Nashville.
I have two distinct images of Music City. One is from my recent visits. Too many conventions to count. It is a tourist haven with endless opportunities to amuse yourself.
But I can't shake the other image. The older, seedier one. A lifetime ago, when the so-called "Historic District" was the one part of town they kept the tourists out of. Or at least tried to. For those who remember Nashville's "lower Broadway" of the 80s, all the spit and polish of the upgrades the politicians demanded in that part of the city still can't quite wash away the memory of what was. A few of the "honky-tonks" that bring in millions of tourists a year also remember when their neighbors were porn shops, peep booths, and live shows behind smudged plexiglass.
In those days, lower Broadway was what Printers Alley pretended to be. In that famous alley, you could pay too much to watch a few good-looking strippers peel out of their expensive costumes, bumping and grinding down to their g-strings. Or you could go a few blocks over and drop a few bucks to watch a girl finger herself in a dark booth, play with another girl, or even tickle your pickle through a well-placed hole in the glass. A block to the other side stood an old-style theater, converted to a porn house which played the latest feature in porn's golden age. More on that in future episodes.
As porn's transition from film to video began, a new little gem opened just off Broadway. Taking advantage of the move to VHS tapes, this place offered tiny viewing rooms where you could watch the flick of your choice. Three-ring notebooks at the front counter held the covers of the inventory, and you paged through till you found something that caught your eye. For 5 bucks or so you were directed to your own viewing space - something about the size of a closet with two theater chairs and a television set. It wasn't a bad arrangement in those pre-VHS porn rental days.
I had visited the place on a few occasions. In fact, I remember watching my first porn shot on video here. It was a European production called "Pleasure So Deep" with Barbara Moose and Dominque St. Clair. Fetching women indeed, but I digress.
On my 3rd or 4th visit, I was startled by a knock at my door just a minute or two after the film began. Figuring it was the management, I opened the door to see a petite brunette in tight jeans and a tighter t-shirt asking if I wanted any company. Frankly, I was startled, and a little confused at the notion. I had spent a fortune in quarters by that point in my life in dozens of peep booths in several states, but I had never been asked about sharing the room. I politely declined. It took a bit for me to fully absorb the nature of the offer. She was a working girl, no doubt. I wondered if she worked for the business, or if she just slipped a tip to the guy at the counter so that she could "freelance" in friendly territory. Whatever it was, it wasn't going to include me that night.
I was surprised again on my very next visit. I walked in to find a couple perusing those notebooks. Late 30's, nicely dressed, and a little nervous. Their heads spun around, as though they were afraid that they had been caught when I walked into the room. When they realized that they didn't know me and that I meant them no harm they went back to the notebook. I picked up another book, chose my video, and waited for them to be directed to their room so that I could pay for my choice. I noticed that she glanced back my way a time or two, but I simply contributed that to her nerves.
She was pretty in a Mom sort of way. At least that's how I viewed her at the time, being a much younger man. She had shoulder-length blonde hair and carried herself well. She could have been the mom from the Brady Bunch or the one from right down your block. I was struck by the irony of seeing such a lady in that "kind of place", and couldn't help but wonder what they might get up to behind the locked door of their viewing room.
After making my choice and paying for the privilege of watching it, I was settling into an hour and 15 minutes or so of early 80's porn. Somewhere around the time the first hardcore scene ended, there was another knock at my door. I expected to see the girl that I saw last time, or another one like her, but that wasn't the case. It was the husband of the couple that I saw earlier. He nervously looked over his shoulder and asked if he could talk to me for a minute.
"In private. Just talking. I know it's a little weird, but I just need a minute." Again, he glanced over his shoulder, looking toward the front to see if he was being observed. It was his nervousness that made me think he was probably safe. That, and the fact that I had about 4 inches on him (in height, that is.)
When the door was closed, he began talking rapidly and quietly. I even had to turn down the sound on the TV to understand him. The gist of it was that his wife was a bit of an exhibitionist and they thought this would be a safe place to play. They were expecting more of a small theater setup, so this place wasn't ideal, but she had suggested that a more private show "for the clean-cut guy" might be an adequate means of scratching her particular itch.
"I know it's weird," he said again, "but if you're up for it, it might be fun."
I could feel myself getting "up for it" as I envisioned his blonde wife in a private show.
"No sex," he warned, "No touching. And she won't touch you. She just wants you to see her."
I nodded. I wanted to see her, too.
