Wednesday, July 15, 2015

Flash Report! Johnny Paradise Returns with an Instant Classic: "Have Hot Dog, Will Travel" from June, 2015

Doc here, a man who some say knows that the best teacher is experience, with what just may be one of the best adult theater reports to come across my desk in the 6 years I have edited this blog.

It's good to have Johnny Paradise back in the fold here at the Journal, located in The Valley, near the small women's liberal arts college.   His reports never fail to take you places.  Not only the places within this thing of ours, but the sights, the sounds, & even the smells.

In this report, Johnny has hit the highway, and landed at a familiar haunt.  Luckily for all of us, it was a target-rich environment that he will tell us all about.

Take it away, sir.


or An Evening Spent at A Certain Cinematheque of Ill Repute in the Great Midwest

So, suddenly I wanted an Hungarian hot dog.

 It was as simple as that. Nothing else would do, and in the hierarchy of impulsive culinary predilections, the visceral need for this unique staple of a certain city's cuisine is justifiably near the top, and if you've had it you know why. 

Saturday had been a perfectly imperfect cold June day in Detroit - no sun, no baseball, no summer, just unstoppable precipitation on wind-swept streets, gray sky, gray pavement, gray everything everywhere and through the window the almost-bitter breeze carrying rain-soaked whispers to just set it all down and GO... I rang Lola who, if anything, had been even busier and more consumed by responsibility lately than I had and I suggested the improbable plan but she had promises to keep and miles to go before etc. etc. so I jumped in the Black Beauty and rocketed down the wonderland that was an interstate to...

(flash flood forward)

* one original with mustard, sauce, and onions
* chili mac on the side
* a cola

It was as delicious as the American dream, and my thoughts turned to a particular movie house on the other side of town. It was that or go home, so I let the radio decide, a sonic I Ching. The darkening sky winked as April March told me to

Hang up the chick habit, hang it up daddy
a girl's not a tonic or a pill.

Hang up the chick habit, hang it up daddy
you're just jonesing for a spill
oh, how your bubble's gonna burst
when you meet another nurse
she'll be driving in a hearse.....

The crowd was such that my auto was relegated to the hinterland of the parking lot, proof of booming business. A quick scan of plates revealed a mostly native crowd with a healthy smattering of Michiganians thrown into the mix and darting and dodging raindrops I went

Inside.....things had changed. I did not catalogue all of the differences as scrupulously as my journalistic obligations might necessitate, but there were obvious physical differences (some extensive remodeling going on in the lobby/store area) and less tangible differences - the women behind the counter were new, and different.....and the "vibe" or feeling in the lobby was different in a fashion that eludes quick diagnosis. I noticed a plethora of signs all around  - warnings about cell phones, guides to appropriate behavior, an extensive list of bylaws for the "club", more warnings about cell phones, cell phone use is VERBOTEN - so basically sayeth sign after sign after sign.

I was told at the counter that tonight was an "event" night. I was not even really curious about the nature of the event as it basically just seemed to involve gift bags for couples. I felt a pang of nostalgia, to be honest, for the theatre this USED TO be. The modern investment saved this place, of course, and the business practices have to be aimed not just at profit but survival... so I can really offer no reasonable complaints....but I missed the old days, when a certain curmudgeonly movie house veteran sat behind the counter, telling stories from throughout the history of adult cinema. 

I miss the time before special planned "events", the time when you never knew what if anything would happen that night but you knew that it might be amazing. I miss the old movie posters. I miss the old ambiance.

It was all more spontaneous then. It was less predictable, it was sleazier. I recognized that things are, in many ways, much better now. But it is different. The "club" angle was created for obvious reasons.....but now it actually feels like a club, like something other than a movie theatre, more like a swinger's club. It is a different crowd. It is a different place.

Progress is. Times moves along, things come together and things fall apart, and the world re-invents itself, perpetually. I made a mental note not to allow nostalgia to poison (too much) my enjoyment of the evening. So I went


"Eve Plumb"
The blonde was average height, a curvy hourglass shape that suggested she had lost weight, one of those women whose sweet disposition is so infectious that you go from thinking she is plain to marveling at her prettiness. I smiled at the innocent charm with which she took to less-than-innocent tasks. She had a look that suggested a 40s-ish Eve Plumb (Jan Brady). In one fell swoop she pulled off the black dress and padded carefully around the couple's corral, nude, her pale C-sized breasts softly swaying as men lined up at the corral, some of them talking to her and her companion very casually, and it became clear that they were regulars and had friends there, or a following. This was "Donna". 

A young black man approached the hipster in front of me and whispered "That's can fuck her". And three men did, right in a row; she straddled and rode each and let out delicate pants and whimpers and moans, and when she spoke it was in a quiet porcelain voice that suggested Georgia Engel from the Mary Tyler Moore show. 

She leaned down to one and softly whispered "did you cum? I was hoping you would" and she seemed honestly truly genuinely happy that he had. There was no obvious trace of cynicism, there were no theatrics, she came across so unjaded and so real that I found myself smiling and forgetting the touch of disappointment that had afflicted me when I came in. Also, she provided an incredibly erotic tableau when she interacted with

"The Matron"
who sat in the couple's section and did not seem to interact with the crowd, but attended just to her man, a stocky bald fellow with glasses and a striped shirt. They both seemed to be in their late fifties or possibly sixties. She wore crotchless black pantyhose and carried a spectacular sexual charge when she walked slowly over to Donna and after a brief exchange of words leaned down and pleased her orally while the hipster sucked Donna's breasts and she moaned and let out little screams that pierced the relative quiet of the theatre. She had that certain natural sensuality with which women of a certain age are uniquely gifted, and as she buried her face in the blonde's crotch, it was really quite extraordinary. However

"Heather Graham"
was attracting most of the attention by this time. She walked into the theatre almost demurely in glasses and a simple black top. Her companion looked to be significantly older, and wore a pretty elaborate, almost comical, neck brace. They were an incongruous couple, and for the longest time they seemed to do nothing... until she took off her top, revealing full heavy breasts, and started to suck his cock. The throng in the theater moved towards that like sharks smelling chum, and I felt somewhat bad for

"The Spitfire"
who had come in around the same time and deserved a lot more attention than she seemed to receive at first. She was short, curvy, cute like a college girl in her glasses and with that slight Margot Kidder raspiness in her voice. She was accompanied by a stocky guy who, had his hair been longer, could have been Jonah Hill. Most of the night they were talking with a close group of friends. One older man, a Lee Van Cleef-type was dispensing advice and experience and etiquette tips and stories to the younger hipster. At one point a lean tall bald man with a moustache came over and, after she had sucked his cock with impressive accumen, he started jerking it, slowly first and then finally with a controlled frenzy of wrist action and laser-eyed concentration until in the blue flash of movie light a thick stream of ochre fluid splashed on her breast, which seemed to delight her. A small crowd watched her and a larger crowd now gathered around

"Sasheer Zamata"
who sat in the back row of the couple's corral with a much older man who took puff after puff from an e-cig and looked for all the world like a much older much wearier "Mike Damone" from "Fast Times at Ridgemont High". She gave him oral sex and straddled his cock but his reaction to everything was fairly muted, which was somewhat remarkable given the skills this woman obviously brought to the table. She sat, casually playing with her pussy as he stroked and squeezed her immaculate dark breasts. 

Later, when she was making love to him she moved her strong dark coffee-colored thighs with a rhythmic sensuality that had men in the crowd visibly agitated. She had the look and moves and confidence of an atomic tigress, quiet, intense, occasionally throwing flashes of a killer smile and of all the women there I admit it was her story that made me the most curious, but I could glean nothing from her interaction with her gentleman companion since it seemed limited to stroking and staring at the ridiculous video projected on the movie screen. 

At one point in the evening a tall young man unzipped his jeans and she took his long curved cock into her mouth. He looked like a YOUNG "Mike Damone", and I laughed inwardly at the strangeness of that - the young man and the old man really seemed to be two different versions of each other. She leaned up on the couch and he came around and entered her from behind and now she started making noises, hushed moans and then sharp screams as he grabbed her hips or pressed his hand into the small of her back, forcing his cock deeper. 

The ghouls in the gallery loved it, and one wild-eyed old timer next to me starting saying things like "yeah....give her that cock. That's what she wants..." They both went at it with what seemed like genuine pleasure and genuine zeal, but he pulled at out and whispered some apologies to her about not finishing, and then made a hasty retreat, and once
 again I found myself feeling sympathy for people who have sex before an audience. The throng's attention then turned back to

"Miss Oktoberfest"
a tall, fleshy brunette with pigtails and an outfit that suggested a German beer hall girl, she was there with a younger muscular compact fellow, and they put on quite a show. They had a regular routine of groping followed by oral sex followed by full sex that they repeated three times during the evening. He must have given the word to the men behind the rail that she was open to being groped, because the groping was arms jutted out of every available space to grab her breasts, he ass, her remarkably impressive thighs, it seemed like some giant squid was crawling over the railing and was trying to pull her down beneath the waves, a frenzied pale lumpy squid just hand after hand after after hand after hand after disembodied hand.

A blur of other people, a circus of carnality, too much as it all resolves into a kind of dullness and fades to gray....

Parking lot. Keys. Car. Radio. "The Emotions".

"...demonstrating sweet love and affection
that you give so openly..."

And so as I drive somewhere in the Midwest, a monstrous squid swallows a statuesque girl and a mocha beauty lies languid writhes and licks and squeezes and pulls and in the gallery above a young woman sits naked stares blankly at the scriptless lifeless drama-less scene on the screen wondering wistfully what? Why are we all here? Maybe, as rain-soaked parts of the ceiling start audibly to fall as men look at women and women look at the clock and it is time to GO.

 And everybody gave the best of their love.

 "Johnny Paradise"


Doc here again... Many, many thanks to Johnny Paradise for another top-shelf report. Incredible stuff, sir.

Now you see why Johnny is one of my personal favorites here at the Journal. And I for one, cannot wait until his next hits my in-box.