The Art of the Pimp: One Man's Search for Love, Sex, and Money (25 page)

The article did something else for us. It got us noticed in Hollywood. I was approached by several producers, one of whom had a contact at Showtime. I flew to Los Angeles and we went in to talk to the executives about doing a reality show at the ranch, but they wanted a scripted series, with actors playing our parts. All they needed from me and the girls was information and they figured they could get that in the space of a few days of research at the BunnyRanch. I thought that was a bad idea. “You should do the real show,” I said. “Men are going to watch the show and they’re going to see real girls on the show — not actresses — and they’re going
to realize that they can be with those girls. That’s what’s going to make it work.”

No no no, they said. We have to control it. We’ll build the sets, we’ll hire the writers, and we’ll make it happen right here in Los Angeles. “The big money is in syndication, and that’s what we’re interested in.” I didn’t give a shit about syndication; the only thing I was thinking about was doing the best possible version of the show, and I thought the real version would be better. I knew a scripted show could work, but I thought it would have a better chance down the line if people knew it was based on a real cathouse.

The meeting with Showtime went nowhere, but they decided to move ahead with the scripted version and we parted ways. I didn’t understand how they were going to write a show about the BunnyRanch or any place like it when they didn’t know anything about my world.

Then a lawyer friend introduced me to Patti Kaplan, the director responsible for
Real Sex
, a reality show that had been a big hit for HBO, and Patti took me in to meet Sheila Nevins, who runs programming at HBO. I liked Sheila right away. Instead of telling me what to do, she asked me what I wanted to do. “You interest me, Dennis,” she said. “I’ve seen you everywhere. The
New Yorker
,
Dateline
,
20/20
. But we pride ourselves on doing things that nobody else does, so I need to know: What do you have in mind?”

I wasn’t sure, to be honest. I just knew I wanted it to be real. We went back and forth for a while, and Sheila asked me what I liked about HBO. I said I had really enjoyed
Taxi Cab Confessions
, and her eyes lit up. “Bingo!” she said. Before I knew it, she was asking me how I felt about putting cameras at the BunnyRanch, so that we could record everything: the client coming through the door, walking into the parlor, picking the girl out of the lineup, negotiating the party, even the sex. I said I thought that it was a great idea,
simple and real — the idea I’d pitched Showtime — and that’s pretty much how it went down.

When the folks at HBO came to the ranch to get things rolling, they were elated. They had just done a show about strippers,
G-String Divas
, and they were amazed by the contrast. The thing that immediately struck them was the level of
honesty
at the ranch and I understood exactly what they meant. A strip club is a con. It’s all about leading you on. The stripper takes you to the bar, has you buy round after round of fake champagne at $20 a flute, and keeps telling you she’s going to get you off. But she always needs one more drink or it’s her turn on the stage, and four hours later you’ve got a $500 bar tab and you’re still carrying a load. At the BunnyRanch by contrast, you are there to party. And you’re
going
to party. All you have to do is pick out a girl and negotiate a price. It’s that simple and that straightforward.

HBO was also impressed by the lack of complications. If you pick a woman up at a bar, that could be fun, too. But you might get a phone call the next day. “I thought you said you loved me!” Or, worse, six weeks later: “I’m pregnant.” That’s not going to happen with a pro.

The folks at HBO also asked me a question I’ve been asked many times before.
Why are men so attracted to prostitutes?
And I told them: Well, first, you walk into the BunnyRanch and see my girls, and the answer is obvious. They’re hot. But just as important, you get
variety
. We have all kinds here, something for everyone. We even had a little person here for a time, Bridget the Midget, and she was a good little earner. So variety is key. Men get sick of being with the same woman all the time. Even a guy who loves movies will get tired of seeing the same movie every night. Hell, you could be married to a movie star — you could
be
a movie star — and you still want something different from time to time. Look at Hugh
Grant. He was married to Elizabeth Hurley, a knockout if you’re into brunettes, and he picked up a hooker on Sunset Boulevard. Crazy? No. He just wanted a change and he wanted it so badly he went to look for it on the mean streets of Hollywood.

And he wasn’t the only one. Men get
bored
. You’ve got celebrities: Charlie Sheen, Eddie Murphy, David Duchovny. You’ve got senators and would-be senators: John Ensign, David Vitter, Anthony Weiner. You’ve got men of the cloth: Ted Haggard, Jimmy Swaggart. And then you’ve got the dirtbag of dirtbags, Eliot Spitzer, who as governor of New York promised to clean up the cities, except he was too busy to do his job because he was patronizing high-priced prostitutes through a hoity-toity service called the Emperor’s Club. What a fucking hypocrite! And his poor wife, being forced to stand by the bastard. I wish she would have told the press what she was really thinking: “My husband is a piece of shit. I’m going to divorce him. If he’d had the sense to talk to Dennis Hof, none of this would have happened.”

Jimmy Swaggart is another one, crying on TV. “I have sinned against you!” Boo fucking hoo. And that moron Ted Haggard, who went on and on about the evils of homosexuality and was probably out there sucking cock (and liking it).

With the exception of Haggard, all those guys and thousands of others like them could have come to the BunnyRanch to get what they needed. And it’s not just variety. Sometimes a guy will walk into the parlor, study the lineup, and I can see exactly what he’s thinking.
I want that little cheerleader. She looks just like the little cheerleader who wouldn’t fuck me freshman year at college because I was a complete nerd.
Well, now he can have her.

Another guy will come in and he’s
not
thinking about a cheerleader at all. He’s thinking about his wife and of who they used to be. He’s remembering that perfect first date, with the big hair and
the makeup and the way she let him finger her in the car. He misses that woman. That’s the woman he fell in love with and he hasn’t seen her in years. So he’s wondering,
What the fuck happened to my life
?

At the BunnyRanch he can stop thinking those dark thoughts. He will see himself reflected in the mirror by the bed with a hot little girl on her knees in front of him, and he will feel good in his
heart
and
soul
.

Okay. Maybe I’m romanticizing it a little. Maybe it’s not all Deep Thoughts about Lost Youth and whatnot. I’m not going to bullshit you. He’s there for the sex first and foremost. And at the BunnyRanch, we deliver.
Holy shit! This girl just licked my ass! Nobody has ever licked my ass before and I fucking love it!

On the drive home he’s still thinking about that rim job. He’s wondering if he can possibly broach the subject with his wife. Maybe he’ll go to the shoe store and buy her some red fuck-me pumps and give them to her after dinner and say, “I want you to put these on and I’m going to bend you over the dining-room table and I’m going to pound your hot, underused pussy from behind. And after you come, I want you to lick my ass. Think you can do that, honey?”

But he’s not going to do that, is he? You don’t ask your wife to lick your ass. She might be out there fucking the tennis pro and licking his ass, and all because you didn’t have the balls to tell her what you really wanted.

There’s one more reason men love prostitutes. It’s not just variety, not just sex, not just a chance to relive their Lost Youth, and not just an adventure; it’s an
education
. When a man comes to the BunnyRanch, he’s going to learn some new tricks, and — if he actually grows a pair of balls — he might be able to make use of them at home. And sure, maybe the wife’s going to freak out a little.
“Honey, what’s with the handcuffs? And what the fuck is that?! A
dildo
!” But if she can get beyond it, it might change their lives. This little soccer mom has the potential to be a complete freak between the sheets and in her heart of hearts, if she’s honest, she might even tell him, “Honey, I want you to fuck me in the ass. And then I want you to splooge on my face.”

So maybe I misspoke. Maybe I
do
provide a valuable public service.

And maybe HBO felt the same way. People need to be educated, they said. This sex business — they’re doing it all wrong.
Cathouse
is going to show viewers what they’ve been missing. This show is going to shake things up and make the world a better place.

Johnny Dare

I host
The Johnny Dare Morning Show
in Kansas City and I’ve known Dennis for maybe fifteen years now. I’m not likely to forget him, either. Two of his close friends were on my show and their antics resulted in a $225,000 fine. The first was Ron Jeremy. I had him on the air and someone called in to say that when Ron started in porn he did a couple of movies where he sucked his own dick. That led to a whole conversation. Do you lie to yourself about coming in your mouth? Are you nice to yourself after or do you just want to be left alone with your beer and a pizza? Well, the Federal Communications Commission was not amused.

The other case involved Sunset Thomas, with whom Dennis was having a torrid affair at the time. She’s just incredible — I mean, beautiful. The most beautiful adult film star we’ve ever had in the studio. She was also smart and funny and completely forthcoming, and suddenly she was talking about masturbation. Well, T-Bone, one of the guys in our studio, has had a crush on Sunset forever. He ended
up masturbating her with a vibrator on the air. It was so over the top that the whole studio was rendered speechless. When our lawyers listened to the tape and got to the part where Sunset began to come, one of them looked at me and said, “That’s simply indefensible.” He was right. It was indefensible. The station paid the fine.

• • •

Dennis is amazing to me. For years, I couldn’t wrap my head around his revolving door of girlfriends. He wakes up next to a hot woman, they make love, maybe have a coffee together, then she goes off to work. But it finally dawned on me that it’s really not that complicated. Dennis understands the difference between love and sex. It’s a nonissue for him. Love is love, and fucking is fucking.

• • •

When I first met him, back in the late ‘90s, I didn’t know what to expect. We decided to do a Valentine’s Day show from the BunnyRanch and I guess I thought I was about to meet this crazy pimp, grinning lecherously from the doorway, with his hand out, waiting for his money. I thought the place would be seedy and downtrodden, and that the girls would be sort of empty and disconnected. But then I got there and it was like, “Holy hell! This isn’t what I imagined at all.”

Dennis is the P.T. Barnum of Pussy. I remember going back to the ranch just before they began filming
Cathouse
and he was incredibly excited about the show. As soon as I walked through the front door, he said, “You got to see the new rooms, Johnny! They’re incredible.”

He was right. We walked into one of them and everything
had been redone. There was a four-poster bed with beautiful linens. There was a fireplace. There was a sunken hot tub at one end of the room. There was also a gorgeous girl on the bed, maybe twenty-five, twenty-six years old, and Dennis said, “She’s new. Isn’t she beautiful?” And I said, “Yes. Beautiful.” Dennis walked over and she lay back and spread her legs and he started going down on her. Now, look. I’m friends with Dennis, but we’re not that close. I didn’t know where to look. At the end of the day, I’m still a guy from Kansas City. I didn’t know what I was supposed to say, either. Was I supposed to compliment him? “You’re doing a good job, Dennis! Don’t stop.” Finally I just turned my back. I didn’t want to be rude and walk out, so I busied myself looking at photos and the stuff on the dresser. It was probably one of the most uncomfortable experiences of my life. I’m sure it lasted only about thirty seconds, but it felt like an hour.

• • •

Dennis lives in an alternate reality, a dream world, and most people who go that route are nuts. But not Dennis. He makes it work; he wakes up every day looking for a new adventure and invariably he finds it. How can you not love a guy like that?