By Dominic Ali
Pee Wee Herman got busted in a movie theatre just like this one.
It’s hard to believe that pornographic movie theatres still exist. Before VCRs became widely available and porno could be rented from the neighbourhood video store, voyeurs had to visit theatres like this one if they wanted to watch a skin flick. Cinema 2000, an “adult entertainment centre,” proudly advertises “Sex films on a large screen,” and “private viewing booths” on a sidewalk sign outside.
I descended two flights of stairs from Yonge Street to a dimly lit, well-organized store. The sickly sweet stench of disinfectant almost burned a hole through my nasal membranes. It was the cleanest “dirty sex shop” I’ve ever been in. Showcases were set up in one corner of the area, selling dildos and other “marital aids.” Long magazine racks, filled with such prestigious journals as Juggs, Shaved and Wet and Asian Sluts lined the walls.
Two employees stood behind a counter: a bored blonde in her mid-20s, who sat engrossed in a horror novel, and a middle-aged man with a ponytail who limped around with a cane. A television monitor behind them showed a voluptuous actress devouring an engorged penis. The clerks seemed oblivious to the on-screen action.
I cased the porn palace, taking special note of the peepshow booths lining the hallway, and each of had a lit “vacant” sign. I entered one booth and bolted the door behind me. The booth was about the size of a closet and offered a vinyl-covered bench for comfort. In front of the bench was a small monitor flashing messages. A channel guide for different programming choices came onscreen and was soon replaced by a notice that read: “Please keep the booth clean for the next person.”
There was a control panel on one wall of the booth with a button to change the channel, a volume knob, and a slot for quarters. I slipped 25 cents into the slot and the screen came to life.
Channel surfing in a peepshow booth isn’t the same as punching buttons on the TV remote control at home. There were seven different channels, each one showing a different fuck flick.
Here’s a blonde woman being anally penetrated—click—a man inserts his penis into a blonde oriental woman from behind—click—a large breasted brunette, in a blue garter belt and stockings, screams in mock orgasm while an actor runs his tongue along her venus fly trap—click—a muscular bearded man strokes another guy’s rapidly growing John Thomas—click…
My quarter bought exactly one minute’s worth of “entertainment.”
After scribbling notes in my clipboard, I came out of the booth and went back to Ponytail. A sign above the counter outlined admission prices for the “Sex films on a large screen.” Regular admission to the double feature was $4.25. The discount price for seniors was also posted. I paid the regular admission without quibbling over the lack of a student discount and walked through a set of doors into the cinema itself.
The theatre lacked lights of any kind, so it resembled a blackout in a coal mine. It took about 15 minutes for my eyes to adjust to the darkness.
On-screen a starlet held an actor’s “throbbing python of love” in her immense cleavage while another man came onto the set and pulled out his one-eyed wonder to wank off.
I whipped out my pen and clipboard, trying to take notes in the darkness. Glancing around, I could barely make out the silhouettes of other patrons in the cinema. The voyeurs were sprinkled throughout the seats, each one sitting a comfortable distance away from the others.
I arrived just as the second feature was beginning. A glimpse of the title was enough to make me roll my eyes heavenward: “Anal Adventures.”
Watching dirty movies is a strange trip. After the first five minutes I felt like a rabbit pumped full of testosterone. But after fifteen minutes I never wanted to have sex again for the rest of my life. (Well, almost never).
As I tried to jot notes, other patrons came wandering in, feeling around for seats in the darkness. One senior citizen almost sat on me, his eyesight reduced to nothing in the dark theatre. A well-dressed dreadlocked brother came in and took a seat, as did two conservative-looking Japanese men.
Onscreen the performers went through the motions: licking, sucking, groping, probing and grinding. Whenever a new sex scene began, the men in the cinema shifted uncomfortably in their rickety chairs. It seemed enough to make a gynaecologist blush.
With little variation, most scenes went like this: Man meets woman, man fondles woman, woman sucks off man, man goes down on woman, man penetrates woman, man ejaculates onto woman. Next scene…
Despite the crude camera angles, insipid plot and droning soundtrack, I have to admit that “Anal Adventures” was not without some (ahem) instructional value. I probably learned more watching this cinematic gem than I did in first year biology.
There were enough seats in the theatre to hold about a hundred people. By the time I got up to leave, there were about 20 patrons sitting in the shadows—all men. The cinema was deathly quiet throughout the movie, except for the creaking of chairs.
I exited the cinema into the store, and the poor lighting made the optical adjustment easier. I said goodbye to the clerks behind the counter. The bored blonde purposely avoided eye contact with me and gazed off at an invisible horizon.
Climbing the stairs to street level, I squinted like a Clint Eastwood impersonator and felt like a vampire. I instinctively put up my collar to avoid being identified. After hopping a northbound subway I thought about what I’d just witnessed.
Part of me understands why some men like seeing skin flicks in rundown movie theatres. In the darkness, everyone’s anonymous. On the screen, there’s no thought-provoking dialogue, no artistic pretensions, no semblance to the real world. It’s a place where women always say “yes,” and they don’t care if you don’t buy them flowers.
But another part of me was confused. I had just spent over an hour watching several attractive men and women having the most intimate of relations, and it was the most unerotic thing I’ve ever witnessed.
As soon as I got home, I took a long, hot shower.
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