by



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.