A tiny stairway skulks between a café and an op shop, almost hidden. Grey, grizzled businessmen and housewives hurry past, cigarette butts and long scratched lotto tickets swirl about their feet, a maelstrom of habit and disappointment.
The sign shouts “ADULT” in technicolor porno font. It’s lurid and childish. I like it. This sign bares its slutty bum to the Helveticas, Times New Romans, blacks and whites surrounding it. Mind, gut and soul I want to believe this sign.
It’s cold. My tropic softened skin shivers but I stand and watch a while, realising suddenly that I am a sex shop virgin. I’m nervous about taking those final steps and becoming a “sex shop guy”. The dingy, stained narrow stairs are invisible to the porn muggles waddling past, but I’m starting to become noticeable, so I take one last nervous glance and I’m inside, mounting the steps. Just like that my cherry is popped and I too am a sex shop guy. I’m an ADULT in lurid technicolor porno font. Yeahhh.
Poster after poster lines the walls of the stairwell. Breasts. Cocks. Hands squeezing. Tongues. languages I can’t read. I pass them by like coats in the wardrobe on the way to porn Narnia. “Wow” I ponder to myself. “They still actually bother to print porn on paper?”. I’m lost, equal parts turned on and intellectually curious, when a dusty plastic frog senses my arrival and croaks unconvincingly. I jump. Be cool sex shop guy, be cool.
My plan is to be invisible. I’m usually pretty good at invisible. But it is not to be. “Helloooooo” a small, moustachioed man yells brightly across from behind his counter, actually waving. He is surrounded by penile contraptions, cuffs and floggers. “Helloooo” I respond, not quite as exuberantly. Not waving. “How are we today???” He continues, unperterbed by my obvious nervousness.
We chat a while and then I get to browsing. Penis pumps, ball clamps, inflatable ladies, feathered nipple tassles, big butt plugs, little butt plugs, everywhere a butt plug. Finally I find an item of interest. A small radio controlled cock ring. I glance sidelong at the cheerful sex hobbit behind the counter, nervous about showing my interest in any single product. He seems lost in a daydream. I take the plunge and pick it up off the shelf. Phew.. that wasn’t so bad was it? I start reading, finally feeling a little bit invisible.
“Excusssseee me” sex hobbit whispers, loudly and theatrically, somehow appearing right beside me. He hisses the sssss. “That cock ring is an exccccelent choice sir”, he continues earnestly. “It has ten ssssspeeds and you can put it just round your cock OR your cock and balls!”. Wow my cock AND my balls you say! He nods vigorously pointing at my “area” as if to illustrate his point. I just start laughing. I’m starting to have fun. I realise it’s fun to talk about my cock and balls in a shop. Its adult, in porno technicolor.
I hear my Miss’s voice in my head: “you’re such a slut”… I grin.
My sex shop virginity now just a distant dot in my personal history, I start really getting into the swing. We talk about lube. This is obviously an area that sex hobbit truly specialises in, and in the space of a few minutes I’ve learnt volumes and volumes of lube lore. When the topic inevitably sliddddes to anal lube, he refers to my buttocks as “the pink twins”. I choke, blush and laugh more.
He knows I am a sub now I realise. Whether it’s in my face or just in the products that obviously caught my attention since I walked into the dingy little room, he totally has my number. He starts telling me about subby products he “personally endorses”.
It’s perfect timing because my iphone buzzes and it’s an IM from my Miss. The command is simple. “Get the best paddle they have.” Fifteen minutes ago this might have floored me, but I’m sex shop guy now! I can do this. Sex hobbit grins as I tell him “I’ve been instructed to find a paddle”. He grins, “oohs” and points me in the right direction.
Studded, not studded, metal handled, split, heavy, light… wow there are lots of paddles. For some reason my peripheral vision goes wonky in sex shops. I am right in the middle of exploratively slapping a studded paddle into my hand when a deep voice growls right next to me “I like your coat”.. I jump, turn and am looking at a man’s navel line… I crane my neck upward painfully to see first a massive chest, and then a behemoth of a guy’s head with a handlebar moustache grinning down at me. “ummm hi” I say, suddenly wishing my friend the sex hobbit was here to help me. “I have one just like it” he continues “but I had to get it in extra extra large”. I nod nervously. That last point was stating the very, very obvious.
Fighting the urge to hide the paddle behind my back we strike up a conversation. I still don’t know if he liked the idea of paddling me or me paddling him. To be honest, the prospect of both are equally terrifying. Maybe he just liked my coat.
My purchases decided on and my very first sex shop mission nearly accomplished, I make my way to the counter, back to my friend the hobbit, whose actual name is Martin. He marvels at my choice in paddles. “Another very good choice ssssir!” he croons “If you look after this paddle, it will look after you” he continues.
I look at him sceptically “umm really?”
He grins a crooked little grin my way and says “well… no”, and we both burst into laughter.
I’m no longer a sex shop virgin!
A satisfied subby, I make my way down to the grey boring street, purchases safely anonymous in a brown paper bag. My bag of tricks. Porn muggles shambling past, I take one last glance up at the narrow stairs and lurid ADULT sign. It lived up to it’s vibrant, tacky, funny, sordid, touching, sexy promise.
I make my way home, actually missing the dingy carpet, lurid porn technicolor posters and Martin the subby sex hobbit.
Hmmm what’s next? Oh that’s right… I’m going for the infamous back, sack and crack wax this week.
There's always another cherry to pop …. Sighs ;-)
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