3 min

Metro Theatre thriving

Historic Annex porn palace continues to pull in a loyal clientele

The Metro is, arguably, a great place to troll for straight cock. Credit: Adam Coish
While social media and hook-up apps like Grindr have changed how we have sex, Toronto still has many options for those who want to venture out and find traditional public hook-up spaces. Serafin LaRiviere explores one of them.

“Fuck my hairy pussy! Fuck my hairy pussy!”

Okay, so maybe the script is a few notches below Nora Ephron, and certainly Meryl could have done it better, but the actress writhing in ecstasy on the screen before me seems to be giving it her all. Despite the tacky set, the bad lighting and an unfortunate choice of eye shadow, this silicone-enhanced thespian has me totally convinced that she does indeed want her aforementioned hirsute labial area to be repeatedly penetrated by the grunting, sweating troglodyte crouched over her. The title, of course: Hairy Pussy. The venue: Metro Cinema, Toronto’s historic and notorious adult movie house.

The place certainly comes with a well-earned pedigree. Long before VHS, DVDs and the internet, establishments like the Metro were the only outlet for horny guys looking to sit back and pleasure themselves to such classics as Debbie Does Dallas, Deep Throat or Gentlemen Prefer Blowjobs (okay, I may have made that last one up).

The amazing thing about the Metro is that it’s still thriving, with two theatres running hard-core porn all day and the occasional art-house flick at night. Sure, a bevy of buxom babes going down on each other may just be a click away for anyone with an online service provider, but for some reason the Metro keeps pulling in a loyal (if aging) clientele.

I made two visits to this bastion of cinematic smut, one during the afternoon and one in the evening. Both were elucidating, if somewhat disconcerting. The first was also immensely educational, in that it taught me the importance of hair and dress code prior to visiting such an establishment. Truly, one should think twice before entering a darkened porn theatre with long fluffy hair, moderately feminine features and a crowd of horny elderly men whose last gasp of 20/20 eyesight probably predates the year of my birth.

I think it was the pint-sized grandfather who put it best, when he sauntered up to my aisle seat, unceremoniously unzipped his fly, and flopped his semi-flaccid, silver-hair-adorned penis in front of my right ear while muttering, “See anything you like, baby?”

He seemed unconcerned when I politely demurred, parting with a tender “stupid bitch” as he meandered out the door, allowing me to focus properly on my surroundings.

My attention wandered around the room, taking in the classic Odeon pre-’90s décor: plaster mouldings, hanging chandeliers and blood-red walls. The seats, however, are those brand-new reclining jobs, still pristinely clean and fabulously comfortable.

The Metro’s other cinema is true vintage, a small room with a steep rake for seating, adorned with softly glowing hanging lamps and hand-painted murals of Charlie Chaplin and Mary Poppins. And while Britain’s most famous nanny may disapprove of what’s happening on the screen before me, one guesses that the Little Tramp may be a little more forgiving.

“Do you like that black pussy? Fuck that black pussy!” Hmm, I’m sensing a theme here. Take a wild guess at this movie’s title (I’ll give you a hint: it’s only one word off from the first film mentioned in this article).

Perhaps I’m naive, but I sort of assumed that these hetero skin flicks would attract an exclusively straight audience, aside from yours truly. But as I make my way down the aisle, I’m forced to squeeze by a large elderly man who stands casually alongside one of the aisle seats while being serviced by the chair’s occupant: an enthusiastic gent who has cleverly hooked his cane over his elbow while he takes care of business. Could it be that the Metro is a great place to troll for elderly straight cock, desperate for release after such riveting cinematic entertainment? Something to ponder.

And while the Metro is moving toward a more art-house/performance-space evening vibe, offerings in that vein have been spotty and sporadic. On my return visit that night, Black Pussy was making another appearance in the main room, while two women with really bad razor burn were eating each other out on the smaller screen. But twilight gives an interesting lustre to the Metro’s seedier qualities, and I can’t help but think it would be a fun place to visit with friends or an open-minded lover. And if that fails, there are probably a few old-timers who would be willing to drop trou for a brother in need.