March 10, 2008
OK ladies: hands
up all of you who’ve ever bought a vibrator.
How in the world did you go about it? How do you organize such a shopping
expedition? Is this like spending an
afternoon at the mall with your girlfriends?
“Hey Marie, does my ass look fat in this?” or “Ooh -- I like that colour on you -- it really brings out your
eyes.”
And do the consumer demographics differ depending on the
marital status of the purchaser? That
is, do single women simply say “Fuck it” and march eagerly up to the checkout
with the foot-long Black Mambo while the married girls heave a resigned sigh
before dragging themselves up to the cashier with the non-threatening 4” Little
Buddy?
I was about to find out.
Toronto is home to North America’s largest sex shop, a
den of iniquity on Yonge Street called Seduction. ‘Twas an eye-opening experience, believe me girls.
It seems there was much they neglected to mention at the
convent.
As far as I can tell, you have a choice between being
defiled by something normally employed to clear sewers or being molested by one
of the Transformers. The selection was mind-boggling -- it was like being at a
urologist’s convention on the Island of Dr. Moreau. There were ones that lit up, gyrated, broke into song and turned
green. Hmm -- I don’t know about you,
but I seem to recall dire warnings from the nun teaching Grade 9 Health class
to the effect that if I ever came across a green one, I was to avoid it at all
costs.
And then, the most horrifying thing in the world
happened.
“Can I help you?” asked one of the shop assistants.
Slowly I turned toward his voice as I struggled to
formulate an answer.
“Can I help you?”, he asked again.
Why yes, as a matter of fact: yes you can. You can either (1) go away immediately; or
(2) join me in petitioning God for an emergency lightning bolt to strike me
dead on the spot.
What possible answer is there to that question?
“Yes: I’m here to buy a penis. You see, I’ve always wanted one of my own and this seemed less
antisocial than simply hacking yours off.”
I stood there in mute agony for a full 30 seconds until
he said “Would you rather have a woman?”
Holy Mother of God! They
sell those TOO? I felt my knees
tighten protectively -- they sure as hell weren’t getting mine, not without a
fight. I wasn’t done with it yet.
He walked down the aisle and returned with a box
containing something that looked suspiciously like the Easter Bunny. Christ!
It was! It even said so, right there on the box -- “The Rabbit”.
“This is one of our most popular models.”
It had a FACE, for God’s sake. Big long ears. Whiskers.
I didn’t see any teeth, but you never know and quite frankly, who could
blame the poor thing for biting? It
seems an entirely reasonable reaction to being repeatedly stuffed up somebody’s
crotch. Just wait till PETA hears about this.
And though I’m all for animal rights, I’m not sure I’m comfortable
allowing a rodent a bird’s eye view of my nether regions.
“It has three speeds, a rotating head and easily
disassembles for cleaning.”
Well so does my blender, but that doesn’t mean I want to
have carnal knowledge of it.
“Or, if you wanted something more lifelike, you might
want to try something like this”, he continued, as he thrust something veiny
and gelatinous at me. I recoiled in
horror as it wobbled closer.
“Well, what will you be using it for?” he asked.
WTF?! Is there
another use for these devices that I don’t know about? Can I find one that’ll also do my
taxes? Teach me Spanish while I sleep?
“Well, will you be sharing it?” he continued, now clearly
exasperated.
WHAT?! Sharing it?! People loan these things out?
“Hi Lynn: I’ve got a big date on
Saturday. Can I borrow that cute blue
top and your vibrator?”
“Because if you’re sharing it, we’ve got two headed
ones”, he said, at which point, he produced what looked to me like a giant pink
draft stopper that we used to put under the back door to keep the chill out in
winter, except that, wait a minute, uh ----- Jesus, Mary and Joseph!
“Yes”, he smiled at me, as the awful truth washed over
me. “One partner takes one end and the
other…”
“I get it, I get it…” I said, in revulsion.
He put it back on the shelf, and eyed the cross at my
throat. By this time, I think both of
us had realized that at least for the moment, this was A Road Too Far. He sighed, and gave me an appraising look.
“Catholic, right?”
I nodded in admission. “Then you
might find something more to your taste downstairs.”
“OK”, I responded warily. “What’s down there?”
“All the leather.”
Till next time.
M.
