Last week Nana and I went to the sex shop when she visited Atlanta. She has revealed on this blog that she has an “aversion” (if you can call it that) to going to Ghanaian sex shops and might feel more comfortable visiting one in the states. I on the other hand, have never been to a sex shop, anywhere. Somehow I always imagined seedy old men and semen on the walls in these establishments, and the thought has repulsed me enough to keep me out of any shop’s doors.
Until last week.
I dutifully took Nana to The Love Shack, which looked just like a shack. It was a wooden cabin decked out with neon lights, and I was grateful for the cover of night to cloak me from anyone seeing me go in. When we entered, a heavily tattooed lady interrupted her phone call to greet us and instructed us to let her know if we needed any help. We smiled and said thanks.
For my part, the atmosphere of the Love Shack conveyed more to do with fucking than it did with love. A visit to the store did not inspire me to purchase a toy and run home to show my man with relish and gusto. Apparently, several other people felt the same. A middle aged white couple came in, walked around for a few minutes and hastily exited the door.
“Nothing for you tonight?” said tattoo lady to the couple. “Come back and see us!” You could hear the disappointment through her false upbeat-ness.
As you come into the store, the “toys” and apparatus just got freakier and freakier. There was a big black plastic thing called the Double Teamer (you figure it out) and then this HUGE monster gel filled purple dick called the Ultimate Challenge. No lie, it had to be 18” long and at least 4” wide. The thought of stuffing something like that into my or anyone else’s vagina did not invoke thoughts of pleasure.
The video section of the Shack was possibly the most amusing, and made me feel like a total prude. As we strolled over to check out the titles, we nearly collided with a massive black man, who could have easily been a line backer for the Atlanta Falcons…in the GAY PORN SECTION. He carefully studied covers with titles such as “Gag that Fag”, made his selection, and walked over to the counter to pay. Nana and I walked over to the Lesbian and Straight porn section to look for what she called “woman friendly porn”. After she described what it was, I knew we wouldn’t find it among the DVDs portraying women with legs akimbo and four to fifteen penises wagging in her face.
I had seen enough, and I could sense Nana was ready to go. But the Shack was not done with us yet! As we were about to leave, I noticed a staircase to the left and pointed it out.
“What’s that,” Nana asked.
“It’s probably just more videos,” I replied.
“No, no,” said the mass of tattoos eagerly. “It’s a viewing booth.”
“A viewing booth??” we said in unison.
At that moment, a twenty something white boy in cargo shorts came down the stairs looking somewhat shaken and headed back for the video section. I am sad to report that our revulsion overpowered our journalistic curiosity and we did NOT go upstairs to see what/who was in that booth. We left the store empty handed and heads full of possible atrocities taking place in the attic of the shack.
Two days later I took Nana to visit my friend who is a purveyor of all things to do with pleasure. We bought a few things from her Pure Romance line, from the comfort of her home: some mechanized thing that seeks out your g-spot and coochy cream. I was far more comfortable in this setting, despite the Disney cartoon that was playing in the background. Somehow, that just seemed a little weird, seeing as we were three grown women talking about sexual intimacy and there was not a child in sight…