Playboy's Miss January 1963
That dusty cliche about good things coming in small packages was given pleasant new life for us on a recent trek to California when we were introduced to a petite brunette named Judi Monterey, an all-girl girl who stands just 5’1″ in her Capezios and whose weight rounds off at 100 pounds.
Judi Monterey's Photos:
More sample photos (if any) ↓
Less photos ↑
About Judi Monterey:
That dusty cliche about good things coming in small packages was given pleasant new life for us on a recent trek to California when we were introduced to a petite brunette named Judi Monterey, an all-girl girl who stands just 5’1″ in her Capezios and whose weight rounds off at 100 pounds. Pert Judi so impressed us with her Playmate potential that we asked her on the spot if she would help us start the new year in style as our Miss January. Judi’s response, like her, was short and sweet: She said she’d be delighted. A fun-loving peach who turns 19 this month, Judi has been ripening in the California sun all her life — born in Bell, she was raised in nearby Santa Barbara where she now lives, with roommate, in a newly constructed apartment building. Out on her own in the warm, affable world after graduating from Santa Barbara High, young Miss Monterey first tried working as a governess, lasted one unrewarding week (“I detest domesticity and kids,” she says firmly, then adds, “at least for the time being”); she then found a more logical metier modeling for the local Brooks Institute of Photography.
A dedicated slugabed, she usually chooses to snooze till noon in her white-walled bedroom, which is modernistically decorated with black ceramic plaques, black wrought-iron stands and one large red stuffed hound dog. Afternoons she customarily carries out modeling assignments, then strolls through Santa Barbara on long, lazy window-shopping sprees, or perhaps has an obliging male take her on a top-down sight-seeing spin through the countryside. By nightfall, Miss January’s compact motor has been fully energized, and she is ready to be whisked away to dinner (filet mignon, heavy on the mushrooms), thence to a movie (preferably with Paul Newman or Frank Sinatra on the marquee) or the dog track (“The ones with the saddest eyes always win”), and if she can wangle it, a late-in-the-date scoop of banana ice cream. On dateless nights she scrunches up in a big leather chair to watch Casey or Dillon on TV, or catches up on her reading (she’s currently perusing two popular tomes: “The Carpetbaggers” and “The Fountainhead”), or earnestly putters with her two-year-old stamp collection while Sinatra or Buddy Greco croons softly from her phonograph. Judi’s appealing aura of freshness and glowing health is abetted considerably by her pet luxury: Every day she indulges herself with long and fragrant bubble baths. Though her suitable-for-framing frame (34-22-33) is admirably mature, Judi’s youthful visage causes many to underestimate her age, a tendency she claims does not bother her a whit. Her chief gripe with mankind at the moment is those conceited members of the vigorous sex who assume they are irresistible. Judi is sold on the Golden State, proves her stay-put devotion by pointing out that she has never traveled anywhere by plane, train or boat. “Why travel,” she asks, “when everything is right here?”, a rhetorical query of unassailable logic. She admits to a warm regard for the big-band sound of Count Basie, likes old James Dean flicks, dancing, lobster, skating, and the kind of a man who reads Playboy. We are confident that attraction is mutual.