A person’s love of doughnuts is a profound and special ocean of emotion. The passion is such that when a girl needs a doughnut, she needs it NOW. So when the craving calls, she answers. This is why I used to repeatedly find myself (at all hours of the day/night) waiting in line with the tourists against the gold glittering brick wall of Voodoo Doughnut in Portland, Oregon. One day a handful of my college friends and I, being observant people, happened to notice the Paris Theatre next door, advertising hentai night. Well, I love cartoons and it sounded like an adventure. None of us had ever been to an adult theater before.
Sunday night–Hentai Night– arrived and we gleefully entered the theater, our hearts full and our expectations high. We didn’t just buy a ticket for the night–that’s not how it works. We became members. For the low cost of $10, we purchased a life-altering membership that came with a discreet membership card. The card was just a picture of some vague paints and a paintbrush without any writing. The man at the box office was (rightfully) concerned for us, a smattering of sweet young giggling girls, so he escorted us into the theater to a separate little blocked off section that must have been permanently reserved for curious people who were about to lose an important piece of innocence.
Filling the screen was porn, real-people porn. The screen was alive with enormous body parts. Human flesh was everywhere. We confirmed that it was, in fact, hentai night with our new friend. He changed it straight away for us and soon we were immersed in sexy cartoons, heavy on the rape theme and thick with tangled plot lines and poor dialogue. We settled into our red velvet seats.
The switch didn’t seem to bother the jerkers on the floor. Below our observation deck was the general seating area where naked and half-naked men alike were scattered throughout, performing acts of personal intimacy that would be considered perverse in a regular movie theater. But here, everyone was welcome to openly love on themselves. I don’t even think there were rules.
I was sidetracked from eyeballing my fellow theater members by loud, obscene yelling. Some men were crowded around a dark cage where it soon became apparent that actual SEX was happening in there. They were edged up to the bars, drooling with their dicks in hand. I had never experienced a live sex show before and was not quite sure on proper etiquette. Although I think I was welcome to watch by invitation of her screams, I chose to politely avert my eyes.
A young normal-looking man approached us and asked us curiously What The Heck Are You Doing Here? From the safety of our booth we had a nice little conversation, until we realized that he was here. Like however normal he appeared, he had a little paint palette membership card tucked away in his wallet and regularly watched big screen porn while rubbing elbows with his masturbating peers.
Within 5 minutes most of my friends were scandalized beyond repair. It was dirty, shady, sad, and lonely, but I guess I am made of crasser stuff because somehow I was more amused than anything. And if I learned anything that night it’s that nothing awakens the appetite for doughnuts quite like a night at an adult theater.