It's not exactly on deep background that the pleasurable act of sex can have a sometimes disconcerting aftereffect, that of membership in the P.T.A. To avoid lengthy discussions of elementary school curriculums (can you say con-tra-cep-tion?) requires that you be part doctor, part pharmacist and part bedroom politician. We've cast writer David Black (pictured at right) in all three roles for an update on the state of casual union called Beyond the Pill. For the illustration, we couldn't conceive of anyone better than Don Ivan Punchatz.
Playboy, (ISSN 0032-1478), July, 1981, Volume 28, Number 7. Published Monthly by Playboy, Playboy Bldg., 919 N. Michigan Ave., Chicago, Ill. 60611. Subscriptions: In the United States and its possessions, $48 for 36 issues, $34 for 24 issues, $18 for 12 issues, Canada, $24 for 12 issues. Elsewhere, $31 for 12 issues. Allow 45 days for new subscriptions and renewals. Change of address: Send both old and new addresses to Playboy, Post Office Box 2420, Boulder, Colorado 80302, and allow 45 days for change. Marketing: Ed Condon, Director / Direct Marketing; Michael J. Murphy, Circulation Promotion Director. Advertising: Henry W. Marks, Advertising Director; Harold Duchin, National Sales Manager; Michael Druckman, New York Sales Manager; Richard Atkins, Fashion Advertising Manager, 747 Third Avenue, New York, New York 10017; Chicago 60611, Russ Weller, Associate Advertising Manager, 919 North Michigan Avenue; Troy, Michigan 48084, Jess Ballew, Manager, 3001 W. Big Beaver Road; Los Angeles 90010, Stanley L. Perkins, Manager, 4311 Wilshire Boulevard; San Francisco 94104, Tom Jones, Manager, 417 Montgomery Street.
Foes of abortion have fired the opening shots in what they hope will be a successful two-year campaign to make childbirth compulsory for all pregnant women. Here is a report from our Washington correspondent.
Dirty Hairy fans, take note. Jerdon Industries offers a hair drier for people who want to blow their heads off. It's called the Magnum (it's shaped like a .357), comes in a holster carrying case and costs $27. So, do you feel lucky, punk?
Thanks to travel experts like Playboy's own Stephen Birnbaum, we are able to enjoy visiting places with few or no problems. But how about testing your spirit of adventure? Travel should include the unexpected, the dangerous, the downright foolish. With that in mind, we offer this collection of travel advice, because, frankly, you can't get it anywhere else.
A few years ago, punk aficionados started picking up on James Brown's pre-Papa's Got a Brand New Bag sounds. Now the early Brown brand of deceptive simplicity and unbridled raw power can be found in most New Wave record shops (dangerously close to the David Bowie section). Just in time for the new rage comes James Brown--Live and Lowdown at the Apollo, Volume I (Solid Smoke). Originally released in 1962 on the King label, this disc is considered by many to be the most exciting live performance ever recorded. Soul Brother number one is at the peak of his performing power here, revealing an intensity only hinted at in more recent recordings. The new edition actually improves upon the original: The sound quality is much better.
Reeling and Rocking: A planned feature film starring Kenny Rogers has been postponed until 1982 because of Rogers' continued success on the concert circuit. Instead, he'll take a couple of weeks off and make another TV movie, based on his hit Coward of the County, for airing next fall.... The authors of the Jim Morrison bio, No One Here Gets Out Alive, are denying reports that John Travolta has the lead in the movie version; and in a related story, the surviving members of The Doors will be marketing a Doors special on cable TV, called A Tribute to Jim Morrison. It will feature rarely shown film footage and interviews. The group plans to release the same special on video disc and cassette.
James Clavell, the author of King Rat, Tai-Pan and Shõgun, has finally delivered Noble House (Delacorte)--"the fourth novel in the Asian saga." It's 1206 pages long, so if you don't have any vacation time left, you'd better plan on calling in sick. The new novel ties together elements of Clavell's previous works. The descendants of the original Taipan are fighting it out with the descendants of Tyler Brock in contemporary Hong Kong. They enlist the aid of a Japanese woman named Anjin. There's a writer named Marlowe who survived a Japanese prisoner-of-war camp. Neat. Instead of clipper ships, you have corporate piracy. An American conglomerate with Mafia ties is trying to gain a foothold in Asia. The financial details of a corporate raid are staggering--at times you want to read this with a pocket calculator in hand. At times you want to pick up The Wall Street Journal for comic relief. On one level, this book is simply J. R. Ewing Goes Abroad--Dallas is transported to Hong Kong. The local characters have names like Four Finger Wu, Profitable Choy and Third Toilet Maid Tung. The melodrama is awesome: You have a horse race, a mud slide, a fire on a floating restaurant, a run on a bank, an assassination, another mud slide, a double agent, a triple agent, a beautiful Chinese mistress with perfect breasts, a liberated American corporate type with perfect breasts and, of course, the blood-oath vengeance of the feuding houses. In short, enough hooks to support a miniseries on television. History will repeat itself. Clavell does not do for Hong Kong what James Joyce did for Dublin, but who cares? It's a good read.
Is it a bird? Is it a plane? No, it's Superstud. There is a bit more than that to this sequel--some sexual tension as a substitute for pure surprise--yet all's well in general with Superman II (WB). Only bona-fide grownups are likely to worry about the dilemma faced by Margot Kidder and Christopher Reeve, when Lois Lane discovers Clark Kent's true identity, and they learn to their chagrin that it's not in the stars for Superman to be both a great lover and a cosmic fighter against the forces of Evil. What to do? I'll never tell, and there's evidence here that Superman II may have another small surprise tucked away for the future. Meanwhile, kids, Lex Luthor and his tempting Eve (Gene Hackman and Valerie Perrine) perform dark deeds as a mere warm-up for Superman's epic confrontation with Zod, Ursa and Non, three archevildoers expelled from Krypton. That trio is up to no good after they ambush some moon-walking astronauts, then start to cook up mischief for NASA on the planet Houston (even their geography is band). Terence Stamp, Sarah Douglas and Jack O'Halloran, all in black with killer eyes, play the wicked trio so stylishly you'd think they were doing a funky fashion spread on lasers and leather.
Idol Gossip: Actress Julie Andrews has been undergoing a steady image change lately, due, in large part, to the roles in which she's been cast by her husband, writer-director Blake Edwards. First, there was "10," in which the ex--Mary Poppins played the sharp-tongued, liberated girlfriend of Dudley Moore. In S.O.B., a sardonic view of Hollywood, Edwards has cast her as an actress with a lead role in a film that is changed in midproduction to soft-core porn. And now, in Victor/Victoria (also written and directed by Edwards), she plays, of all things, a female impersonator. Co-starring Robert Preston and James Garner, the flick is about a down-and-out opera singer (Andrews) persuaded by a gay entertainer (Preston) to become a female impersonator at a gay bar. (In other words, Andrews is a female impersonating a male impersonating a female--does that clear things up?) The plot thickens when she falls in love with a gangster (Garner), who goes through a few changes himself, since he thinks he's in love with a man. Or something like that.... Albert Finney and Diane Keaton play a married couple splitting up in MGM's Shoot the Moon. Written by Bo(Melvin and Howard)Goldman and directed by Alan Parker, the film explores the effects of the breakup on the couple and their four children who are stuck in the middle. The title, incidentally, derives from the card game hearts: "Shooting the moon" is a strategy in which a player attempts to win by accumulating all the hearts in the deck.
Chances are that as you read this, Prince Charles and Lady Di are huddling together on the floor of some cozy corridor at Windsor, Sandringham, Balmoral or Buckingham Palace. For if they're at all like every other couple about to get married, they're probably poring over about 1000 indecipherable travel brochures, each describing in delicious detail some absolutely irresistible honeymoon package. But one of the most persistent of all travel myths is that every honeymoon package is a great bargain and that savvy twosomes, be they newly wedded blue bloods or just good friends, hitch themselves to those matrimonial migrations whenever possible.
What do you do when you discover that your partner is having an affair? Or that he has had affairs in the past? It recently came to my attention that my husband had cheated on our marriage. I was very hurt. Our sex life has been incredible, and there shouldn't have been cause for him to wander. He says the same thing--that the sex was great--but that there were other reasons. Can you shed any light on this?--Mrs. D. K., Boston, Massachusetts.
Last February, we reported the celebrated case of the "Wauwatosa Lovers," a young Wisconsin couple convicted of having sex while spending the night in the vacant house they'd been hired by a friend to paint. Milwaukee newsman Doug Rossi now puts that incident in proper local perspective.
In early 1979, six years after the North Vietnamese officially released the remaining American prisoners of war, the State Department received word from a Scandinavian economist who had recently visited Hanoi that he had seen and spoken with a man who had told him, "I am an American. Are you interested?" The economist, a Finnish banker, also produced a note nervously scribbled by a tall, dark-haired man who had given his name, rank and a Marine Corps serial number.
If women were able to shed their inhibitions because of the pill revolution, men were able to shed their responsibilities for contraception. But now that the pill is known more for its health risks than for its efficacy, we've reached another crossroads: In that all-important subject of who's taking care of the protection, the sexes are back to the negotiating table.
The methods of contraception discussed in Beyond the Pill are all currently in use somewhere in somewhat significant numbers. Meanwhile, however, a whole new generation of contraceptives now in the development stage perks away on the back burner: improved barrier methods, improved systemic methods and some that don't fit easily into those two categories. Each of the three categories can be divided into male or female methods. And the picture is further complicated by a certain amount of crossover, both in the substances used as contraceptives and in the delivery systems used to carry those substances.
Soft dreams, sweet dreams. Filled with the smooth and fragrant skins of delicately perspiring young girls: the flutter of their breath as they toss and stretch against rumpled sheets, their slender thighs aching with a timeless heat that the night breeze cannot assuage. That is the world of David Hamilton.
Forecast for summer: surfing, sailing and poolside maneuvers in the parching sun ... followed by bourbon coolers. Bourbon coolers? Absolutely, old chum! They're brisk and beguiling; definitely different from the ubiquitous gin or vodka 'n' tonic. You'll get a lot more zip per sip and strike a blow for liberty, too. Bourbon is America's national spirit, so decreed by a solemn act of Congress in 1964. And, until rather recently, it was the popular year-round potion--right across the calendar.
He stood on the pitcher's mound with a baseball in his hand--a tall, gangling boy of 12 in a little-league uniform that was so small for him, the pants legs barely reaching his knees, that he resembled a stick figure. I remember he had a long face, and pale skin, and that his eyes were wide and unblinking, like those of a trapped animal.
Those clever danes have an uncanny sense of design. By combining fine craftsmanship with deceptively simple lines, they blend modern and traditional as no one else does. Meet Heidi Sorenson, a dark-eyed, tawny-haired beauty of Danish extraction. Heidi's naturalness is thoroughly contemporary, yet you immediately sense something old-fashioned about her. Perhaps it comes from having lived abroad as a child. Although Heidi was born in Vancouver, British Columbia, she spent her early childhood in Denmark. Then it was back to Canada, this time to the near wilderness of Vancouver Island's west coast, where her father started a fishing company. "We lived in a houseboat in an Indian village," Heidi recalls. "It was a great place to grow up. My sisters and I were tomboys." When Canadian photographer Ken Honey first saw Heidi, she was working as a junior bookkeeper for a Vancouver radio station. "Ken started using me as a model for local magazines," she says. "It took me a while to pose for Playboy, but I thought if I didn't do it, I'd kick myself later." Heidi's family supported her decision. "I guess my family is not as conservative as most." Leaving Vancouver for Los Angeles was Heidi's toughest decision. "It was a major step," she says, "but I think I've grown up a lot in the past year or two." For some months, Heidi made Playboy Mansion West her Los Angeles base. "Everyone at the Mansion is so understanding and caring that it's like having a second family." That reinforcement helped her decide to audition for the singing Playmates group. "They didn't take me right away, probably because I was too self-conscious," Heidi recollects. "But I love to sing, so some months later, I tried out again, and this time I made it." During her spare time, when she's not rehearsing, she writes poetry--"I've been doing that since I was five"--and paints. Heidi's taste in art leans toward the traditional--Da Vinci and Renoir are two of her favorites--but her own water colors depict the seascapes and landscapes of her childhood. Some of Heidi's talent could be hereditary: Her great-grandfather's oil paintings still are exhibited in Denmark. "Painting is very important to me."
Bowled over by the discovery that the girl he considered his steady was also dating another fellow, the young man confided his dejection to a friend. "I just can't believe it," he sighed. "It was only last week, when I felt so close to her, that Kay said she'd never go out with anyone else."
It was Five O'Clock in the morning, January 3, 1978, and Dan Black was out of booze and almost out of speed. Nearly $600 worth of meth-amphetamine had disappeared into his nostrils since noon, and now all he had left was a thin, two-inch line that sat on a small mirror on the motel nightstand. When he had checked in the morning before, the desk clerk had given him a bottle of California champagne as a belated New Year's courtesy. He had drunk it while it was still cold, and by midnight he'd also downed two six-packs of Coors and a quart of tequila. He had tried very hard to get into a mindless stupor, and he'd succeeded.
It's summertime and, despite air conditioning, iced tea, night baseball and jumping into the lake, most cities from Schenectady to San Diego are hotbeds, day and night. The good news is that your summer suit no longer need be a two-button sauna or a shapeless sack resembling what Paul Muni wore in I Am a Fugitive from a Chain Gang. The tailored look that we've come to associate with the crisp no-nonsense cut of winter business attire has been translated into more relaxed summer styles and the result is a whole closetful of smart, comfortable suits (sports jackets, too) that you can live in no matter how high the Fahrenheit climbs. Other hot fashion innovations for summer months are the increased popularity of pastel accessories and the resurgence of interest in double-breasted suits. Double-breasteds in summer? Sure. The trick is to treat the suit insouciantly; push the sleeves up or wear it over a sweat shirt (not the one you save for washing the car)--anything that says you're in control of your clothes.
Benjamin Osczhio suffered from a multitude of burdens. First, there was his wife, Katrinka, a mammoth harridan who had never lost an opportunity to belittle him throughout their 16 years of marriage. Then there was his job at the delicatessen. It paid only $220 a week, and his rent was $350 a month, and what with inflation and Katrinka's appetite, he was gradually getting into serious debt. Katrinka had offered to return to work--she had been a cashier at the delicatessen when he met her 17 years ago--but he liked being the sole breadwinner. It was the only thing in his life that gave him a sense of superiority over her. Besides, Katrinka didn't really want to work. She much preferred spending her days padding around their four-room apartment in her furry pink house slippers, eating herself into exhaustion. To make matters worse, old man Epstein, whose family had operated the delicatessen for 32 years, had decided to close the business and retire to Florida. "Too many holdups. The neighborhood's gone bad," he (continued on page 146) Ben Osczhio (continued from page 143) told Ben. So, very shortly, Ben would be out of a job at the age of 48, qualified to do nothing more than slice ham, dish out potato salad and write prices on bags. Living in a $350-a-month apartment with a wife who consumed $15 a week in white bread alone (not to mention ten bucks' worth of peanut-butter cups), he was a man in trouble.
There are two kinds of people in this world--those who insist that there are two kinds of people in the world and those who don't. As we were saying, there are two kinds of people in this world: the uptight and the loose. Face it; you're either one or the other.
We've all heard those sorry sagas of husband-and-wife teams in Hollywood: how perfectly good marriages have been ripped apart when one spouse hits the big time and the other is left behind, doing bit parts and supermarket commercials. Or how some husbands maneuver themselves into the role of Svengali/manager, guiding the blossoming career of a beautiful wife. If he's successful in making her a star, his reputation as a manager is secured--an odd symbiosis that has also led as often as not to the divorce court. Jayne and Leon Isaac Kennedy have the best--and the worst--of both worlds. For much of their ten-year marriage, Leon has been behind the scenes, choreographing Jayne's career, from her days as an 18-year-old Miss Ohio, when they met, through stints as a dancer on the original Laugh-In and as a Ding-a-ling Sister on the old Dean Martin show, to her first real break, as a commentator on CBS' NFL Today. "I don't call myself the manager," explains Leon, "but I've always been the guiding force in Jayne's career."
Quinquino was an image carver, one of the best in the fair city of Florence, and his work was in much demand. He was short, quick in his movements, bright of eye, and his sleeves hid remarkably well-muscled arms. His wife was young and pretty and her name--a good omen--was Prudence.
Note: Mel Brooks's new movie, "History of the World--Part I," manages to capsulize ten billion years of civilization in less than two hours without once speeding up the camera. Following a series of shorter vignettes depicting (as only Mel Brooks can) The Dawn of Man, The Invention of Art, Music and Law, and Moses and the Ten Commandments, the film then gives us a lingering look at the grandeur of the Roman Empire, the awesome spectacle of the Spanish Inquisition and the French Revolution.
I was turned on to soccer by the great Pelé when he joined my hometown team, the New York Cosmos. My eye was thus educated in the game's moves by watching the best. In my opinion, soccer is the most elegant and graceful of all the inflated-bladder-ball sports. However, it may appear to be only that to a new spectator who, from a distance, perceives only the swift movement up and down the field. But up close, one sees that the going can be rough. The speed of the ball is awesome. Once, when I suited up for a game warm-up with the Tampa Bay Rowdies, I fielded a pass from Rodney Marsh that traveled with such force I limped off the field.
It often requires little more than a visit to your favorite hi-fi store to discover that electronic technology has advanced ahead of you while you weren't looking. Hardly a week goes by without some new future-shock gadget reaching the shops. To help you stay several strokes ahead of the personal-electronics tidal wave, here is a preview of some of the technologies and products to watch for through the Eighties.
The wilds are calling. The beaches and parks are as crowded as Bloomingdale's at Christmas; your summer-weight suit clings to your body like a wet plastic bag; and you want out. It's time to go camping--not in some trailer-jammed roadside hive, of course, but in God's country, or as close to it as you can get in a few days. There's just one problem: You're not alone. According to recent estimates, 48,000,000 American hikers and backpackers are hoping to get away from it all. Especially in summer. Especially on weekends. Especially to the convenient exurban parks of the East and the spectacular wildernesses of the West.
When an ardent admirer closely inspected the body stocking worn by the young lady pictured here, he discovered, with much fascination, that some of her threads didn't quite meet. Deciding to investigate further, he began at the tip of the lady's left foot and traced a path through the spaces in the body stocking, over her fetching figure, and ended (with a sigh) at the toes of her right foot. Can you be as successful as he in finding the way, from one delicate foot to the other, without getting lost?
A motor scooter may not be able to keep up with the supercycles, but you meet some mighty interesting people traveling at more civilized rates of speed. Not too civilized, however, as Vespa's P200E is perfectly legal for expressway travel and is capable of cruising at 60 mph. Add to that 78-mpg economy, a base price that's only $1800 and enough optional goodies to make the siren call of the open road even sweeter, and you have a very compelling two-wheel reason not to stay indoors. Sorry, phone-number freaks, right after the shooting, our blonde friend, below, scooted on her scooter.
It may not be in the cards for you to have an entire warm-weather wardrobe made of silk, but if you could--what a midsummer dream! Silk's rich colors and sensuous feel are unbeatable. It's showing up as a favorite designer fabric in everything from lounging clothes to streetwear. (There's even a silk rain parka.) You might have to break the bank to indulge in it, because silk is expensive to own; if you have to ask what dry cleaning it costs, you can't afford it. Still, if you're going to be a fashion bear, be a grizzly. One silk outfit is worth a dozen sleazy imitations and, all considered, the price really needn't be prohibitive.
"Reinhart's Women"--From the author of Little Big Man, the wry tale of a fellow whose daughter is a lesbian, whose son is married to a lush and whose ex-wife is out to ruin him. As his sexy co-worker observes, "Some Days Are Like That"--by Thomas Berger