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But the girls got a clothing allowance.”*On the claim that he imposed a strict 9 p.m.curfew, by which time all his girlfriends had to be at home or else: “That was also true—and widely publicized. Hef laughs: “So they wouldn’t be running around on me! James/Kasprzyk’s allegation that he handed out Quaaludes as aphrodisiacs: “If she was taking Quaaludes, she was taking them on her own.”She and Hank, her husband, are very close friends.As a matter of, I got a very sweet Twitter, or tweet, from Kendra a week ago congratulating me on the marriage.”Hef, who has been tweeting nonstop about his engagement to Crystal since he popped the question last week, tells me he presented his bride to be with a 3 1/2 carat round-cut diamond ring on Christmas Eve, while she gave her future husband a painting of them and their dog.Channel fave], and I kind of cleaned house.”“If she was taking Quaaludes, she was taking them on her own.I wasn’t supplying drugs to the girls,” Hefner says.For the next two years, my live-in girlfriends were Brande, Mandy, and Sandy—which reads like bad fiction, but was true.
James; her name is Polish, it’s Kasprzyk—was one of a number of girls that I dated and lived at the house in the early part of 2001,” Hef tells me.
Twitter account tweeted Wednesday night that the publisher of the adult magazine died of natural causes.
Hefner was born in Chicago in 1926 to parents who both worked as teachers.
“I think the first thing that needs to be said about it is I’m not quite sure—maybe you know—what prompted a story about this book surfacing right at this time.
He’s talking about a former girlfriend’s tawdry memoir of life in the Playboy Mansion, splashed this past weekend in London’s Daily Mail just as Hef, 84, was happily announcing plans to marry his current flame, a nubile 24-year-old named Crystal Harris. James’ Bunny Tales: Behind Closed Doors at the Playboy Mansion portrays the founder of Playboy, the once-dominant men’s magazine in which naked ladies were strange bedfellows with serious journalism, as a jealous cheapskate who kept his blond harem on a tight leash even as he permitted his dogs to soil the carpets and drapes; who wolfed down Viagra and waited impatiently for the pills to take effect even as he plied his multiple sex slaves with Dom Perignon and Quaaludes, only to “lay there like a dead fish” when the party started; who refused to wear a condom or have himself and his partners tested for sexually transmitted diseases; and who paid his house guests every Friday in crisp hundred-dollar bills—in sum, a sad portrait of a dirty old man.“It sounds horrible,” Hef says on the phone from the Mansion in Los Angeles, punctuating his sarcasm with a snicker.He insists he’s more than happy to embrace monogamy on this, the third time around, even though “obviously, I could have a richer variety of sex if I wasn’t going to get married. The first girl I had a crush on in high school, who is still a close friend, Betty Conklin, married the fellow she loved and within the next handful of years he was killed in a car accident.