapter Thirty-Three Mardi Gras Party at the Mansion . . . 261
Chapter Thirty-Four It's Over . . . 274
Chapter Thirty-Five No Longer Welcome at the Mansion . . . 277
Epilogue . . . 281
Playboy in the Media . . . 285
Miscellaneous Stuff . . . 296
History of the Playmates from the Beginning . . . 300
Sexually Transmitted Diseases . . . 316
Prologue“First, you have to take a bath.”
Looking over as if I was going to drown, I zoned in on the tub for a moment. It was rectangular but double the size of a normal bathtub. It had old yellow square tiles inside the tub, and I looked down only to find that it was very deep. I felt scared. Kelly saw it in my eyes.
“Don’t worry,” she said. “You only have to participate if you want to. It’s hilarious, and you won’t ever forget it. When you’re older, you can write a book!” She turned the dials on the tub and adjusted the water to get it to a perfectly warm temperature, and she grabbed a large bottle of floral-scented bubble bath and squeezed it loudly into the water. The bathtub began to stir up with bubbles like mothers ran for there children except these children standing near the tub were much older and the ending result probably was not going to have the same warm and fuzzy feeling.
She quickly began to undress and unbuttoned her jeans and kicked off her heels and let down her top and was naked in less then a minute with all of her clothes in a huge pile on the floor. I removed my shoes and stood barefoot on the cold tile floor. I began to take off my necklace and she stood closely behind me to help me unlatch the clasp. I unscrewed my earrings and belly button rings and laid them gently next to my
necklace. My bracelet that clutched my arm was next and struggling to get it unclasped with one hand, Kelly touched my hand softly and removed the bracelet and set it next to my other belongings. I could feel the warmth of her naked body next to mine and her hair touched the back of my neck as she unzipped my dress. I used my fingertips to move the straps from my shoulders and the dress fell to the floor. I moved slowly to remove my g-string still scared of what I was doing at the moment or what I was feeling. The room was silent except for the water running in the tub. I noticed two or three large candles around the bath tub and a bar of soap, some lotion and face wipes. Behind the bathtub was a completely out-of-place white cabinet with toiletries in them and a little white piggy bank sitting on the top. The wallpaper on the walls was a strange yellow flower print seemingly from the 1920s. A “name” plant was in one corner of the bathroom. A doctor-style white stand-up scale was against one of the walls to make sure none of his Playmates had gained too much weight!
While the warm water ran, Kelly started to whisper quietly to me.
“We’re going to go in and sit on the bed. If you don’t want to participate just keep your bottoms on. Otherwise, take them off. I’ll be with you the entire time, and we’ll stay together. I’m going to pretend to give you oral sex and you can touch me, or kiss me or whatever you’re comfortable doing. All the girls will be around us doing the same thing. They’re all faking it. No one is bisexual so don’t touch another girl unless she touches you. If you watch you’ll be able to tell that they’re totally acting—nothing is really going on. Just follow my lead, and you’ll be fine.”
I started to relax. In my mind, I talked to myself. I knew it. I knew it. I can do this. I can pretend to
kiss another girl. No problem. I can handle this. He probably just sits there and watches all of us pretend to pleasure ourselves, I thought to myself.
I assumed it was all for show, like a put-on private striptease. On some level, I naively thought it was about showing off our bodies, but not actually doing anything sexual.
A girl named Amber came into the bathroom and asked us what we wanted to drink. I ordered a diet coke and Malibu. Kelly had the same. Kelly, as if rehearsing for her Playmate Video, dipped her toes into the bathtub and then slowly immersed herself among the bubbles. She grabbed another bottle of probably some sexy-smelling liquid soap and started touching herself. I watched admiringly because I had actually never
20 seen a girl bath before. She lathered under her arms and then her private parts. She quickly got out and dried off with a huge fluffy towel that was next to the tub. A girl named Britney walked in completely naked. I wasn’t sure where she had dropped her clothes or had been in the past 10 minutes, but she arrived knowing the routine and immediately immersed her self in the bathtub. She was not shy at all and was not covering herself up with bubbles. She was standing up and really giving herself a good scrub-down. The bathtub had a hand-held attachment to rinse you off or to pleasure yourself in some cases such as a in shower, but it was mounted in the bathtub. Kelly told me that I needed to get a move on, and I asked her if I should wait for the other girl to leave the tub.
“No. Go on in.”
Being a clean freak I already felt a little weird bathing in the same water as these other two gals. I mean, this is not a typical experience. I tried to blow it off thinking it was just like a swimming pool except smaller and put the thought out of my mind. Still, I was an only child. I didn’t even have brother and sisters to bath with, and I wasn’t use to sharing! But the night was shaping up to be pretty life-altering anyway, so I just tried to go with it.
This was a cleansing ritual done by every girl invited upstairs. All the official girlfriends were supposed to be doing the same thing in their own personal bathrooms. I pictured that back in my shared bathroom, my roomie Michelle was scrubbing up for the big event and putting on her special pink PJs.
Holly came into the bathroom and did not look thrilled to see me. I didn’t want to get my hair wet and Kelly diffused the situation by asking if Holly had a hair clip. Holly gave me one, and I thanked her over and over again. Holly was near the sink with a stack of hand towels, and she was soaking them in water and wringing them out before placing them in a bowl.
I found a rubber duck on the side of the bathtub and squeezed it out of child’s play. Stepping slowly into the bathtub trying not to give eye contact to the girl in the bathtub figuring she might not appreciate it. She smiled at me and said “Don’t worry, you can look”
“What am I supposed to do?” I asked as I got into the tub.
“Wash under your arms, privates, and elsewhere, just like a regular bath.” “This isn’t regular for me.” I smiled.
Hef walked into the bathroom in his signature bathrobe with his throwaway camera in hand. I felt a little shocked, kind of like your dad just walked in on you using the toilet and you were embarrassed. Kelly asked if it was okay if he took a picture. I said “Sure.” Britney and I put our arms around each other and our nipples smashed each other as we hugged to pose for the picture. I didn’t give my huge normal smile but my naughty sexy smile with my arm dangling out of the tub. By this time all of the bubbles were almost gone but the bathtub was so deep that you couldn’t even see our belly buttons. Still suds were hanging off my right breast and covered my arm that was out of the tub. He took a picture of Britney and me naked in the tub. Hef went into the small toilet room adjacent to the tub and Britney got out of the tub and began to dry off. I stepped out of the tub leaving it fully standing with water and began to dry off. Kelly reached in and unplugged the tub to release the water. Hef walked by and headed into the other room.
All of the girls seem to have vanished, and it was just Kelly and me in the bathroom together. The room echoed as we spoke with the marble all around us. I went to the restroom and took my time. I was very nervous. I sat on the toilet—not doing anything but trying to collect my thoughts. Part of me wondered what I had gotten myself into. I already had my pink pajamas on, which were full-length pants all the way to past my ankles and the buttoned-up top, which was also oversized. Amber came rushing in and told us to hurry up; everyone was waiting for us. I quickly came out of the bathroom and shut the door. Kelly grabbed my hand and led me into the main bedroom of Hugh Hefner. It was very dark. I looked down on the ground as we walked to find my way around stacks and stacks of videos that consumed the floor. The only light came from two gigantic big screen TVs. Extremely loud techno music was playing. On the big screen TV was, to my surprise, guys having anal sex. It was very graphic and noisy.
I felt like Alice falling down the rabbit hole. Only I hadn’t landed in Wonderland, but in a dark and dangerous world from the imagination of Hugh Hefner.
I’ve always been an open-minded individual. I guess it’s because I was raised by liberal parents from the 1970s. I was privy to the magazines my grandparents and my boyfriend subscribed to—Playboy—and the
Playboy channel on television. Why would a girl like me buy Playboy and let my boyfriend read it? And why
would I let him watch the channel?
“Tell them they can’t have it, and they’ll want it all the more,” my mother always said.
I’m sure she was not talking about this subject, but I used this advice in my everyday life. On some level, I guess I thought that men with girlfriends and wives who forbid them from looking at Playboy would then sneak around to look at it—or worse . . . they’d cheat. I intended my relationships to be based on trust. Of course, like many people, I thought Playboy was classy, upscale, and acceptable. Anything else was porn.
Playboy featured the women like gorgeous art, airbrushed to perfection, with taste and style. The lighting was
always sexy, not harsh. They were like paintings brought to life.
In the 1960s when women were more voluptuous and zaftig, they reminded me of Renaissance oil paintings. I had always dreamed of being a Playboy centerfold, and if it was good enough for me to have been willing to do it, then the magazine was okay for my boyfriend to read. Besides, my grandpa was a Playboy collector and proud of it. He had read Playboy as far back as I could remember. I think that was one of the biggest reasons I wanted to be a Playmate. Of course, my grandpa made it very plain he did not want to see his sweet granddaughter nude. However, he thought the magazine was great, and my grandma always said Hugh Hefner’s publication had the most beautiful girls in the world. They allowed me to look at the
magazines as far back as I can remember, and to be honest, they were the most beautiful girls in the world, as far as I could see.
I started collecting autographed Playboy covers. My first signed Playboy was bought at a memorabilia store in Harrah’s Casino. Drew Barrymore was the featured star. The very next day, my boyfriend and I purchased a gigantic framed collection of four different covers of Jenny McCarthy, that sexy and outrageous blonde, all autographed and another of her signing a Playboy book. The collection grew to be huge with seventy-six, very well-known autographed covers from Madonna, Vanna White, and all ten of Pamela Anderson’s appearances in the pages, as well as Anna Nicole Smith, Bo Derek, Caprice, Claudia Schiffer, Sharon Stone, and many others. I became obsessed with the collection. I had an eight-foot by eight-foot, airbrushed Playboy bunny mounted in my pool/bar room. I had pool sticks with Playboy bunnies and playmates on the handles, a cue ball with the bunny; the entire room was filled with bunny glasses, napkins, and a large street sign that read “Honorary Hugh Hefner Way.” Everything was Playboy, and I loved it. It was a great hobby. I would surf Ebay for hours and bid for celebrity signed covers and Playboy memorabilia.
My boyfriend was the hero in all this collecting. Anyone who came into our house would tell him “You’re the Man!” Not only for having a girlfriend who liked Playboy but who allowed him to have a subscription and the Playboy channel. During every party, Bruce would turn on the television to show all of the guys and women how lucky he was. Every woman wanted to know which cover I was on, what month I appeared, etc. I felt so beautiful and loved with all the attention, even though I had never appeared and had never posed nude. Everyone assumed I had been in it because I had that classic Playboy bunny “look.”
22 So how did this wonderful collection of mine that I worked so hard to get, so hard to have—each and every cover custom framed and mounted—turn sour? How did it happen that when I put my house up for sale, I put it up as completely furnished leaving the new owner with the entire seventy-six-picture collection? All the Playboy memorabilia, including my first personal letter from Hef, autographed with pictures and framed, were eventually auctioned off, placed on EBay® and for little to no money without a care.
I have been asked how I became so obsessed with Playboy, and this is the only way I can explain it. To reflect, I found a picture of me, about 10 years old, posing sexily in a chair with a bunny on the ground next to me. At the time I don’t remember thinking about Playboy or even know if I had a sense of the magazine. I just always wanted to be a model or an actress. I took drama in school, was in all the school plays and at one point two friends of mine and I volunteered at a theatre in Everett, Washington, when I was about 13. We didn’t get paid anything. We cleaned bathrooms, vacuumed—just to be close to the world of the stage. I would practice in front of the mirror and even wrote my first version of a Nancy Drew book. I always wanted to be famous. My girlfriends and I would dream about Hollywood and the glamorous life it represented to us. And there was nude wallpaper in my parent’s kitchen, scenes by Alphonse Mucha, the famous artist of the Art Nouveau pictures, so seeing a naked breast with a daily bowl of breakfast was a norm for me.
It wasn’t until I was about 15 and I moved back to Arizona that I would find my grandfather’s magazines near his chair. My dad was completely the opposite type. He wouldn’t even look at a magazine and would not go to R-rated films because of their sexual nature and profanity.
He said at one time, “Why would I want to look at a girl in a magazine that I was never going to have? It seems stupid.”
There was a lot of talk about sex between my mom and me when I was a teenager. She wanted me to be well informed and spoke very openly about it. I was not allowed to wear makeup until I moved out—nor could I get my ears pierced. I was allowed to look at the centerfolds at my grandpa’s. I’m not sure why my grandma would let me, but she was so intrigued by their beauty and artistic portrayal that eventually lead to our having a conversation about why grandpa was allowed to have the magazine. He had a huge collection and must have saved every edition. This was the one area my grandma called “art.” She would always say how they were so beautiful. She told me time after time I was pretty enough to be in Playboy and that I should send my pictures in to them. At this point in time, I was over 18 and she said it often.
Nearly every time I went to their house I would look at the magazine, and Grandma would always tell me the same thing: You could be in there. I never thought I could. I figured it was a proud grandma thing. I did do a little modeling but then, at 18, I moved out, bought my own motor home and had to support myself. I got a stable job to pay bills and launched my Playboy Collection. I don’t think I was really obsessed so much as I was a collector—like people who spend each Saturday tromping through flea markets. I think that after I began collecting the Playboy magazines and putting them on the wall that I became fascinated with the entire Playboy world. I had always wanted to look like a centerfold. That doesn’t mean that I ever thought I could. But as more and more people that came to my house asked which cover I was on—and they were serious—I started to consider maybe I could
It didn’t become an obsession until I was turned down by Playboy. I had been a positive person all my life and really believed that anything I set my sights on I could achieve. I was 30 before I decided to look like the girls in the magazines. I hired a trainer to get into shape—not to get into Playboy. I just wanted to look like I was there. When the trainer reminded me I would never have the body I had at 20 it was a catalyst to disprove him.
It all started when I arrived at the age of thirty. A woman’s worst nightmare: getting old. One day that look in the mirror will prove the dreaded evidence that all those childhood dreams of being an actress, model, or someone famous could not be realized. I had put all those dreams and fantasies aside when I was twenty-one while I pursued a successful career as an owner of a chain of clothing stores. It was true that I had a beautiful four-thousand square foot house that was completely paid for, great cars, furnishings, financial success, and the admiration of my employees. It wasn’t enough. The one dream that stood out the most was being a Playboy centerfold.
It wasn’t just that I was getting older . . . it was a turning point. I wanted to do something special. Maybe for someone else this moment happens when turning forty. Maybe someone else might want to climb a mountain, enter a marathon, bungee jump or skydive. Fly to Paris. But I had all the material possessions I wanted. I wanted to do something so that when I was sixty, I could look back and say, “See what I did!”
I was in the poolroom amongst all my Playboy memorabilia when it hit me. I was going to do it. It wasn’t too late. How come I had never thought of this before? Not at any time in my life did I take the time to actually submit my pictures. I decided I needed a strategy. I was a businesswoman. I could do this. I applied all the common sense and drive that had taken me to where I was to the goal of being a Playmate. I realized that at thirty, realistically I had only a very remote chance of being a Playmate. I researched about a year of
Playboy magazines and found that the oldest one was twenty-six. If I were going to have a chance of
achieving my goal, being four years older than the average, I would have to really look terrific. I would have to have an edge, the look, the figure, the personality—everything.
For starters, I would need someone teach me to do my makeup well. I never really wore makeup through high school and still didn’t, just a little blush and mascara. I was going to need to look the part. A model friend of mine gave me a list of makeup artists, and I called the one she recommended the most. I told the makeup artist that I had just turned thirty and wanted to look younger, sexier—more “Playboy-ish.”
When she came to our house, Bruce, now my boyfriend, videotaped the makeup session so I could watch it over and over again to learn the techniques. Within a week, I threw out all the old makeup I had and purchased everything new from different stores all over town. It cost hundreds of dollars, but I was thrilled with my new look. I watched the video daily. I was on the way to a new me! To demonstrate how little I knew about self beauty the gal that was doing my makeup started to pluck my eyebrows.
My first reaction was “Ouch.”
Makeup Lady: When was the last time you had your eyebrows plucked? Jill Ann: I never have. Why . . . do they need to be?
Makeup Lady: Oh yes!
Flipping through a local paper I came across an ad for a personal trainer. To get the look I wanted, dedication was the name of the game. Having already had breast surgery a few years before, they were still perky and beautiful. My teeth were straight from having braces as a child. I had been told by many boys that I had great legs a tiny waist and outstanding breasts. I was lucky to be thin and a natural dirty blonde.
Through the years, many friends had already told me I should send my pictures in to Playboy. Many people thought I was a model.
If I was in danger of being automatically dismissed because of my age, I also needed a gimmick.
Playboy often featured women who were firefighters, police officers, featured on a reality show . . . women
who were some sort of celebrity or who had something unusual about themselves or their career. I was none of these—but I had been playing Texas Hold ‘em on nearly a daily basis for over eight years. So I hatched a plan: Get in shape and send in my pictures and tell them that I was a tournament poker player. If they had a rule on age limit for being a Playmate, then they could do a poker article on me like they do the firefighters and police gals.
I tried not to get depressed and started reflecting on other people’s ages. Thirty was the old twenty, and forty was the old thirty. People were exercising and staying in shape . . . the old definitions of sexy were flying out the window. People over thirty at the time were very popular. Jennifer Lopez, thirty-one;
Lucy Liu, thirty-three; Faith Hill, thirty-four; Nicole Kidman, thirty-four; Ashley Judd, thirty-three; Gwyneth Paltrow, twenty-nine; Sarah Jessica Parker, star of the sexiest show on television, thirty-four; Julia Roberts, America’s biggest females star, thirty-four; Cameron Diaz, twenty-nine; Sandra Bullock, one of America’s sweetheart actresses, thirty-nine; Carmen Electra, thirty-two; Pamela Anderson, thirty-seven; Angelina Jolie, twenty-nine; Beth Ostrosky, Howard Stern’s sexy girlfriend, thirty-two; Lisa Marie Presley, thirty-six; Meg Ryan, forty-two; Jennifer Aniston thirty-five; Cameron Diaz, thirty-one; Winona Ryder, thirty-two. I took heart that the last playmate was twenty-nine (Tina Marie Jordan) instead of the prior twenty-six years old being the oldest in the past few years. The stars of Beverly Hills 90210 were also no longer high school kids. Tori Spelling was thirty; Jason Priestley was thirty-three; and Jennie Garth was thirty-one, and so on. No, I told myself, I was not too old!
The personal trainer came out to the house. I didn’t tell him about my plans for Playboy. I’m not sure if I told him that I wanted to look like a Playmate, but I did say I wanted lean muscles, great curves—not bulky.
You can skip this paragraph if you choose, but a lot of people asked me how I got into shape. Here is a list of all the exercises I was to do. Day One: prisoner squat w/chair, lunges, side lunge-straight leg, calf raise, abduction w/tube, one leg dip squat, leg extension. Trunk; roll up, bicycle, leg lift to sky, 45-degree leg lift, physioball crunch, feet on ball angles, machine crunch. Day Two: Chest—close grip, lat pull down, shrug, seated row, DB Front Raise, DB Lateral Raise, DB Rear Delt Raise, DB Curl, Cep Pushdown-elbow in side, DB Hammer Curl, DB Triceps Extension, Finger pumps. Trunk—Half Crunch-legs still, Opposite Elbow to knee, Leg Straight Reach, Arms Middle Crunch, Side Crunch, Full Crunch, ridge hip to sky, Superman. Day Three: Ball Squat, Tube Walks for side, Leg Extension, Leg Curl, One Leg Squat, Calf Raise, Wide Leg Prisoner Squat. Trunk—Roll up, Bicycle, Leg lift to sky, 45 degree leg lift. Physioball Crunch, Feet on balls—Angles, Machine Crunch. Day Four: Chest-close grip, Lat pull down, Seated row, DB Triceps Kickback, DB Triceps Kickback, DB Padded Curl, DB Front Raise, DB Lateral Raise, DB Rear Delt Raise, Machine Curl, Triceps Dips, Finger Pumps. Trunk; Half Crunch with legs still, Opposite Elbow to knee, Leg straight reach, Arms Middle Crunch, Side Crunch, Full Crunch, Bridge hip to sky, Superman, Holdem-up Elbows, Holdem up-Side, Physioball, Bug Opposite arm/ Opposite leg, Side to Side with weights.
I was feeling good. My trainer had me on a special diet. By the time he was through, I felt I was ready. The only things I didn’t like were my thighs. No matter what I tried, they didn’t change. Most women, I suppose, have that one body part they’re displeased with. I knew that, realistically speaking, most women would have been thrilled to look like I did probably, but I wanted nothing but a lean, mean, sexy body, and I continued to complain. The trainer continued to make me do more and more exercises.
Finally, point blank he said, “You’re thirty. You’re never going to have the body you did at twenty.” I was literally devastated. I wanted Playboy to have no excuse except my age. Because I had already undergone breast surgery a few years before, I guess for me, plastic surgery did not seem like a drastic option. I sincerely believed if there was something you did not like about yourself, and you had the power/money to change it through modern medicine, you should. I went to a local doctor in Arizona, even though I was 115 pounds and 14 percent body fat. I showed him what I didn’t like. I told him flat-out what my plan was. He
32 suggested inner and outer liposuction. I figured that, while I was at it, I would get larger implants. I had to stand out—not freaky—but I had to have an edge over the hundreds of other twenty-four-year-old girls who get implants. I also asked about my lips. The doctor said that he could weave a rope to the upper and lower lips to make them slightly fuller. I added that procedure to the list.
In one day, my inner and outer thighs were slimmed, both lips were fuller, and my breasts doubled in size. The pain was incredible. My lips were so swollen I looked like a monkey. I could not lie on either side and wore spandex pants for optimum results.
I was told to purchase a ton of frozen peas. Bruce, my nurse, would put them in a zip lock bag and set small amounts of peas on my lips. As soon as the bag of peas would start to get warm, my lips were in tons of pain. This is when more new peas would be applied to stop the agony. I was told by Bruce not to look in the mirror, and I didn’t. He later told me after I was well that they were so gross and blue that he could not get that image out of his mind. They looked like they were going to burst and explode everywhere. He begged me never to do that again. The breast pain was nothing at all and my arms were not even sore like the first time. I figured they would be in worse pain because of having to remove the prior saline bags and then insert another bag in their place. Also breast tissue was cut out to give me more cleavage in the middle because my first set of breasts was fairly wide with not much cleavage.
The lipo was the worst experience because of the removal of high-pressure shorts that you could barely move up or down. I had to have the smallest pair of shorts on to firmly hold my new movement of skin. By removing some excess fat in this procedure, like all patients there was some loose skin and the longer I wore the compression pants the smother my “new” legs would be. For over three months I wore these damn things. The best thing about the entire operation was the new breasts were perfect in size, and amazingly the toothache that had plagued me for years was gone! This was worth a celebration.
The next problem was the liposuction seemed not to be perfectly even on my legs. I had very high expectations, and if I was going to grace the pages of Playboy this was not going to do it. They had to be perfect. I showed them to the doctor and instead of a normal doctor saying you need to wear the compression pants longer or that is the way your body reacted or something along those lines, he said he needed to go back in and redo them and he wouldn’t charge me anything but the hospital room and anesthetics. I had already been told I could not exercise for six months and now having to go back in again was going to set me back additionally. He took me in almost right away and did the procedure. This time a slight problem happened. I am not sure why, but the anesthesiologist did not give me enough medicine. I had lips, lipo, and breasts the time before and the pain was bearable for the entire time.
This time waking up in the recovery room I noticed a pain that was so incredible that I felt I was going to pass out. I wished so much that I could have passed out. I explained to the doctor my problem of severe pain and they said they could give me more pain medicine, but then I would have to stay in the hospital for an additional amount of time to monitor my results and what they gave me would not be anywhere near the strength of my own medicine I could take once I got home.
I decided to risk going home instead since this doctor was much closer than the prior doctor. The drive was only about a ½ hour till I would be home. On the way home the most blinding pain came my way. Almost unable to control the crying I was not sure what to do. I felt it was unbearable, unbelievable, and undesirable. The pain pill did nothing to stop the pain. Calling the doctor about an hour later he told me I could take an additional pill. Instead of being in “la la land” and waking up the following day sore and miserable, it was the longest night of my life. The following week continued to be severe with pain. I was told there was nothing wrong and that it was normal. I wasn’t sure if going right back in so soon to the same areas had done it or not enough drugs on the operating table at the hospital had made me flip around so much that I had wounded myself inside. The bruises this time from the lipo were so frightening that I could barely stand to look at my legs. They were a deep black and blue.
My lips had gone down, and now it seemed completely as though no rope had been hand woven from one end to the next. I was disappointed to say the least. I had thin lips again. I would be forced to draw them in again with lip liner to get them to look pouty and full.
I stuck to my strict diet that my fitness trainer had me on. I did not tell him my plans of surgery and just told him I was going to take a break for awhile. I was going to surprise him with the results. I didn’t tell anyone in my family that I was having this done and, until this book, I have never admitted to the liposuction. The waiting began. I had six months before I could work out again.
My age clock continued ticking away. Talk about a boring six months being on my strong diet not allowing the time to become fat or have more appear on my thighs! I couldn’t work out; I couldn’t eat anything that was not on my list! I maintained my diet and spent time working on and preparing my plan. When the time came for my trainer to return, he couldn’t believe what I’d done. He worked with me for two months getting into the shape I wanted for my first photos to be submitted to Playboy. As a final touch, I went through the very painful procedure of Botox. (This is to remove all wrinkles from forehead or eye area, or wherever you put the painful injection. It paralyzes this section of your face so that there will be no wrinkles. Many of the movie stars use this to look much younger.) It is the process of mixing two things together and putting them in a needle and then taking this same needle and pressing them down to areas of your skin that have wrinkles and releasing the fluid to this area. To get the exact places you want the doctor will make you squint or frown and mark your face with little pin marks for him to remember where to put the injection. It is an intense pain, but since I had already been through so much what was a little more.
The saddest thing was my lips were still very thin, so I paid an additional amount of money to have collagen injected in my lips. We are talking the worst pain ever is injecting a needle into your lip every little inch all the way along to give your lips a perfect even injection of collagen. I was so glad this painful
procedure was done and over with and the Botox was amazing. It was like it gave me an immediate semi facelift. It even seemed to raise my eyebrows to give me a more youthful look. I was completely thrilled with the process, and I could smile great big and happy without having any lines on my face. I looked like I was twenty-one again. I also had Epilight treatments on lower arms, bikini line, lower legs, and knees. I paid a ton for the service, and it didn’t do a dang thing. I did three full painful treatments with this intense light. They put this thick freezing cream in a large spot and then they would zap this hot electrical device on that section of my hair. They said it was supposed to be low pain. It wasn’t, and it was a waste of all of my money as well. They said it probably didn’t work because I have such blonde hair. Granted I am jumping ahead because I went thought the treatment for many of months, and it still didn’t work. I thought it would be so awesome that I would have hairless leg and bikini.
Nonetheless, all this gives readers an idea of what I was willing to do to achieve that perfection that people have come to expect of a Playmate.
Before I was completely ready to send pictures to Playboy, an event called Glamourcon came up October 21 to 22, 2000. It is a gathering of models—mainly Playboy models and Playmates. I decided I would attend. I was very excited to go to Los Angeles. I wanted to check out the competition.
When I arrived, many people started asking to pose with me assuming that I was a model. I told them that I was not. They still wanted to take my picture and I didn’t object. It was kind of fun to glimpse a little bit of celebrity status. It was an interesting place for young aspiring models to go and check out also because there were many opportunities there as well for work, and agencies in the room were actively looking for new talent. Unfortunately, a lot of the work was nude modeling, not regular modeling.
Most girls were Playmates, Penthouse Pets, from Hustler magazine, or some kind of nude production. I had many offers to paint me, photograph me, and draw me—of course all in the nude. I had only been there a little bit of time and noticed them arranging a main table and preparing it.
I asked someone what they were preparing for, and they said for Hugh Hefner’s arrival. I was
surprised I had not heard about this. It wasn’t advertised in anything that I had seen. They informed me that he didn’t always show up, but that if he did, often he showed up on the first day. There were many vendors selling Playboy magazines so I rushed to find one that was worthy of a signature from Hugh Hefner. I found one with my birthday April 1970 and another anniversary issue so I figured these would be two good ones to get signed.
Bruce got in line since there was already a line forming to meet Hugh Hefner. I continued to go around and meet current Playmates and some of the older ones. The time for arrival appeared, and a crowd of paparazzi started to flash their bulbs as he came in with an entourage of blondes, all of whom I assumed were Playmates. The girls had on the shortest shorts; sexy jeans, little tank tops and t-shirts, and they all had their hair and makeup done to perfection. The media frenzy was unbelievable
Bruce and I had our camera, and we took as many pictures of him arriving as possible through the crowd of paparazzi. I had a picture taken with Hugh Hefner, I got to watch him come in, but only from a distance because I was in line holding our place. The line had started to curve into the following room. He stopped at a few of the Playmates’ tables and gave them hugs as he came in. The older ones and the younger ones. I thought that was really neat that he stopped to take the time. He posed with them and then headed to his area to start the massive line of people waiting to get autographs.
The neatest thing was to see what everyone had brought to have autographed. Many were not fans but business people who then would resell his signature. The most exciting ones were the first original 1953 Marilyn Monroe issue that about three people on the line had—it was a thrill to see one of these magazines up close. Others had large objects like Playboy Volleyballs and 50th Anniversary books. These anniversary editions and other memorabilia were more interesting than just a signed magazine and had bulk to it. I did not recognize the girls sitting next to him bought noticed they were all blondes. I personally thought they looked a little non Playboyish except for two of the girls. The others seemed a little rough. Not that I was an expert, but when you want someone to represent your entire organization and there are thousands of girls to choose from, you would figure they would have the most drop-dead assets and faces that would light up a room.
Some of these young women didn’t. I was even more thrilled to see this because I was sizing up the competition. Not that I was downgrading them, but they looked like many girls at any bars or even close friends. They had the turn-around quick platinum hair, but otherwise nothing that jumped out of the room. Two girls were drop-dead gorgeous, and one was to the right of Hef and the other one was at the other end of the table. These two girls I couldn’t see picking if I was Hef. The gal to the right of Hef I later found out was Tina Jordan, Hef’s number-one girlfriend at the time. She would tell Hef what to write on each autographed item because there was so much noise that he could not hear what any of us were saying, and he just gave everyone a smile as if he understood what they were saying to him.
Hef got excited when the person in front of me had the first-edition Playboy, and when he handed it back to him signed Hef said “that just went up in value” (just from him signing it!). Seeing the young whippersnapper with it, I am sure Hef knew it wasn’t for him but for resale. He sneaked another one for Hef to sign, and Hef signed it without a hitch.
It was then my turn to step up to meet Hugh Hefner. I was more worried about getting a photo
because I have always been addicted to photos, and Hef leaned forward and stretched out his body and neck to seem closer to me since he was on the other side of the signing table. I told him my name, and he looked over at Tina to find out what I had said and she relayed it back to him. He wrote “To Jill, Love Hugh Hefner” I said “I am so excited to meet you” He kindly smiled. I was excited. He said “You are beautiful, darling” I smiled and replied “Really? Thanks.” I walked away as high as a kite and started to jump up and down like a kid in a candy store because this was a huge compliment from such a powerful man.
I would later find out that the other stunning beauty at the table was Buffy Tyler sitting at the far end of the table. On my scale of Playmates, she is a 10. She also was an official Hugh Hefner girlfriend and was part of his entourage, but her month was the following month that she would be Miss November. That is why I had not recognized her because I had not seen that issue yet. She was signing her centerfold for everyone at I believe $20.00 a magazine. I did not get one because I only collected girls on the cover. I did watch her in awe and thought how exciting it was that she was getting to sign autographs and she looked like what you pictured they should look like.
I was thrilled. I had finally met the most powerful man in the Playboy business—the Playboy icon himself. Everyone was taking pictures and standing in line for autographs. The thing that impressed me the most was that he took time throughout the room to greet many of the girls from past Playboy years, giving them big hugs and thanking them. It seemed like such a family atmosphere. It seemed as if he was paternal almost, caring about each girl in his Playboy empire. Never in my wildest dreams would I think that later on I would find out this so-called paternal concern was anything but.
I could feel the excitement—the glitz—in the air. I wanted to be part of it. Hef was there only a short time and left with all the blondes in tow. The best thing was almost everyone there thought I was a Playmate just stopping by to visit the others. I was both flattered and motivated. I met a Playmate named Suzi Simpson who asked me what month I was.
Jill Ann: “Oh, no . . . I’m just here getting autographs, and I wanted to meet Hugh Hefner.” Suzi: “You’re kidding. You are definitely Playmate material.”
I was fishing for information.
Jill Ann: “You think I should send my pictures to the magazine?”
Suzi: “Absolutely not! What you want to do is go directly to Santa Monica. They test for Playmates on Thursdays, and you need to call them and make an appointment. Tell them I sent you.”
I was breathless. This was the break or inside connection I needed.
Jill Ann: “Thank you so much. How I would get such a number to the Santa Monica office.
Suzi: “I can email it to you but otherwise you could call information or go to the Playboy website and there is only one Santa Monica office. Just call them up and tell them you want to be tested for a Playmate.”
She gave me her personal email address, and I thanked her for the information. Prior to going to L.A., I didn’t know about this test, so this was a big leg up on my list toward my goal. A few other Playmates chimed in while I was talking to Suzi. Kimberly Donley and Barbara Moore both were super supportive and saying such great things to me. Telling me I had to go to Santa Monica and that I was Playmate material!
36 This attractive blonde girl named Echo Johnson was signing magazines, and I waited patiently to get my cover signed. It was a cover with about five or so other girls in and around a telephone booth with Jerry Seinfeld. It seemed as if I had waited forever watching the gal talk on the phone to one of her friends. I was the only one at her booth, and I was a paying customer but where they were going to each lunch the following day was much more important. I laid my $20.00 on the table to get my magazine signed and she gave me back $5.00 in change still talking on the phone and signed the cover and handed it back to me and then turned away to continue talking. I decided to come back later when she wasn’t on the phone, but there was not a time that she was on the phone. I overheard her say that she was sitting around the pool at the mansion prior to coming to Glamourcon. I butted in and said “Wow, you were just at the mansion earlier.”
“Yeah, I stayed there overnight to go to Glamourcon today.” I said “He just lets you come up whenever you like?”
She said, “Yes.” I was shocked by this mainly because she was not a current Playmate, and it was a few years back that she had done her spread. I thought that was really something you being able to come up whenever you wanted. I remarked, “That has to be great.” She shrugged her shoulders and squinted her forehead and eyes as to say I guess in her “blonde” language.
Since I had been collecting autographs on eBay I knew what items sold the best, and I had stopped at Wal-Mart on the way and picked up a five-pack of blank white underwear to get the playmates to sign. Why? Because other people were selling such things on eBay and they were getting a good amount of money for them. I figured why not pay for my trip to LA with a few things I could sell on eBay. I noticed Jennifer Walcott sitting at her table.
Jill Ann: “How much would it be to get a few pairs of these underwear signed?” Jennifer: “I would never sign a pair of underwear. That is disgusting.”
Jill Ann: “Oh no they are brand-new.”
Jennifer: “You think that just because I posed for Playboy that I am that kind of girl? Well, I’m not and I won’t sign them.”
Jill Ann: “I am so sorry. I had seen some other Playboy girls selling signed underwear on Ebay so I figured I would do the same.”
Jennifer: “That is what gives Playboy girls a bad rap is a few stupid ones doing such a thing. I’m not that kind of girl. Just because I took my clothes off doesn’t mean I’m some bimbo.”
Not knowing how to get myself out of this embarrassing situation, I apologized and dashed away. I got many of magazines signed and got to have many conversations with older playmates. One told me that when she made the cover of Playboy it was taken with a Polaroid camera and not touched up at all. That actual photo went to print.
I had found out they were having a VIP party that night down in the hotel for certain special guests and booth holders. I figured it would be easy to find and it was. I walked right in without any hassle without an
invitation that other people had. The entire party about three Playboy girls showed up out of all of the girls that were present earlier. I had heard girls earlier saying that if they were not getting paid to go they weren’t going to go. Lots of disappointed participants and of course like a regular bar night not enough girls to go around. I, too, left not wanting to be part of the 98 percent guy ratio scene. I would have stayed if one of the gals from earlier would have been there, but since it seemed no one was interested in having me join them I willingly left. The following day I asked a few of the gals where they went figuring there had to be another VIP party that I just missed. Most said they lived in California and just went back home. It was Sunday and
the attendance was nearly half from the day before. Many of the gals didn’t even come back the following day to sign autographs even though it had listed they would be there signing. So I suggest if you go to this event make sure to go on Saturday. This is the best way and actually only way to easily get an autograph of Playmates and or Hugh Hefner.
Anyway, the event ended and I really felt positive about my chances of becoming a Playmate. I felt like nothing could stop me now.