Sex Store

                When I moved to Vancouver, I noticed immediately that there was a sex store a few blocks away from my house. Naturally, I was dying to go in there. It’s called Roxy’s and has many advertisements outside with messages such as, “We sell 50 Shades of Grey merchandise,” and, “Your sexual health is our passion,” accompanied with images of oiled up babes with super toned muscles. For weeks, I excitedly imagined the kinds of amazing items I would find inside that would magically bring a whole new level of sensations to my sex life. I giggled on the phone with my friends, telling them surely I would find a time to go shop there soon. I nagged at Jude to give me ideas of what kinds of taboo toys he would find most appealing. I had several opportunities to go in, but always found a reason not to. (To be fair, I never feel very sexy as I am lugging home a week’s worth of groceries twenty blocks in a backpack, muttering curses to the Fancy People driving their beautiful cars.)

                After weeks of talking a lot of talk, I decided it was time to start walking before I lost all credibility. I chose the perfect time to go: when my sister was visiting. It was Susannah’s first time in Vancouver so I used my superior knowledge of directions (and the help of alcohol) to trick her into walking right by Roxy’s before I announced we were going in. I dragged her (unwillingly) towards Roxy’s full of confidence and sporting a strong buzz. As we grew closer to the door, my big head was getting bigger by the second. All my traditionally short-sighted inner voice could think was, “I’m doing this! I am so proud of me! I am so cool! I am going to buy some naughty stuff, and those sex-store workers are going to be so impressed by my confidence and sexual awareness!” I practically skipped the last few feet to the door, imagining isles of dimly lighted toys and gear that would blow my mind.

                As soon as we opened the door, the sharp sting of reality popped my self-involved confidence bubble and it deflated in seconds flat. The store was not at all what I had imagined. It was a completely opened space; everything was hung on the walls (not in isles) so the only employee and any other customers could see every single thing I might be looking at. The blue-toned lighting made me feel immediately nauseous and dizzy. My fantasy of being the confident, naughty sex kitten shriveled up and died at the sight of the small, open room. I could practically see Sexy Sarah collapse in the center of the room, reaching out for help, pathetically whimpering as she wilted away into dust and disappeared with the passing breeze…and all that bitch left behind for me to work with was Shy Sarah. The customer at the register and the cashier immediately looked over at Susannah and me when the door opened. I felt like all the spot lights in the world were following my every move as I darted over to the closest wall of dildos muttering a feeble hello to the sex-people. I wished dearly I could just bang my head against the wall, but all the walls were covered in sex paraphernalia (NOOOO!). I wanted to turn every corner of my body in on itself until I was just a little fuzzy lump on the floor, wheezing in horror. At least then the sex-people might take pity on me instead of noticing how much of a wuss I was suddenly becoming.

                The customer left almost immediately and Susannah and I were left alone with the cashier in the very quiet shop. A sea of panic roared in my ears; I was sure I couldn’t be the only one hearing it. I prayed my heavy breathing wouldn’t be mistaken for sexual pleasure as I quickly (too quickly) darted past countless dildos, vibrators, and pretty much nothing else until I reached the farthest wall. I lingered there, knowing I had to buy something to save what little bit of pride I had left. I stood staring at a few decks of sex-card-games, a handful of butt plugs, and vibrators that connected to your mp3 player via Bluetooth as Susannah DISCRETELY (as if) laughed at me.

                “Okay,” I thought, “just find the cheapest thing near you and get the hell out of here.” My eyes darted around the wall in front of me looking for something in the ten dollar range, but the only things I saw were in the thirty dollars or above range (and there was no way I was forking over that kind of money for something I was buying out of humiliation). Finally I saw a tag for $15, immediately reached out, and started tugging on the package. To my horror, it did not budge as I registered that every single item in the store was locked onto the walls and I would have to get the sex-cashier to actually come pull anything I wanted to purchase off the wall. It was too late to leave without buying something; I was balls deep in shame and obviously trying to pick something up. I hung my head, took a deep breath, and glanced over my shoulder at the sex-cashier. “SHIT! He is staring RIGHT AT ME!” I thought whipping my head around to look in sheer horror at my sister who was barely suppressing laughter.

                “Could you please help me with this, sir?” I managed to warble out. It wasn’t until he was walking toward us, keys in hand, that I realized the item I was pointing at was a butt plug. “WHY COULDN’T YOU JUST BUY A VIBRATOR LIKE A NORMAL PERSON?” Shy Sarah shrieked in my mind, eyes rolling in her imaginary head. “BECAUSE THEY’RE LIKE A MILLION DOLLARS YOU FREAK!” Normal Sarah retaliated.

The War of the Sarah’s came to an abrupt halt as the sex-cashier said, “It’s kind of small, don’t you think?”

Not knowing how to even begin to respond to that kind of judgment on my butt, I stammered out, “Thank you.” On the inside, I wondered if this could possibly get any worse as my body betrayed me, flushing my every pigment in a shade of crimson defeat. I numbly followed him to the register and stood quietly as he rang up my tiny butt plug. I finally was getting a good look at him (because he wasn’t staring at me for once), and I suddenly realized he looked exactly like Mike Meyers except Asian, and I somehow felt even more uncomfortable. It was like Austin Powers was selling me a butt plug and laughing at me for choosing the smallest size. (Bitch, it’s the cheapest one!)

Desperate to make some kind of a small recovery, I glanced frantically around the room for something to start a conversation with. Apparently, the owners of Roxy’s spent a lot more money on stocking their shelves and outdoor advertising than on making the rest of the store look nice, because there was pretty much nothing else going on in there except for a photo of a man that said, “WANTED: MAGAZINE THIEF.” As I swiped my debit card and tapped in my pin number, I said (super smoothly), “I hope you catch your magazine thief.”

“What?” Asian Austin Powers said.  As I started drawing myself a soaker-tub full of shame and regret to wallow in in my mind, he said, “Oh, right. Yeah, that guy has been to every single one of our stores except for this one.”

“Great,” I thought, “there are more of these stores in the city I’ll have to avoid.”

“I guess it’s only a matter of time before he shows up here, then,” Susannah said.

I gave her a wide eyed look that I hoped said, “Bitch, don’t you dare try to keep this conversation going! I will leave you in here!”

“Yeah, I hope I catch him,” Asian Austin Powers said.

“Well, good luck! Bye!” I yelled over my shoulder, dragging Susannah and my tiny butt plug out behind me.

A few days later, I passed Asian Austin Powers in the street and he gave me a curious look as I darted down a side street to avoid him. We might have to move away if this becomes a regular occurrence or I will probably melt the sidewalk with the sheer heat of my blushing face. I guess the lesson I have learned is that I should start shopping for naughty nifty’s on the internet since I clearly don’t have the disposition to do it in person.