Free The Art of the Pimp: One Man's Search for Love, Sex, and Money by Dennis Hof Page A

game we play with the media. And another thing. Stop showing your dick to everybody. I’m not running a petting zoo.”
    After that, Bobbitt got with the program. He was a nice guy and the girls liked him, but one night he sidled up to the bar and in the space of two drinks turned into a complete asshole. Then he got arrested for shoplifting and ended up running off with one of my girls, but I wasn’t upset. I was getting twenty calls a day from reporters from all over the world, and every single one of them mentioned Dennis Hof’s World Famous Moonlite BunnyRanch. And that’s what it’s all about.
    AS THE BUSINESS GREW, with new, hot girls showing up every week, my penis became increasingly restless. I made an effort to be discrete, but Stacy knew what was going on and it began to wear her down. Plus the girls kept torturing her and some of them were relentless. I tried to tell Stacy to ignore them — that that was the price she paid for being Daddy’s girl — but it was hard for her and it eventually killed our relationship. (That and the fact that I couldn’t stop fucking around.)
    The irony is that things ended over an infidelity that never even happened. One of the girls I wasn’t attracted to told Stacy she’d seen me in flagrante delicto with one of the other girls, who I was attracted to, but who so far I’d managed to resist, and Stacy believed her. And while I was able to prove to her that I hadn’t been anywhere near the ranch at the time of my alleged indiscretion, the damage had been done. Maybe it was the weight of all my other infidelities that finally got to her. I’m not sure. But if there was one thing I learned from the experience, it was simply this: I should have been more honest with Stacy. I could not be monogamous. I didn’t need to flaunt my affairs, but neither should I have been forced to run around like a thief in the night. It felt duplicitous and dirty, and I was neither of those things.
    The end was neither loud nor dramatic. Stacy simply told me she’d had enough. I again tried to explain that to me sex was just sex, that my emotional commitment was to her, and that I had a special connection with her that didn’t exist with any of the other girls. But it was too late.
    I was pretty broken up, but I didn’t want anyone to see it. I slept with one or two different girls each day and acted cheerful and happy, but that’s all it was — an act. I had a business to run. I didn’t want the girls to know I was hurting. It’s almost like a biker mentality. You show any weakness, you’re dead.
    The only one who saw how much I was hurting was Suzette. She saw it because she knew me better than anyone and because I didn’t have to act like a tough, heartless bastard around her. She knew I was in pain and she’d check up on me from time to time. “Did you get enough to eat? You need anything? What can I do to make things better?” One day I was so lost inside myself that she actually got tough with me. “Dennis, you’ve got a business to run. All this pain and negativity is getting in the way. I need you to pull yourself together.”
    I believe Suzette is the only woman who has ever seen me cry.



Suzette Colette Cole
    My name is Suzette, but everybody knows me as Madam Suzette. I am the general manager at the BunnyRanch. One day back in 1992 I saw a tiny ad in the local newspaper, just a couple of lines: “Manager Needed for New Business.” I drove up to the Moonlite and met with Stacy, who was Dennis’s girlfriend at the time. The place was in shambles — torn furniture, ripped carpeting, burned-out lights, a musty smell — and Stacy told me not to worry, that Dennis had just taken ownership and had big plans for the ranch.
    I started at the front door as a hostess, bringing clients into the parlor to introduce them to the girls, but I was also a maid and bartender. After that I became a cashier, then assistant manager, and finally the general