Doc here with an amazing Flash Report from a long absent friend to The Journal, Johnny Paradise. He has resurfaced and filed a thought provoking and detail-rich report from Friday night, 7/7, at Toledo's Westwood Theatre.
Here we go...
***
The Westwood Theatre, Friday July 5
From Hialeah to Sault Ste. Marie, I-75 stretches and zooms and curves and connects and conjures up the road-weary phantoms of the old Dixie Highway and as a testament to the American past it was a fitting place perhaps to spend much of the day after the 4th of July, driving north and homeward bound. I stopped in Toledo for a Dr. Pepper and on a nostalgic impulse swooped down West Sylvania to that familiar and still-undiminished marquee, looking for a place to sit in some cool darkness and think about the past and perhaps see some of the human circus on display.
If I looked for a thematic connection to the holiday I could say that life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness are all best understood from the vantage of the open road and nowhere are they celebrated with more unaffected fervor than in an adult theatre. It provided a strangely fitting punctuation to two days of celebration and contemplation.
And Toledo, Ohio, my dear Toledo - It has elicited fewer poems and paeans than the midwest's major metropolises, but it is so distinctly American.
The Westwood Theatre, Friday July 5
From Hialeah to Sault Ste. Marie, I-75 stretches and zooms and curves and connects and conjures up the road-weary phantoms of the old Dixie Highway and as a testament to the American past it was a fitting place perhaps to spend much of the day after the 4th of July, driving north and homeward bound. I stopped in Toledo for a Dr. Pepper and on a nostalgic impulse swooped down West Sylvania to that familiar and still-undiminished marquee, looking for a place to sit in some cool darkness and think about the past and perhaps see some of the human circus on display.
If I looked for a thematic connection to the holiday I could say that life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness are all best understood from the vantage of the open road and nowhere are they celebrated with more unaffected fervor than in an adult theatre. It provided a strangely fitting punctuation to two days of celebration and contemplation.
And Toledo, Ohio, my dear Toledo - It has elicited fewer poems and paeans than the midwest's major metropolises, but it is so distinctly American.
I should take a few steps back. There are, as has been reported, some changes. The theatre is operating as a private "club", which is a pretty obvious dodge, but apparently has the advantage of freeing the establishment from police raids. This will be greeted as a wonderful development by all save the few contrarians who actually found the ever-present threat of a raid to be one vital element in the excitement of the old Westwood. To join the "club" you have to show identification and sign a form that is, honestly, really trippy and fun to read and, of course, totally ridiculous but somehow sublime at the same time. As clubs go, this is hardly the 4H. Read this form before you sign it, it is cool and you will savor every phrase. Next on the agenda - alcohol in the theatre. This change may shake the gods themselves.
The changes (those that are cosmetic as well as those that have more substance and purpose) are all good, really, for the overall economic health of a much-maligned and politically unsupported private institution. The Westwood is a business and the owners are clearly in this game for the long haul. But some of the grit is gone, some of the risk, some of the strangeness, some of the randomness, some of that inexplicable undesirability that made going there so sad and so glorious at the same time. Some of the fun is gone, it has to be said, scoured away with decades of calcified sin.
Anyway, the couple in question (who stayed deep into the evening and chatted with most of the other couples who arrived) looked to be in their fifties. The gent looked somewhat like Ken Berry (the old television actor, from Mayberry R.F.D and Mama's Family) but with a moustache. The lady called to mind a prettier, hotter version of Selma Diamond from Night Court (with no offense to the late Selma Diamond, she was a handsome woman). She had short hair and sparkling eyes and painted toes (her legs were in the air when I walked in) and her breasts looked B-like. She rode her companion with such slow sensual motions, moaning breathily as she did so, that the gratification seemed genuine. There was another man there when I arrived who was with them but, apparently, not WITH them. He seemed a little overbearing, to be honest, but he performed oral sex on her in a way that left her moaning, gasping, laughing, and she ended with the words "I bet you got a mouthful", with which he agreed.
Another woman came in, apparently having just taken a break. When she walked past me she was visibly sweaty and seemed out of breath. My mind reeled at the thought of what had put her into that state. She was plus size, dirty blonde, heavy breasts, and she was with an older gent, a rough hewn fellow who reminded me of yet another TV actor whose name I have been unable to place. He seemed tall, gruff - but who really knows in such a limited context? She sucked Mr. Overbearing, and sucked her gent as he fingered her and as the crowd of men at the gate stared blankly.
The men. The men on the outside of the corral (at least when I was there) were incredibly polite and totally hands-off. Apparently earlier in the day that had not been the case, but during my entire stay I saw no incident whatsoever of a single man even communicating with a couple. It felt like an invisible wall. As incredibly well-mannered as they were, it was off-putting somehow; almost too well-mannered, it felt a little stifled. It occurred to me that the men who were there really got the score - their desire to eventually participate in the play with the women inside would only be satisfied depending on their patience and distance. They were a patient and distant lot.
I left and dropped some coins for that Dr. Pepper and took a walk. When I came back there were three couples in the corral. A younger white guy and a stunningly beautiful black girl. If they did anything more than hold hands it was not apparent. They left pretty soon after arriving. There was another couple that left quickly, and in the darkness it was difficult to see if they did anything. He was stocky, she was zaftig with long auburn-ish hair. The third couple looked Latino, and it took them a while to get into any action, but when they did it was really something. She had full beautiful breasts with dark average-sized nipples and long raven hair and incredible curves. She rode him and it was obvious that the passion between them was genuine and not just an affectation for the sake of the audience.
At some point another couple arrived, a fifties-ish man and woman who I kept calling "the farmer couple" in my mind for no real reason other than there visual similarity to some old American Gothic-style paintings I have seen somewhere. In the darkness at a distance they seemed younger than they were, and she fellated him with deft sure strokes and the smooth certainty of a skilled and experienced operator. There was another couple, too, who never got naked or seemed to interact too much with each other in any way, but who kind of joined in with all or most of the other couples at various times - the woman spent a large part of the evening slapping ass cheeks and pushing other women's heads down on cocks.
The ultimate buzz of the night, however, happened some time around nine.
She was average height, plump in a Lena Dunham way, with bottle-fuchsia hair and tattoos - some sort wings on her upper chest (angel's wings, maybe, for the girl with the dented halo?), some intricate knot design on her upper back and in the tramp stamp area an inescapably thought-provoking and ridiculously poignant and sad "WWJD" delineated in what appeared to be the shape of Scrabble tiles.
Her companion was stocky and somewhat forgettable, though no one was looking at him. When they came in and sat in the corral, somehow the men just KNEW. There was an almost immediate crowd on all sides, as if the main attraction had finally entered the center ring. There was no time wasted, no pretense of feigned interest in the movie, no time for private or personal intimacies, they got straight to business. He took off his pants and underwear, she took off every stitch and they had sex - perfunctorily, perhaps, but with much noise and to great effect and whatever interest anyone had displayed towards the other couples was now gone - in fact most of the couples themselves seemed to stop to watch and marvel at the ferocious sounds.
It was all very show-y; by design, I think. When they were done, it was obvious she was going to service the men in the throng. THEY knew it, somehow. She quietly told him to pick them out for her, which he did.
The first man paraded her up to the stage, followed by most of the throng, and on the stage he fingered her and (it looked and sounded like) he was fisting her as well. Her companion had a very bright and very focused light and took well-illuminated pictures of the action, and when they were done on the stage some of the men clapped. Then she came back to the corner of the corral and one by one he would pick a man to receive oral sex and he would take pictures as she went down on one anonymous cock after another. It seemed (and this is probably purely coincidence) that the strangest looking men went first, followed by a raft of more average-looking guys. This is subjective, of course...
Anyway, much oral sex, many men who seemed quietly stunned by the skill of her mouth, and she even turned around and was penetrated from behind by two of the men in turn, moaning and screaming as they thrusted against her ample backside. I thought about the "WWJD" facing each of them and the irony was perhaps too much even for me. Throughout all of it her companion would occasionally slap her ass, really hard - the slap was like a gunshot in the relatively small and echo-y confines of the theatre.Another woman came in, apparently having just taken a break. When she walked past me she was visibly sweaty and seemed out of breath. My mind reeled at the thought of what had put her into that state. She was plus size, dirty blonde, heavy breasts, and she was with an older gent, a rough hewn fellow who reminded me of yet another TV actor whose name I have been unable to place. He seemed tall, gruff - but who really knows in such a limited context? She sucked Mr. Overbearing, and sucked her gent as he fingered her and as the crowd of men at the gate stared blankly.
The men. The men on the outside of the corral (at least when I was there) were incredibly polite and totally hands-off. Apparently earlier in the day that had not been the case, but during my entire stay I saw no incident whatsoever of a single man even communicating with a couple. It felt like an invisible wall. As incredibly well-mannered as they were, it was off-putting somehow; almost too well-mannered, it felt a little stifled. It occurred to me that the men who were there really got the score - their desire to eventually participate in the play with the women inside would only be satisfied depending on their patience and distance. They were a patient and distant lot.
 |
| Westwood Theatre Interior |
At some point another couple arrived, a fifties-ish man and woman who I kept calling "the farmer couple" in my mind for no real reason other than there visual similarity to some old American Gothic-style paintings I have seen somewhere. In the darkness at a distance they seemed younger than they were, and she fellated him with deft sure strokes and the smooth certainty of a skilled and experienced operator. There was another couple, too, who never got naked or seemed to interact too much with each other in any way, but who kind of joined in with all or most of the other couples at various times - the woman spent a large part of the evening slapping ass cheeks and pushing other women's heads down on cocks.
The ultimate buzz of the night, however, happened some time around nine.
She was average height, plump in a Lena Dunham way, with bottle-fuchsia hair and tattoos - some sort wings on her upper chest (angel's wings, maybe, for the girl with the dented halo?), some intricate knot design on her upper back and in the tramp stamp area an inescapably thought-provoking and ridiculously poignant and sad "WWJD" delineated in what appeared to be the shape of Scrabble tiles.
Her companion was stocky and somewhat forgettable, though no one was looking at him. When they came in and sat in the corral, somehow the men just KNEW. There was an almost immediate crowd on all sides, as if the main attraction had finally entered the center ring. There was no time wasted, no pretense of feigned interest in the movie, no time for private or personal intimacies, they got straight to business. He took off his pants and underwear, she took off every stitch and they had sex - perfunctorily, perhaps, but with much noise and to great effect and whatever interest anyone had displayed towards the other couples was now gone - in fact most of the couples themselves seemed to stop to watch and marvel at the ferocious sounds.
The first man paraded her up to the stage, followed by most of the throng, and on the stage he fingered her and (it looked and sounded like) he was fisting her as well. Her companion had a very bright and very focused light and took well-illuminated pictures of the action, and when they were done on the stage some of the men clapped. Then she came back to the corner of the corral and one by one he would pick a man to receive oral sex and he would take pictures as she went down on one anonymous cock after another. It seemed (and this is probably purely coincidence) that the strangest looking men went first, followed by a raft of more average-looking guys. This is subjective, of course...
After a while she got dressed to go outside to take a break and smoke, she left with her fellow and then the other couples left and the throng broke up and I knew it was time to leave.
The first fifties-ish couple ("Ken" and "Selma") had been talking to someone about the girl I started calling "Lena" in my mind, and they said they had seen the tattoos in a craigslist post. I made a mental note of looking it up.
I left in a distracted and disquieted frame of mind. I thought over late dinner at the White Tower (your "oasis in the dark") and kept on thinking on the fast cool beautiful stretch of 75 that took me to Detroit, and home.
Any thinking person who goes to an adult theatre or who pursues this interest to any extent will eventually be faced by a basic question - WHY? Why are the people here doing what they are doing?
WHY? Are they oversexed, undersexed, comfortable with themselves, maladjusted, sleazy, demented, depressed, disaffected, disappointed, disillusioned, opportunistic, low class, libertines, eccentric hobbyists, actual sexual explorers, independent journalists, curious onlookers, lonely widowers, pudgy young men with self-esteem issues, women dragged into it by controlling men, men driven to it by domineering women, couples who do it to keep their marriages alive, to cover their hate, to demonstrate their love? All of the above?
Some people do this with a clear head and a clear goal - for kicks. But how many are drawn to it for reasons related to emotional issues, emotional baggage, actual emotional illness? How many of these women really and truly want this in a healthy and self-actualized way? And how many of the men care WHY the women are there, just so long as they are there with open orifices and willingness to please?
Late tonight I finally looked at the CL ad that had been mentioned.
I thought about the people and I thought about myself. The real danger of thrill-seeking is that it happens sometimes on the periphery of tragedy.
Johnny Paradise
***
Doc here again... Many thanks to Johnny Paradise for this thought-provoking take on his evening at The Westwood Theatre, and this thing of ours in general. It's good to have you back, Johnny... Fast Eddie Felson style...
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