My blog post this week is featured in Shattered Magazine.
Being a Playboy Bunny wasn’t something I aspired to. I didn’t grow up with a burning desire to be walking porn. It happened the way most sinful things happen. Gradually. Insidiously.
Don’t get me wrong; I chose it. I wasn’t destitute or forced into it. I had a great home life. Though not spiritual, my family was responsible and moral. I had the benefit of an excellent education. I was smart and pretty, but I chose to toss brains aside because beauty was easier.
The Perfect Job
I saw the ad for Playboy bunnies when I was looking for work after my first year of college:
“Great pay! No experience required. Apply in person.”
That certainly sounded more interesting than working a tedious clerical job or doing backbreaking factory work. My professional résumé may have been unimpressive, but since the Bunny job was based almost entirely on appearance, my face and figure were the only credentials I needed. I made the cut and started the job a week later.
Read the rest of the article in