15 miles to the...

Yesterday, hoping to witness a jello dunking booth, I made my first trip to the Love Shack in John's Creek. Sadly, there was no jello or dunking in sight, but we were promised that the owner, John Cornetta, was on his way and would be arriving shortly. So, I looked around for awhile and tried to find a couple funny gifts for friends. And thus I learned that apparently the Love Shack, or at least the one in John's Creek, doesn't sell a lot of the things we've come to know and love about sex shops: there were no blow up dolls, butt plugs or dildos in the place. They have a huge selection of lingerie and porn, and a pretty impressive assortment of vibrators and bondage gear. But we noticed that the sex toys were pretty exclusively limited to ones that arguably are either therapeutic (massagers) or not overtly sexual (restraints). Yes, I know, you have to really stretch your imagination to pretend that vibrators are used for sore muscles or that ball gags and whips are for non-sexual restraint purposes, but this is where the stupidity of our dumbass obscenity laws has forced places like the Love Shack to go.

So, unable to buy this particular friend either a blow up doll or butt plug, I had to settle for a studded cockring. Because the UPC code wouldn't scan, I had to endure about 15 minutes while the staff searched for another similar cockring so that they could enter the price. Thankfully, being in a sex shop meant that I didn't have any reason to be embarassed when one woman yelled from across the room "is it the studded cockring or the smooth leather?" I also barely chuckled when the salesgirl asked me if I'd need any condoms or lube to go with it.

I do find being in places like that to be about the least sexy experience you can possibly have. Something about having it all there in its plastic and overproduced glory makes sex seem like a complete farce to me. I guess often sex is ridiculous, but never is that more obvious than when you're looking at a penis pump.