The Art of the Pimp: One Man's Search for Love, Sex, and Money (32 page)

On the other hand, to be completely fair, Ron’s not
always
cheap. In September 2013, he was headed for the BunnyRanch for my annual birthday bash and missed his flight to Reno. Instead of calling me to whine, he whipped out a credit card and chartered his own plane. Unbelievable, isn’t it? That’s how much the cheap bastard loves me.

So we went on this cruise. Sunny and me, and Ron and his little hottie. We were going to visit Puerto Vallarta, Mazatlán, and Cabo San Lucas — the Mexican Riviera. The very first night, not long after we left San Pedro, Sunny and I got into an argument. I don’t know what happened exactly, but we had been on deck, watching a spectacular sunset, and I think Sunny began to think about the future. She was there with her man, she had become one of my top earners, and the only thing that was missing — the one thing that would make her life complete — would have been for me to get on one knee and pop the question. I tried to reason with her. I told her I was committed to her and that the other girls I slept with from time to time meant nothing to me. I said I loved waking up next to her every morning. I said I felt connected to her in way I had never imagined possible. And every word was true. But the only thing Sunny heard was that I didn’t care enough to marry her and we got into a screaming argument.

She left in a huff and went off to look for Ron’s hottie, and they ended up with some girls they’d met earlier in the day.

I went back to the cabin and dug into the bottom of my suitcase for my satellite phone, which I keep hidden for emergencies, and this was definitely an emergency. I called my assistant, Judy, and told her that the ship was docking in Puerto Vallarta the next day, and to please have a car waiting for Sunny. I wanted her on a flight home. I wasn’t going to let her craziness ruin my vacation.

The next day, when we docked, Sunny refused to leave. She and Ron’s hottie ended up crashing with those girls they’d met, and Ron and I went off and partied like single guys all day and late into the night. The next morning, a little the worse for wear, we were recovering by the pool when I saw a heavyset gal in a muumuu, about our own age. I said, “Ron, you see that chick? If you weren’t Ron Jeremy and I wasn’t Dennis Hof, that’s who we would be fucking.”

And Ron said, “No, Dennis! Don’t say that! That’s not fair. We’re great guys. We have great personalities.”

I said, “It doesn’t matter. That’s what we would wake up to every morning. The only reason we get the hot girls is because we’re rich and famous.”

“No,” Ron wailed. “Women love me!”

At that moment, another woman walked by. She must have been related to the first woman because she was also wearing a muumuu and weighed about 200 pounds. “Ron,” I said. “There’s your wife right there. I can see your cock in her face.”

Then a third one shows up, just like the other two, with the muumuu and everything, and Ron said, “Oh my God. It’s the Lee Sisters. Home Lee, Ghast Lee, and Beast Lee.”

We laughed for hours, but deep down I was sad about Sunny. I didn’t understand it — not her and not any of the others. The thing
that bothered me most is that history kept repeating itself and the only constant was me. What was that definition of madness? You keep doing the same thing over and over again, expecting different results.

“Do you think I’m nuts?”

“Dennis, please. I’m not in the mood for meaningful conversation.”

“What does it all add up to in the end?”

“Keep this up and our relationship is over.”

Maybe Ron was right. Maybe thinking was overrated. Maybe the trick was to become your own persona, the fake version you’d created for the public, and forget about the Real You.

WHEN WE GOT TO MAZATLÁN,
we went swimming with the dolphins. Sunny and Ron’s hottie came with us since we had booked the excursion in advance, and we didn’t say a word about the argument, but we were distant with each other. I got a real kick out of the dolphins, though. I felt like a little kid, or how a little kid with rich parents might have felt, and I was grinning so hard my face ached. At one point I looked over and saw Sunny treading water nearby, by herself, with tears in her eyes, and my heart really went out to her. I didn’t do anything to comfort her, though. Does that make me a shitty person? I don’t think so. At that point I knew I couldn’t give Sunny what she wanted, and I didn’t think it made any sense to prolong the torture.

When we got home to Nevada, she went back to work, and we saw each other almost every day, but we had turned into virtual strangers. At one point she reached out to Ron to ask him about getting into the porn business, and Ron called to make sure I was cool with it. I was, of course — I’ve never been one to tell any
woman what she can or can’t do with her life — and Sunny went on to become a huge porn star. I’d like to think that some of the sales techniques she learned from me helped launch that second career, and I can honestly say I am thrilled by her success. Ron kept trying to broker peace between us, but I’d moved on. I had begun to doubt my ability to be with any one girl and so I just fooled around with my working girls. At night I’d go home to Domino, who loved me unconditionally. I once heard somebody say that the love of a man for a woman can never be as great as the love of a man for his dog, and I was beginning to believe it.

Ron and I talked on the phone a couple of times a week and I guess he was worried about me because he came up to the ranch to see me. Or maybe he wasn’t worried. Maybe he came for the hot
free
buffet that was served every afternoon at three. The girls were a nice perk, too. One afternoon this Latina told Ron she wanted to show him her room. Ron said, “Okay,” and followed her down the corridor. I hurried to Suzette’s office and waved to a couple of the girls to follow me and we listened in on the monitor. That monitor is there for security purposes in case any of the girls call for help, but once in a while it comes in handy for a little aural stimulation. The Latina said, “Ron, can I see it?”

And he said, “Well, yeah, if I can see yours.” Everything is a negotiation with this guy.

“What if I want to touch it?” she said.

“Well, if I can touch yours.”

“What if I want to taste it?”

“If I can taste you.”

Now they’re getting into it. “Wow. That’s nice and big.”

“You have great tits.” And then she goes quiet because she’s got his cock in her mouth. Ron said, “Slow down. Slow down. Not so
fast. Okay, that’s great. Go ahead, a little more. Slow down. I’ve got to work on Monday.”

She took his cock out of her mouth and said, “What’s that got to do with anything?”

Ron explained, “I need to save it up. I need a big load on Monday. When I do my porn scene, I need to have that big load for the pop shot. I’m not going to climax with you.”

Then she said, “Ron, I want to put it inside me. Can I just crawl up on it?”

He said, “Okay, but be careful . . . oh, wow . . . oh, God . . . slow down, slow down!” And then we heard that Jewish whine, and I love that Jewish whine, “Oh, God! Oh, shit! I told you I didn’t want to bust a nut!”

That’s when I decided to address Ron directly — the monitoring system works both ways — and I put a lot of theater into my voice to make it sound as God-like as possible. “Ron, it’s Daddy. The pussy is on the house, but you have to pay for the ejaculation. Please come to the office with your credit card now.”

He whined louder. “You’re listening?!”

“Everybody’s listening,” I said. “And it has been wonderful entertainment.”

S
HORTLY AFTER RON LEFT,
I was browsing the BunnyRanch message board and found myself chatting with Brooke Taylor, a Midwestern girl who was curious about working at the ranch. This was not uncommon. A lot of outsiders get on the board to try to develop relationships with the working girls, looking for details about life at the ranch. Brooke sent me some pictures and I liked what I saw. She was blonde, smaller-breasted than my usual type, but she had a great ass, and I like a nice ass. On the other hand, maybe I was just tired of being alone. I was getting laid as often as I wanted to, sure, but sex is much more fun when there’s an emotional component, and I missed that.

The more I communicated with Brooke, the more I liked her. She’d been a National Honor Society student in high school, had two music degrees, and was employed as a caseworker, dealing mostly with developmentally challenged people. She said she became curious about the BunnyRanch after watching
Cathouse
, but
had never really thought about getting into the sex business. On the other hand, she had college loans to pay off and she was tired of having that massive debt hanging over her head.

I was impatient to meet her, so I invited her to the Billboard Music Awards, which were just around the corner, and sent her a ticket to Las Vegas. I said we’d be sharing a room at the Ritz Carlton in Lake Las Vegas, but assured her I had no expectations. “This isn’t an audition,” I said. “I just want to get to know you.” All of that was true, of course, but I still wanted to fuck her; there are few things as exciting as a new-girl fuck.

I picked her up at the airport and immediately liked what I saw. We drove back to the hotel so she could shower after the long trip and I guess she liked what she saw, too, because when she stepped out of the shower she went to town on my cock. And let me tell you: Brooke Taylor knows her way around a cock.

After that introductory round of sex, we went off to the awards show, and then hit a few after-parties. She met a lot of my famous friends, including Mike Tyson, who came over, gave me a big hug, and looked at Brooke like he wanted to fuck her on the spot.

Well Tyson didn’t fuck her. I did. All night and most of the next day, at which point I drove her to the airport for her flight home.

For the next few months, Brooke and I would steal away to see each other whenever we could. Sometimes I’d fly east and have her meet me in New York, but mostly she came to Nevada for long weekends that were all about hot sex. Brooke could wake up Sunday morning, have ten orgasms before noon, go to lunch with me, have a swim, and have another ten orgasms before dinner.

In December, she quit her job, came west, moved in with me, and on New Year’s Eve she started work. She went from being an underpaid caseworker to a BunnyRanch girl, and she was a success from Day One.