Just a few weeks prior to visiting Studs Theatre in West Hollywood, Cal., I spent some time in a tiny cabin in the woods. Each day I’d wake up, step outside, and listen.
Small animals would shuffle along in the leaves; tree branches would shake and sway under the weight of well-fed squirrels. I’d detect movement out of the corner of my eye, but never caught more than a glimpse of anything. Something always seemed to be happening just out of my line of sight.
Sitting at Studs, an adult cinema specializing in gay male porn, is very similar. The two men hard at it on screen are hard to ignore, but if you really listen, the constant squeak of the theater chairs; the wet noises and muffled moans coming from those seated behind you; and the stream of men shuffling up the aisles of the cavernous theater make you wonder just how much is going on just beyond your line of sight.
Four years ago when it was the TomKat, I went to this very theater with my best friend. As before, I was the only girl in a building filled with men, a majority of whom were looking for anonymous sex with other men. The TomKat was dank and seedy. The bathrooms had no doors. The entire place smelled of sex and semen. Everything looked sticky and out of date. The young guy working the register asked if we wanted to watch straight, gay, bisexual, or transgender porn. We settled on bisexual, but as far as I could see, all patrons were funneled toward the same screen where gay porn seemed to play on a constant loop 24 hours a day, seven days a week.
Small animals would shuffle along in the leaves; tree branches would shake and sway under the weight of well-fed squirrels. I’d detect movement out of the corner of my eye, but never caught more than a glimpse of anything. Something always seemed to be happening just out of my line of sight.
Sitting at Studs, an adult cinema specializing in gay male porn, is very similar. The two men hard at it on screen are hard to ignore, but if you really listen, the constant squeak of the theater chairs; the wet noises and muffled moans coming from those seated behind you; and the stream of men shuffling up the aisles of the cavernous theater make you wonder just how much is going on just beyond your line of sight.
Four years ago when it was the TomKat, I went to this very theater with my best friend. As before, I was the only girl in a building filled with men, a majority of whom were looking for anonymous sex with other men. The TomKat was dank and seedy. The bathrooms had no doors. The entire place smelled of sex and semen. Everything looked sticky and out of date. The young guy working the register asked if we wanted to watch straight, gay, bisexual, or transgender porn. We settled on bisexual, but as far as I could see, all patrons were funneled toward the same screen where gay porn seemed to play on a constant loop 24 hours a day, seven days a week.
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