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Into the Belly of the Beast

 

Photo: CinemaTreasures.org

After my first New York lunch of "dirty water dogs" on the Post Office steps near Penn Station, I headed up to the belly of the beast —Times Square. 

I didn't need my map to know when I entered the zone. The donut shops and check-cashing stores on 8th Avenue gave way to porn emporiums around 39th and 40th Streets across from the intimidating Port Authority bus station. The number and sizes of the shops swelled as I got closer to 42nd. Each one was lit up with bulbs and neon in all colors of the rainbow. The storefronts didn't have names, just descriptions of what they offered: 

XXX MAGAZINES

HOT PORN VHS N BETA

PEEP SHOWS 25 CENTS

Windows were decked out with magazines and video boxes of naked women displaying all of their wares to equally nude men. I had seen my share of (straight) porn in high school and college, but I felt naughty seeing these images out on a Sunday afternoon. Like I was going to be caught by a cop and reprimanded for being a pervert. 

I pressed on, strolling across 42nd Street. No one was in a hurry. Men trudged in and out of the stores, eyes down. The few women I saw walked even slower, throwing out a hip here, bending over there, making sure they were seen. But I avoided eye contact with them — with everyone. I was by far the youngest person on the street. And I did not belong there. 




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