Image via WikipediaAn upcoming documentary about Playboy founder Hugh Hefner reveals information about his earlier years, including his early advocacy for gay inclusiveness.When Esquire rejected a science-fiction short story by Charles Beaumont that depicted a world where heterosexuals were in the minority, Hefner accepted the piece and published it in a 1955 edition ofPlayboy, then still a relatively new publication.
After letters of outrage at Beaumont's "The Crooked Man" poured in, Hefner addressed readers. "If it was wrong to persecute heterosexuals in a homosexual society," he wrote in response, "then the reverse was wrong, too."
Even now, the twice-divorced 83-year-old entrepreneur, famous for his numerous romantic exploits over the years, tells The Daily Beast that gay marriage isn't hurting anyone.
"Without question, love in its various permutations is what we need more of in this world," he said. "The idea that the concept of marriage will be sullied by same-sex marriage is ridiculous. Heterosexuals haven't been doing that well at it on their own."
The documentary, Hugh Hefner: Playboy, Activist and Rebel, will premiere at the Toronto International Film Festival in September. [Via]
The Crooked Man" by Charles Beaumont - August 1955 (Playboy)
He slipped into a corner booth away from the dancing men, where it was quietest, where theodors of musk and frangipani hung less heavy on the air. A slender lamp glowed softly in the booth. He turned it down: down to where only the club's blue overheads filtered through the beaded curtain,diffusing, blurring the image thrown back by the mirrored walls of his light, thin-boned handsomeness.FIND VINTAGE PLAYBOYS
"Yes sir ?" The barboy stepped through the beads and stood smiling. Clad in goldsequined trunks,his greased muscles seemed to roll in independent motion, like fat snakes beneath his naked skin.
"Whiskey," Jesse said. He caught the insouciant grin, the broad white-tooth crescent that formed on the young man's face. Jesse looked away, tried to control the flow of blood to his cheeks.
"Yes sir," the barboy said, running his thick tanned fingers over his solar plexus, tapping thefingers, making them hop in a sinuous dance. He hesitated, still smiling, this time questioningly, hopefully,a smile drenched in admiration and desire. The Finger Dance, the accepted symbol, stopped: the pudgy brown digits curled into angry fists. "Right away, sir."Jesse watched him turn; before the beads had tinkled together he watched the handsome athlete make his way imperiously through the crowds, shaking off the tentative hands of single men at the tables, ignoring the many desire symbols directed toward him. [Read on]
