Kim Basinger Nipples
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Kim Basinger Nipples
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Matt Hejl | August 23, 2021 @ 4:30 AM
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Kim Basinger, Jenny McCarthy and Sharon Stone are just a few of the actresses who posed for the men’s magazine
We look back at some of the stars who appeared nude in the late Hugh Hefner's iconic magazine Playboy.
The legendary star appeared nude in the first issue of Hefner's magazine.
The "Charlie's Angels" star made waves with her cover.
Hot off her 1979 R-rated hit "10," Bo Derek appeared the following year -- without the cornrows.
Basinger did her famous Playboy shoot in 1981 but it appeared two years later around the time of her stint as a Bond girl in "Never Say Never Again."
Just as the Material Girl was taking off in her film debut "Desperately Seeking Susan," Playboy published nude pics from 1978 when she was a struggling artist in NYC.
Stone appeared around the time she starred in "Total Recall."
The "Baywatch" star also graced the cover of the magazine's "final" nude issue in 2016.
The model was paid $20,000 to pose for Playboy -- and parlayed that into a lucrative career on TV.
The actress unsuccessfully sued Playboy when it published nude shots from her early days as a model.
The former Bond girl ("The World Is Not Enough") posed just five months after giving birth.
Lindsay Lohan - January/February 2012
The former child star did a pictorial in 2012 inspired by Marilyn Monroe's shoot for the first issue.
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21:08, Sat, Feb 11, 2017 | UPDATED: 21:09, Sat, Mar 11, 2017
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At 63, Basinger will play the other woman competing for Christian Grey's attentions in the eagerly awaited new film, which hits cinemas on February 10. She takes the key role of Elena Lincoln, Christian business partner and former lover.
The actress once acknowledged the difficulties of being viewed as a sex symbol, saying: "Any girl who comes to Hollywood with sex symbol or bombshell hanging over her has a rough road."
After four decades she has travelled that road and still looks incredible, with an Oscar to prove she is more than just a beautiful face and pneumatic body.
Kim's endless romping with Rourke remains an iconic moment in sexy cinema history, of course. As well as that striptease scene from 91/2 Weeks, who can forget the spine-tinglng moment with the ice cube? But the actress has never been shy about using her physical attributes to steam up a scene.
In 2004 she has a classic Mrs Robinson moment as she seduces an innocent young writer in The Door In The Floor.
The young actor, Jon Foster, has largely been forgotten but we doubt he has forgotten the following moment.
Basinger first exploded onto the big screen in 2003's Never Say Never Again as Domino Petachi.
This rather odd James Bond movie marked the one-off return of Sean Connery as the eponymous hero in a project independent from the main franchise.
Basinger was already 30 but had worked primarily on televison soaps and TV movies. Unlike many actresses whose careers never recover from a bikini-clad Bond outing, the blonde bombshell never looked back.
Such has been the actress' enduring sex appeal that she still manages to be erotic and alluring in the silliest of situations.
Her turns in a couple of famous comedies show that she never takes herself too seriously - and what is hotter than that?
Basinger was the willing foil for Mike Myers in the next classic clips from 2003's Wayne's World 2. Five years earlier she embodied the ideal woman in the Dan Akroyd comedy, My Stepmother Is An Alien.
After decades of being regarded as a sex symbol before an actress, Basinger finally achieved credibility in 1997's critical and commercial smash LA Confidential.
Her sexy, sweet and vulnerable turn as Lynn Bracken, the lover of Russell Crowe's jaded cop Bud White, showed her range.
In a movie packed with respected actors like Guy Pearce, Danny Devito and James Cromwell, it was Basinger who walked away with the biggest prize – a Best Supporting Actress Oscar.
From her early appearance in Charlie's Angels in 1976 through to this year's Fifty Shades Darker, Basinger has never been less than luminous on the screen.
Dakota Johnson is 36 years younger than the screen legend but may need the full array of whips and tricks to pull our eyes away from one of the greatest Hollywood beauties of all time.
Fifty Shades Darker is out in UK cinemas on February 10.
See today's front and back pages, download the newspaper, order back issues and use the historic Daily Express newspaper archive.
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Matt Hejl | August 23, 2021 @ 4:30 AM
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WANT TO KEEP READING?
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Thanks for your
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* You have also unlocked a free 7-day Trial Membership to WrapPRO
WANT TO GO DEEPER?
SIGN UP NOW FOR YOUR
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NO THANKS
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Kim Basinger, Jenny McCarthy and Sharon Stone are just a few of the actresses who posed for the men’s magazine
We look back at some of the stars who appeared nude in the late Hugh Hefner's iconic magazine Playboy.
The legendary star appeared nude in the first issue of Hefner's magazine.
The "Charlie's Angels" star made waves with her cover.
Hot off her 1979 R-rated hit "10," Bo Derek appeared the following year -- without the cornrows.
Basinger did her famous Playboy shoot in 1981 but it appeared two years later around the time of her stint as a Bond girl in "Never Say Never Again."
Just as the Material Girl was taking off in her film debut "Desperately Seeking Susan," Playboy published nude pics from 1978 when she was a struggling artist in NYC.
Stone appeared around the time she starred in "Total Recall."
The "Baywatch" star also graced the cover of the magazine's "final" nude issue in 2016.
The model was paid $20,000 to pose for Playboy -- and parlayed that into a lucrative career on TV.
The actress unsuccessfully sued Playboy when it published nude shots from her early days as a model.
The former Bond girl ("The World Is Not Enough") posed just five months after giving birth.
Lindsay Lohan - January/February 2012
The former child star did a pictorial in 2012 inspired by Marilyn Monroe's shoot for the first issue.
I agree with TheWrap's Terms of Service and Privacy Policy and provide my consent to receive marketing communications from them.
I agree with the Terms & Conditions
A literate look at the 50 most unforgettable breasts in movie history
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She rises from the depths like the Venus of the San Fernando Valley—slicked hair glistening, water dripping from her smiling lipps, dark eyes glittering with libidinal mischief. Then—in a scene that will forever grant an otherwise incomprehensible erotic aura to the Cars—the new-wave chestnut "Moving in Stereo" kicks in as Phoebe Cates begins her slo-mo poolside strut. And boy, do they move in stereo, those pert, secondary sexual characteristics of teenage Phoebe Cates, as—in one breathtaking gesture—she frees her frisky buds from their front-fastening red bikini top to quiver in the balletic perfection of Judge Reinhold's furtive spank dream. The boob shot would soon become stock-in-trade of the Porky's epoch, but it would never be used to such weighty narrative effect. Here, hooters star in a compressed version of the male adolescent's tragic arc: from the soaring heights of erotic fantasia to the bleak depths of sexual humiliation, as the sleek naiad of Reinhold's imaginings actually walks in on him log-flogging to her image. The cable arts channel Bravo included this scene in its Sexiest Moments in Film —in which the model-pundit Roshumba Williams helpfully explained, "In the male world, boobs are huge."
I'd heard it was scary, so I went. It scared me, all right. Scarred me. Before, I'd believed outer space an antiseptic realm soundtracked by strauss. I quickly learned otherwise. Learned that space was cloyingly organic, infected and infectious, rapacious—and that to experience space was to experience not the infinite void but rather the claustrophobic horror of being caged with a sexual predator.
Indeed, Alien teemed, burst, with inner private parts that had no business seeing the light of day. Firstly: that loathsome leathery pod that grew translucent as John Hurt neared, revealing a jellied organ aquiver within. Moments later, thick black lips peeled back to expose—no doubt about it—a glistening, pulsating vagina . Then, in response to Hurt's whispered exclamation ("...organic life! "), that wicked wobbling vagina-squid sprung forth and... raped his face! Clasped its insectoidal legs to his scalp, noosed his neck with its muscled tentacle, and pumped a fleshly funnel down the man's throat, through which it...planted its seed.
Such a filthy movie: exploding retractable jaws; acidic body fluids; a severed droid head whose mouth issued lewd taunts ("perfect organism! ") along with a strange milky effluent; a man who gave birth. That birth—is there a more violent, violating moment in filmdom? As Hurt bayed in pain, my dear, sweet, credulous brother, sitting beside me, began to whimper. Oh, no. Oh, no. Oh, no. When the spawn emerged from Hurt's chest, spraying gore and squealing triumphantly, he promptly pissed himself—then fled the theater.
They popped up near the end, after the last human standing—Sigourney Weaver's character, Ripley—had blown up the mother ship and escaped in the shuttle. Safe at last, she began to relax. Off came the clothes.
Now, Alien worked on the principle that what can't be seen is always more vivid than what can. (Glimpses of the creature were fleeting at best.) So it was that Ripley's breasts remained sheathed. Whereas the alien had its exoskeletal armor, Ripley had that skimpy white tank top, thin as cheesecloth, which only made her seem more human, more vulnerable. So palpably natural, those breasts, utterly unbuoyed and uninflated. They even seemed a bit forlorn—bewildered little patties blinking and withering in the harsh fluorescent light of the shuttle. The nipples, however, were another story; they'd gone as hard as ski-pole tips. It was both the earthliest and the sexiest image of a woman I had ever seen, and by way of contrast it created the film's most disorienting moment.
Presented with Ripley's tumescent womanhood, I began to let my guard down, to psychologically uncurl myself and to physically sit up straight in my seat, as it were. The movie was just setting me up, of course; the alien had stowed itself in the shuttle. As it came out of hiding, I got my first good look at its proboscis. Which was—gleamingly, drippingly, chitinously, blackly, hugely, undeniably—phallic. I took it as I was meant to take it, as a grotesque mockery of my own arousal. You don't get to have her— it does. Was I manufacturing sexual undertones? No. For as the beast nonchalantly began to stretch its limbs and slide its goo-slicked jaw in and out, in and out, what did Ripley say over and over? Lucky, lucky, lucky. That's right—the perfect organism was gonna get "lucky" with Ripley.
I was 12 years old then. I'd already learned to pair id with dread; I knew well the horror of others banging on the bathroom door as I...took my time. Yet I had never had—and never again would have—the third-rail force of my own sexual desire so vividly and soul-scarringly converted into fear.
Now, twenty-six years later, I only wish I'd pissed and run like my brother. I'd be just a little less fucked-up if I had.— Andrew Corsello
To me, the oddest instutition in Hollywood is the body double. I can understand if an actress, for various reasons, doesn't want to do nudity. But then why let someone else do it for her? If everyone thinks those are your tits, then in some sense they are your tits. I guess a body double simply saves an actress the embarrassment of being ogled by the key grip and the best boy all day. But what the big deal is about showing tits I don't know, unless they aren't such great tits. Which is, of course, a perfectly valid reason for modesty.
There is one brilliant reason not to show them, and that is to increase the value of showing them eventually. Halle Berry was rumored to have demanded a six-figure deal for baring nipple in Swordfish , though she denies it. But she was well paid for this box-office-stimulating flash. (I would also deny being paid a premium for nipple exposure. In fact, I do deny it.) Timing is everything, however. Meg Ryan never showed 'em, and then was counting on a surprise appearance of her mammies in In the Cut to uplift her sagging career. Alas, it was too little too late.
One of the best star breast moments in film was the brief but pleasant exposure of Linda Fiorentino's in The Moderns . As someone interested in the art world of the '20s, I just hate pseudo-cool movies like Alan Rudolph's wimpy rendering of the modernist movement, but I loved Linda Fiorentino as the modernist muse and sylphlike sybarite. The one genuinely modern thing in this film is Fiorentino's body. Her breasts are revealed when the crass collector, played by John Lone, performs the obeisance of shaving her armpits, then again when she tub-wrestles with the painter, played by Keith Carradine. She's not exactly androgynous, but streamlined. A woman after Matisse, built for running, not milking. Artemis, not Aphrodite. All in all, a pleasant relief from the glandular excesses of Hollywood and a tribute to the erotic sensibilities of those of us who were happily weaned.— Glenn O'Brien
Like so much transgression, it begins with cigarettes. Titta, Fellini's younger self—living in a tiny town in fascist-era Italy; adolescent, hormones geysering, his days spent in delinquency, yearning, and self-abuse—goes to the tobacconist to buy himself "una nazionale," just one. It is closing time, and he slips in under the iron gate. The proprietress, locking up for the night, is moving large sacks across the floor, and he offers to help. "You couldn't manage," she dismisses him; he is half her size, after all.
She is cartoonishly ample. In her pale blue cardigan, her bust is an unyielding shelf, jutting out in an improbable cantilever worthy of Frank Gehry. An undifferentiated wedge such as this could be known only as a bosom. Amarcord is above all a film of recollection (the title means "I remember" in Italian dialect). It makes sense that these jugs of memory would be outsize, hypertrophic ideals, although Maria Antonietta Beluzzi, the actress playing the part, is real enough.
Titta protests, saying he can lift eighty kilos, can even lift his father. "What do you weigh?" he asks. "I could lift you, too."
"Ah si?" she asks, bored. She takes off her apron, slams down the iron gate, and turns to him, sizing him up. Why not? she must be thinking. Everyone in town is looking for something to break up the monotony. "Vediamo," she dares him.
The transaction is hugely awkward and private. His arms barely make it around her fantastically broad, brown-tweed-clad ass. He lifts her three times in quick succession. He is almost undone by his efforts while her shrieks of laughter give way to a moaning, closed-eyed rapture. Her head brushes against the hanging lightbulb, and she doesn't care. Even when she is back on solid ground, her delirious floating fugue continues, still held aloft by the preconscious memory of weightlessness, nothing more than her birthright, being possessed of such a pair of balloons.
And what balloons they are! Overwhelmed, she unpacks her sweater, releasing only one.
"Drive me crazy, just a little," she tells him, pulling his mouth against the left nipple. He is a baby once again, the breast dwarfing his head. Its right twin manifests in a great, shuddering mitosis. He blows on it. "You have to suck, you idiot," she says, cajoling, still in the moment. She presses his face into the deep cleft between the
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