Tuesday, March 20, 2012

At the Playboy Club

If you saw this blog title and clicked on it thinking it would be a titillating tale of me with a group (seven actually) of stunningly beautiful women and the sick and twisted things they did to me…
You’ve come to the right place!
There is one drawback, however…
I was 15 at the time.
Now before you break out the Kleenex anticipating the sad tale of a young boy helpless in the clutches of sex-starved Amazonian women, I should probably provide some back story.
I had a summer job working at Head Start which, if you are unfamiliar, is a program that teaches preschoolers from poor neighborhoods the basics. Now strangely, my story has nothing to do with the kids, or Head Start. My adventure began when my boss told me to go to Catholic Charities in Manhattan, (they were financing the program) to pick up the weekly checks and then around the corner to a florist to pick up a floral arrangement specially made for her daughter’s engagement party.
This was fine with me. Instead of dealing with the kids all day I got to spend a good part of my day in Manhattan. The Catholic Charities deal was a quick in and out but it was with the florist that my adventure began.
It turned out I arrived early, the florist didn’t have the flowers ready and told me he needed another hour. Okay. I was about to say ‘see you later’ when he asked me if I would make a delivery for him. If so, he’d pay me 5 dollars.
  Hell yeah! Keep in mind I was making $1.75 an hour with Head Start. So he hands me this large black box and gives me the address to the Playboy club. Tells me to take it to the ‘Mother Bunny’ herself and for her to sign for it.
Yep, there actually is a ‘Mother Bunny’.
These were the days before drug gangs and mules and that kind of stuff so I thought nothing of it and walked the six blocks to the Playboy club and confidently strode inside as if I were a premier key carrying member.
I got about ten feet before two very large men in well-tailored suits stepped in front of me and kindly suggested that I either get the f**k out or I would be thrown the f**k out. (That's their language not mine. Coming from a Catholic school I was taught never to use asterisks in polite company)
I shooed them away dismissively, announced that I was there to see the ‘Mother Bunny’ and attempted to push past them.
I’m sitting on the curb outside the Playboy club wondering what to do next when I look down on the receipt and see the florist’s telephone number. I make a call, explain what happened and ten minutes later I’m back inside with instructions to take a specific elevator to the Mother Bunny’s office.
So I board the elevator and press the button. Two floors up the elevator stops, the door opens and seven (count ‘em) seven absolutely gorgeous women in Playboy bunny costumes enter.
Keep in mind I’m a 15 year old kid from the Bronx and the only time I have EVER seen women that beautiful is on movie screens. To say I was blushing and perhaps a little tongue-tied would be a HUGE understatement.
They are surprised to see me because this particular elevator is reserved for the bunnies only. I understand why now. It’s because no beautiful woman wants to be trapped in an elevator with a lecherous old coot, (at least that’s what beautiful women have said to me every time I got stuck in an elevator with them)
So they decided to have some fun. First of all these women are statuesque. At least 5’10’’ plus they’re wearing heels. I was only 5’8’’of my eventual 5’10’’ so they bent over, knowing they were giving me an eyeful and asked where I was going.
I replied with my best Jackie Gleason/Ralph Cramdon ‘Ah-min-ah, Ah-min-ah, Ah-min-ah’, impression. Which they apparently found delightful so they start running their hands through my hair and caressing my face and telling me how cute I was and how I must drive all the girls in my class crazy.
Yeah. Sure. Whatever. All I was thinking was if I could just motorboat one set of those beautiful ta-tas for only a few seconds, the girl could then rip my head from my shoulders, punt it down the hallway and I’d still feel it was worth it.
The elevator door opened. It was my floor, Mother Bunny’s floor. My honeys escorted me to her office. She was very attractive, pleasant and personable. She thanked me for the delivery, tipped me 5 bucks and instructed one the bunnies to escort me to the lobby. (Yeah, you don’t want a 15 year old hormone charged male wondering around free inside the Playboy club.)
I have lived a full and exciting life. I have no regrets but one.
I should have motorboated one of those gorgeous bunnies while I had the chance!  

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