Bare Naked Ladies.
I was sixteen years old when I saw my first naked woman.
I remember it was on a hot sunny weekday afternoon in downtown Toronto. My friend Steve had easily convinced me to skip our grade eleven classes after lunch on that day. We had already skipped a couple afternoons during the previous months to watch dirty movies at the old dumpy Metro Theater on Bloor Street. The Toronto Sun newspaper ran a small daily ad with a coupon for the double and sometimes triple bill at the old Metro.
We always clipped and used the coupon.
There were also two other adult movie theaters within a mile east of the Metro. The Eden and Eve cinemas both featured double and triple bills catering to mature adults. Back in the 70's, a mature adult was considered to be anyone 18 years of age and older. All three of those adult movie houses were restricted to anyone younger than a mature adult.For the most part, the movies were nothing but titillating soft porn. Within thirty years even more explicit movies could be seen on regular television. The sparse weekday afternoon crowds always meant that a couple of sixteen year old kid's money and coupons were just as good as any mature adults. We never had a problem getting inside and we were never asked for our ID.
I didn’t even have any ID back then.
Whatever crowd was inside the dark theater would simply best be described as just a bunch of dirty old men getting their afternoon thrills. Some would be well dressed businessmen while most looked and smelled like neighborhood winos. Some would be just having an afternoon nap in the dark air conditioned theater. I myself witnessed an older man sitting by himself spanking his monkey. All the while his eyes were focused on the naked well endowed woman on the screen. The Metro Theater was quite the experience to say the least for an impressionable sixteen year old kid like myself.
Steve and I headed downtown on the subway; I was both nervous as well as excited. Attending adult movie houses was one thing, but now I would be attempting to enter my first strip joint. As we got off the train we exited the Dundas Street station, I figured we would be right back on the train within minutes. I was convinced there was absolutely no way we were getting in and I was now having my doubts about even attempting to.
Steve was much more optimistic about getting inside; he also looked much older than me. We walked down Yonge Street until we were standing across the street from our destination Le Strip. Le Strip was located above another street level store. It was sandwiched between a Soles Sporting Goods store and a McDonald's and was directly across the road from the newly opened Eaton Centre.
As we planned our entrance we both agreed that we would attempt to enter the establishment each on our own. There was an open doorway under a small marquee with red flashing lights. There was a narrow red carpeted staircase where we assumed at the top we would be paying our admission. From that point on we had no idea what to expect.
We both crossed Yonge Street.
Steve quickly entered through the door and ran up the stairs. I noticed while I waited my turn the admission prices were posted on a framed poster at the entrance. There were prices posted for a regular adult, a senior and the student special tickets. If I recall the student special was just two bucks. There were ‘Admittance Restricted To Persons 18 Years Of Age And Over’ signs plastered all over the entrance.
Steve had obviously gotten inside and I also quickly ran up the stairs.
“One student special please,” I said in my deepest most adult like voice.
I slid my money under the ticket wicket window. The lady in the booth didn’t even acknowledge or look up to see if I was even old enough as she handed me a ticket while continuing to read her magazine. I went through a black steel door with a sign reading 'Air Conditioned Inside Please Keep Door Closed'.
Mission accomplished.
It was very dark inside with the exception of many flashing colored lights on the stage. I could see Steve waving so as to let me know where he was sitting. I went over and sat beside him. I took a deep breath, I was very sweaty and the air conditioning was very much welcomed. Not just from the hot sun outside, but more so from the sweat I had dripping off my forehead due to my nervousness and running up the staircase.
My first impressions are as vivid today as they were on that afternoon.
The room was not nearly as large as I expected and the air was thick with cigarette smoke. There was a long narrow runway like stage maybe thirty feet long, forty tops. Along the length of the stage were flashing colored dimly lit bulbs. There were a half dozen or so much brighter spotlights mounted on the ceiling aimed directly at the skinny stage. Running along the length of the stage was probably four or five rows of well-worn theater seats. God only knows what bodily fluids had accumulated on those seats over the years. A Christmas like tinsel curtain ran along the complete length of the wall behind the stage.
There was some guy in the corner, he controlled the lights and played the music. He would also introduce and welcome each of the dancers.
“Put your hands together and give it up for……” I remember hearing more than once from the guy in the corner.
In the far back corner were vending machines where cigarettes, cold drinks, chips and chocolate bars could be purchased. At the back of the room, there was a bright red EXIT sign barely visible through the hue of the thick smoke. Beyond that was a narrow passage that led to a small dressing room where the dancers would get changed. Once the dancers did their fifteen minute or so performance it was back out onto Yonge Street. I assumed most would be offering much more intimate services between performances to any johns out there with cash.
There was a constant parade of dancers coming and going. They all entered the same front door as the patrons and some exited out a back door onto O’keefe Lane. The laneway was always crammed with a myriad of garbage bins and sleeping winos that had drank a little too much cheap wine. The O’Keefe Lane exit would also be our exit of choice when we left Le Strip. Both of us could not risk anyone we knew seeing us exit a strip club on an afternoon when we should have been in school.
Who knows?
There was no dancer on the stage when we arrived during the intermission. The two of us sat in the back row in the back corner. The front row was completely full except for a couple of empty seats. It was funny watching other latecomers excuse themselves as they attempted to grab one of the empty seats on the front row. Afterall, there were many vacant seats available and easily accessible in the second row.
I probably visited Le Strip a half dozen times after that first afternoon. A couple times I went with other guys and I remember going at least once by myself. There was a dancer I had seen with another friend, she too was gorgeous and we both wanted to see her again before she left. We had agreed to meet up downtown, but he never showed so I went by myself. She was definitely worth the second trip even though it felt weird sitting all by myself in such a den of iniquity.
All my visits to Le Strip were prior to me reaching the mature adult age of eighteen years. I was never asked for ID once. Attending adult movie houses and strip joints was just a phase I went through. It would be the same for me as any other teenage boy living in a big city with those distractions readily available. Skin books, dirty movies and strip joints were just a normal part of any curious teenage boy's life.
I didn’t even have any ID back then.
Whatever crowd was inside the dark theater would simply best be described as just a bunch of dirty old men getting their afternoon thrills. Some would be well dressed businessmen while most looked and smelled like neighborhood winos. Some would be just having an afternoon nap in the dark air conditioned theater. I myself witnessed an older man sitting by himself spanking his monkey. All the while his eyes were focused on the naked well endowed woman on the screen. The Metro Theater was quite the experience to say the least for an impressionable sixteen year old kid like myself.
Steve and I headed downtown on the subway; I was both nervous as well as excited. Attending adult movie houses was one thing, but now I would be attempting to enter my first strip joint. As we got off the train we exited the Dundas Street station, I figured we would be right back on the train within minutes. I was convinced there was absolutely no way we were getting in and I was now having my doubts about even attempting to.
Steve was much more optimistic about getting inside; he also looked much older than me. We walked down Yonge Street until we were standing across the street from our destination Le Strip. Le Strip was located above another street level store. It was sandwiched between a Soles Sporting Goods store and a McDonald's and was directly across the road from the newly opened Eaton Centre.
Downtown Yonge Street was a very seedy area back in the mid-70's with prostitutes, body rub parlours, head shops and arcades on almost every block. The Eaton Centre would be the main cog in the city’s attempt to revitalize the whole area. Within weeks Toronto would be horrified by the murder of a twelve year old shoeshine boy Emmanuelle Jacques. His body would be found on the rooftop of a massage parlour just a few doors north of where me and Steve were now standing. The public outcry was so overwhelming after the little boy's murder and it just accelerated the much needed cleanup of downtown Toronto and Yonge Street in particular.
As we planned our entrance we both agreed that we would attempt to enter the establishment each on our own. There was an open doorway under a small marquee with red flashing lights. There was a narrow red carpeted staircase where we assumed at the top we would be paying our admission. From that point on we had no idea what to expect.
We both crossed Yonge Street.
Steve quickly entered through the door and ran up the stairs. I noticed while I waited my turn the admission prices were posted on a framed poster at the entrance. There were prices posted for a regular adult, a senior and the student special tickets. If I recall the student special was just two bucks. There were ‘Admittance Restricted To Persons 18 Years Of Age And Over’ signs plastered all over the entrance.
Steve had obviously gotten inside and I also quickly ran up the stairs.
“One student special please,” I said in my deepest most adult like voice.
I slid my money under the ticket wicket window. The lady in the booth didn’t even acknowledge or look up to see if I was even old enough as she handed me a ticket while continuing to read her magazine. I went through a black steel door with a sign reading 'Air Conditioned Inside Please Keep Door Closed'.
Mission accomplished.
It was very dark inside with the exception of many flashing colored lights on the stage. I could see Steve waving so as to let me know where he was sitting. I went over and sat beside him. I took a deep breath, I was very sweaty and the air conditioning was very much welcomed. Not just from the hot sun outside, but more so from the sweat I had dripping off my forehead due to my nervousness and running up the staircase.
My first impressions are as vivid today as they were on that afternoon.
The room was not nearly as large as I expected and the air was thick with cigarette smoke. There was a long narrow runway like stage maybe thirty feet long, forty tops. Along the length of the stage were flashing colored dimly lit bulbs. There were a half dozen or so much brighter spotlights mounted on the ceiling aimed directly at the skinny stage. Running along the length of the stage was probably four or five rows of well-worn theater seats. God only knows what bodily fluids had accumulated on those seats over the years. A Christmas like tinsel curtain ran along the complete length of the wall behind the stage.
There was some guy in the corner, he controlled the lights and played the music. He would also introduce and welcome each of the dancers.
“Put your hands together and give it up for……” I remember hearing more than once from the guy in the corner.
In the far back corner were vending machines where cigarettes, cold drinks, chips and chocolate bars could be purchased. At the back of the room, there was a bright red EXIT sign barely visible through the hue of the thick smoke. Beyond that was a narrow passage that led to a small dressing room where the dancers would get changed. Once the dancers did their fifteen minute or so performance it was back out onto Yonge Street. I assumed most would be offering much more intimate services between performances to any johns out there with cash.
There was a constant parade of dancers coming and going. They all entered the same front door as the patrons and some exited out a back door onto O’keefe Lane. The laneway was always crammed with a myriad of garbage bins and sleeping winos that had drank a little too much cheap wine. The O’Keefe Lane exit would also be our exit of choice when we left Le Strip. Both of us could not risk anyone we knew seeing us exit a strip club on an afternoon when we should have been in school.
I remember on one visit in between dancers we saw an older married guy from our Kingdom Hall. We clearly saw him through the window standing outside talking to what looked like hookers on the street. Maybe he was attempting to save their souls and encouraging them to repent for their sins.
Who knows?
But we never told anyone else what we had seen because we both knew we should never have been there either.
There was no dancer on the stage when we arrived during the intermission. The two of us sat in the back row in the back corner. The front row was completely full except for a couple of empty seats. It was funny watching other latecomers excuse themselves as they attempted to grab one of the empty seats on the front row. Afterall, there were many vacant seats available and easily accessible in the second row.
By far Steve and I were the youngest in the audience on that afternoon. Most of the men there were much older and just like the Metro Theater, many were well dressed wearing suits. We stayed for almost two hours, we watched while each of the six dancers got completely naked within a dozen or so feet right in front of us. Each of the dancer’s routines would be three or four songs long and there were lots of boas, feathers, beads, rhinestones and stilettos.
We both gave a thumbs down to four of the ladies and a maybe to one. We gave a big thumbs up to the sixth and final dancer. She was fuck’n gorgeous and I was in love. Both of us definitely wanted to watch her perform another set, but it meant we would have to sit through the other five stripper’s routines all over again. It was a daily continuous rotation of the same six dancers which started at noon and ended at midnight.
She was indeed worth the wait, but it was a school day and we were expected home by a certain time. Le Strip would change the dancers every week or so and I never saw her again. We exited under the back exit sign, went down the stairs and out through a heavy steel door onto the laneway. We made our way back to the subway after kicking numerous discarded empty liquor bottles in the alley. We both made it back home at our usual time as if we had been in school all afternoon.
I probably visited Le Strip a half dozen times after that first afternoon. A couple times I went with other guys and I remember going at least once by myself. There was a dancer I had seen with another friend, she too was gorgeous and we both wanted to see her again before she left. We had agreed to meet up downtown, but he never showed so I went by myself. She was definitely worth the second trip even though it felt weird sitting all by myself in such a den of iniquity.
All my visits to Le Strip were prior to me reaching the mature adult age of eighteen years. I was never asked for ID once. Attending adult movie houses and strip joints was just a phase I went through. It would be the same for me as any other teenage boy living in a big city with those distractions readily available. Skin books, dirty movies and strip joints were just a normal part of any curious teenage boy's life.
For boys like me living in Toronto, Le Strip was a perfect place to explore those curiosities.
