Adventures In Suburban Sex Shopping

I did this post last summer as part of Fade To Numb's guest blogger exchange, so it was originally posted on someone else's blog. I thought those who've never read it might enjoy it. Happy Valentine's Day everyone.

I decided to venture into unknown territory about five years ago. Valentine's Day was drawing near, and I wanted to surprise my husband with something sexy, other than my normal Victoria's Secret gear. After perusing their website, I decided to go the distance (both physically and mentally), and step foot into a sex shop. My first mistake was going at 11 a.m. on a Tuesday, when no one else was in the store. Not that I was concerned with running into any acquaintances. I guess I just thought I'd be more comfortable shopping in private. I didn't take into account a gungho sales staff. Upon entering, I was blinded by the wall of dildos to my left, all in assorted sizes and colors, ranging from your average-looking-penis to ones of ghastly proportions. Ok, now I'm working up a sweat. But nothing scared me more than Mrs. Middle Aged Saleslady who pounced on me during my first ten seconds in the store. Her first question, "Are you looking for something special today?" to which I meekly replied, "Something for Valentine's Day" was followed by, "Are you going out of town?" HUH? I didn't know I had to take a trip to have sex with my husband. I almost felt like I was letting her down when I said, "No, we're just staying home for the holiday!" I had high hopes that my short answers and red face would give her the hint that I might like to shop in complete privacy, but that was not in the cards.

For the next 10 minutes, she followed me around the store like a lost submissive in a maze of sexual wonders. Every toy, lube, paddle, or vibe I picked up, she had to give me either a lengthy description of its use, or god help me, a demonstration on my hand! I didn't know how to respond - "oh yeah, that Doc Johnson massaging my palm is really satisfying?"

A sense of relief overwhelmed me when another customer entered the store. Saleslady ran over to her and questioned her on her intentions. This poor woman was looking for wedding candles. Um, sorry lady, but unless you want your wedding candles to be penis or booby shaped, you're in the wrong place! After a quick look around, that lady hightailed it out of there and I was once again alone with Saleslady from hell.

I decided this was no time to comparison shop price per ounce on Happy Penis Massage Cream, so I made my selection and attempted to make a speedy exit. I picked up one of their valentine specials - a red Chinese takeout box filled with lubes, candles, an egg vibrator and two fortune cookies (yes, we were afraid to eat them). I had wisely brought cash so that I could remain anonymous. However, Saleslady decided to then hound me about e-mails with special birthday and holiday coupons, etc., etc. I said no once or twice but then finally gave in and put down my actual name and e-mail address. I figured I'd never see Saleslady again, and it would just go to my spam folder anyway, so what the heck?

Valentine's Day came and went and hubby enjoyed the surprise box, though it was really more tame than I had hoped the experience to be. He enjoyed my embarrassment more than anything else and told me that's why he only shops for sex products on-line. I thought my short stint into the den of inequity was now a distant memory, but I was mistaken.......

About two weeks later, I was sitting in the parking lot of middle child's school, biding my time until it was time to go in and sign her out. A van pulls up next to me, and who should emerge from the passenger's side, but ambitious Saleslady?? I immediately ducked down, grabbed my cell phone, and called hubby to report that it seemed sex shop lady was the mom of one of my daughter's classmates!! How did I know this? I recognized the man Saleslady was with as one of the dads in my daughter's class. What dumb luck on my part. If that lady had ever read a class list, she would have immediately recognized my last name when I signed up for sex-o-grams from her little shop of horrors.

Needless to say, I spent the rest of the year avoiding any parental involvement in that classroom and praying that my child never befriended Saleslady's spawn. And I also pondered what happened the next year when it was "Take Your Daughter to Work Day."