The porn store with tinted windows located on Atlantic Avenue in Brooklyn is my favorite store in all of New York City. Its merchandise rivals that of Bloomingdales and like Macy’s, this place should have its own parade.
Gone are the days of communal baths and a Central Park filled with half-naked men running through the bushes. One must improvise in times of desperation, when one gets old and when eyes of others turn our way in flirtation less often.
Even the Mt. Morris Bath House in Harlem shut its doors. A sex addict, like anyone trapped by bad habits, finds a means of fulfilling his or her lustful vices during hard times. Like crack addicts, we do not stop until we get that next hit. Anyone strung out and lonely should pay this place a visit—it’s vintage gay New York—and there’s tons of dick for the having!
Despite the recent recession, the management at this porn store without a name does not hound patrons inside any of the five booths when the little red lights above the plywood doors to the booths go out, indicating that the patron inside has run out of viewing time. In most New York City porn stores with buddy booths, the Indian men who manage such places scream—“Use dollar bill!” and humiliate the poor, who often come to such places just to get something warm in their stomachs.
Management seems not to care as men drop by to channel surf and take advantage of the glory holes between stalls. There’s lots of free parking on Atlantic Avenue and many married men with rings on their way home from Wall Street stop in when bubbles burst.
When the money runs out inside the booths, there is no need to rush to put another dollar bill in the video vending machine. The Indian men here really don’t care. They seem exhausted, and likely have seen it all. All they ask is that no two people enter a booth together.
This place is a favorite of mine because so many of the men are not gay—the black and Latino men come inside only to watch and to let their imaginations go—using us—we cocksuckers, who too should have the right to marry.
Even though the gay community in New York City has lost its sting for being carefree and having focused most of its energy towards the right to rear children and get married, this unique porn store reminds me of the New York City that once was—that magical island where lost gay youth found a home—that haven in heaven that was this town before the city started electing Republican and Independent mayors.
For more than twenty years, and at the risk of ruining my reputation and contracting some deadly disease, I have thoroughly investigated the Big Apple’s numerous twenty-four hour get-off locations for the purpose of someday writing a tell-all book about survival of the fittest. There is no need to write further—this place is exactly what I’ve been searching for – the men are hot, and non-judgmental towards gays—they seem to need us in places like this—and who cares if they are really not thinking of us when they use us. Men have always been like that.
The New David Theatre in Time Square has been closed for more than fifteen years now—gone are the days of being the one true light in a dark room with so much to reach for, but with a glory hole on each side, one does not need to be the star—just the whore who they all reach for as they channel surf.