We’ve heard a lot of reports about Hugh Hefner since he died, like that he didn’t leave his wife anything in his will and that his ears didn’t work because he took too many pills to make his wrinkled old man dick work. But the most interesting things said about Hef might be what his former valet Stefan Tetenbaum told the New York Post. And just an aside, that’s valet as in My Man Jeeves or Downton Abbey, not the kind that parks your car.
On certain nights, Mr. Hefner had prostitutes brought up to the mansion and he would entertain them with a big dinner and invite his friends to come and participate in different intimate acts with them. It was called “Pig Night.” Sometimes the women had penises and Hefner didn’t want to be involved with that, although some of the other guests, especially John Belushi, they didn’t mind.
So Hef was like a guy at a bar when he had a kid, buying a round of drinks for everyone. Only “drinks” means “transgender prostitutes”. Which could be a useful code.
Hugh, most of the time, never had sex with women. He was more interested in watching. He would hire famous male porn stars, including John Holmes, with huge penises and watch them have sex with different girls he brought in. Hugh sat there in his favorite chair, smoking a joint and eating red licorice and watching.
Okay, I don’t want to judge, but that’s kind of messed up. Also, John Holmes died of AIDS, so it’s probably for the best that Hef was just watching. Personally, I would have had to at least touched it. That thing was like a baseball bat, there’s no point in your life where “I gave John Holmes a handjob” stops being an interesting story to tell at parties, even if you are Hef.
He always filmed the encounters. He had two large video cameras over his bed and he had these giant screens across from his bed. He had a whole library for these sex acts with different people and the video librarian told me Hef planned to use the footage against his associates if they ever threatened to come out with a memoir about him or the mansion.
Now we’re into the crazy parts. It’s all fun and hookers until a magazine mogul threatens to show your wife a filmstrip of you blowing a transgender prostitute. He kind of makes Hefner sound like he’s one jar of urine away from building a giant wooden airplane and buying 350 gallons of banana nut ice cream on a whim.
Hef wasn’t a kind man. If he tasted the Pepsi and it wasn’t cold enough, he would throw it away and call me to replace it. I don’t know if he ever even knew my name. He would just call me “valet.” He was very brutal to his girlfriends and sex partners.
As much fun as being friends with Hefner seemed like would be, he sounds like he was quite a jerk to anyone who wasn’t a celebrity. “Valet” isn’t even the proper way to address a valet, he should have referred to him as Tetenbaum.
I really didn’t feel anything when I heard Hef died. He started out as an innovator and was a very liberal guy. He was pro abortion, gay rights, marijuana. He was very ahead of his time and then when he moved from Chicago to Holmby Hills, he became just another dirty old rich man.
That’s the saddest part of the story. Hef was basically a Clinton, someone who set out to make the world a better place when they were young and turned into another rich asshole who only cared about himself. Now I feel like I need a drink. Maybe two drinks. I knew that would be a useful code.