I didn’t write this book to tell you what it’s like to visit a porn cinema. I wrote it to show you what it’s like to be used inside one, to get fucked on your knees by an anonymous cock while someone eats a GILF’s pussy like popcorn three rows back, pretending not to notice the grunts.
Porn, Popcorn, and Perversion, 👉 which you can get here, is my filthy love letter to the world’s surviving sex cinemas; their darkness, their stink, their ghosts. Part guidebook, part memoir, it’s a full-body confession soaked in sweat, cum, and whatever was left on the floor at Cinema J in Paris.
I Went In for Research. I Came Out Changed. Three years. Twelve cities. Dozens of adult cinemas. Hundreds of anonymous men.
This book is everything I couldn’t say on Whoreuro. The sessions I thought were too much to publish. The stories I kept locked away because they weren’t just perverted; they were transformational.
I didn’t go looking for a spiritual awakening. But I found one, face down on a cum-stained black mat in a backroom in Berlin, gagging on a stranger’s cock while vintage 90s Euro porn flickered overhead like holy scripture.
This isn’t just about watching porn in public. It’s about giving yourself to the room. Becoming part of it. Absorbing it.
Gloryholes, Gooning, and Getting Fucked in the Front Row
I’ve been mounted in Marseille, gagged in Glasgow, and had my slit edged to madness in Milan. I once sat through a double bill in a rundown Budapest theatre with a plug in my arse, and my clit on fire from a Bluetooth vibrator synced to the projector’s bass.
There’s a chapter in the book about a Prague porn cinema where I wore a latex skirt, no knickers, and let myself be used by silent men behind the curtain all night, passing me like popcorn. No names. No words. Just unzip, unload, leave. I was their screen.
Another chapter details my breakdown in Budapest, fucking for hours in a booth, crying because no one finished me. That one broke me. And I’ve never been prouder of a story.
These Places Are Dying. I Went to Worship Them. You don’t need a cock to be obsessed with porn cinemas. You need hunger. Curiosity. A kink for grime and shadows and the scent of old cum baked into vinyl chairs.
These cinemas are disappearing. Quietly. Without obituary. And no one’s documenting the last days of this glorious sleaze culture. So I did. I crawled through the velvet seats, sucked cock in dark booths, pressed my ear to the floor to hear the stories no one ever tells.
I wrote them all down. In graphic, gasping, fuck-you detail.
This Book Is for the Perverts. The Voyeurs. The Forgotten.
If you’ve ever sat in the back of a bus fantasizing about being used by strangers, if you’ve ever masturbated in a cubicle with the sound off and the fear on, if you’ve ever wanted to disappear into a place where shame becomes worship; this book is yours.
It’s not polished. It’s not tidy. It’s not respectable. It’s fucking honest.
Buy It. Read It. Use It.
Porn, Popcorn and Perversion isn’t for tourists. It’s for the ones already halfway down the porn rabbit hole. The ones who’ve felt that pulse in a dirty cinema seat and thought, What if I just let go?
👉 Click here to buy Porn, Popcorn and Perversion
Bring tissues. Not for your tears. For what leaks out of you by page 3.
Catherine x
