Learning the Ropes

Last week, the Blogger Idol judges joked that our next assignment would be erotica. Of course they were lying, but we didn't know that. It made me want to go back and revisit a guest post I did over the summer, unfortunately, it seems the link is broken! So here it is again.


This was originally published on The Toy Lady Writes A warning to parents, aunts, uncles, etc... this is undoubtedly TMI. Proceed at your own risk.

And if you Blogger Idol judges are reading, maybe next time you'll think twice about asking us contestants to write about sex!

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Shhhh...

There was no doubt he'd been in a sex shop before. There's something about being a twenty something man in the United States which implies going into sleazy porn shops and sad, alcohol free strip clubs is a right of passage.

We'd been dating for a long time, or what passes for a long time when you're just out of your teens, and we were feeling experimental.

"Want to go get a new toy?" I asked, my eyebrows wiggling. He grinned back. "Oh yeah!"

But it wasn't to the dimly lit Rod's Basement I took him, it was our friendly neighborhood feminist sex shop.

He'd walked by dozens of times, and never realized what was inside. the friendly, blue and white picture of a comfortably fluffy bed didn't register. "I thought this was like a Linen's N' Things," he muttered as we walked under the "Early 2 Bed" sign.

The inside was clean, spacious. Along the wall ran a shelf covered in the merchandise- available to pick up and test out before you buy.

The walls were covered with slogans, with posters for local feminist pornos and staff recommendations for anal beads and nipple clamps. There wasn't a single picture of a naked woman, bending down and wearing outrageously long fake nails. There were hardly any pictures at all. After all, feminists sex shops are about sex- not about using exploitative images to turn on repressed men.

He circled a display of packies, he eyes popping out of their sockets. A cheerful woman in a short, spiky haircut and Rivers Cuomo glasses walked up. "Can I help you find something?"

I could almost hear the saliva evaporate from his mouth. I stepped in.

"Yes, we're looking for some new toys."

"Excellent!" she beamed. "What kind of stimulation are you looking for? Clitoral? G-spot? ...p-spot?" She gave him a conspiratorial grin, and he blanched.

"I think clitoral, to start." M gave me the kind of look that kills.

"What?" I asked, "Do you want us to get something aimed for a prostate?"

The friendly sex shop worker chuckled, and pointed to the corner nearest the door. "Over here, we have a wide variety of bullets and accessories."

"Perfect."

He stared at the vibrating eggs and gelatinous cock rings, and shook his head.

"I have no idea what any of this is."

Well, tonight's going to be fun, I thought. "I'll pick something out. Why don't you go sit in that chair? It looks comfortable."

Gratefully, he speed walked to an oversized armchair next to a coffee tabled loaded with books, and avoided eye contact with everyone.

The store clerk led me around the store, and we talked about the strap-on harnesses, about which ones were intended to attach to the thigh- obviously designed by women- and which weren't, but could be useful with a packie. She showed me their latest selection of glass dongs, the outrageously expensive hand crafted silicone vibrators that recharged batteries by sitting on their sleek, contemporary stands.

I picked out a vibrating silicone ring and a dildo shaped like a seal, and joined M.

"Ready?" I asked him. He didn't respond. He stared at the pages of the book in front of him. A beautifully illustrated how-to guide, filled with detailed pen and ink drawings, titled, "The Art of Fisting." One broad, clean page displayed two women, one with her hand inside the other up to the wrist. The other depicted two men, in a similar pose. All four characters looked happy, the women's bodies realistically rounded, one of the men without hair and wearing glasses.

I patted him on the shoulder and dragged him up to the register. He glanced over his shoulder at the titles still laying open on the table, "The Smart Girl's Guide to Porn," and "The Multi-Orgasmic Man." The woman behind the counter beamed.

"Ah, that's a wonderful book, isn't it? Really fantastic stuff, if you're willing to take the time to learn." He goggled at her.

As we left the store, he leaned and whispered in my ear.

"I've never been in a sex shop like that..."

"No kidding," I snarked at him.

"Did you see there was a porn selection?"

"Oh yeah, ever seen 'Bend Over Boyfriend?'" He gaped at me.

"Anyway, when you feel like picking up a flogger and some silk rope, let me know."

Less that two weeks later, he was dragging me into the store again, to enroll in the frequent buyer's program. It was all I could do to keep him from setting up a registry when we got married.

He never went into Igor's Dungeon again.