Because, let’s face it, going to a sex shop these days can be a lot like going to MOCA. Some of the of dildos and vibrating doo-dads at the Pleasure Chest are so artfully and carefully designed that it would be a crying shame to hide them in your sock drawer because they make the shelves in the store look like miniature sculpture gardens. There was a beautiful dildo made of turned hardwood that I would seriously hang on the wall beside my MA degree, and it would make the my degree look much fancier. Some toys look like little pieces of pop art, others, like they could double for some sort of Scandinavian-designed salt and pepper shaker.
Anyhow, in the spirit of the artistic awakening that I seem to have had at the Pleasure Chest, I present to you my impressions of my visit, in time-honored haiku form. And obviously you should take this as an invitation to leave your own saucy haiku in the comments.
i.
Purple, red, blue, green:
Is there gold at the end of
Rainbows of dildos?
ii.
This lube smells like cake,
That lube smells like sodapop:
Junk food for your junk.
iii.
I spy ‘cross the room
A big, footlong rubber fist –
Wait, that goes in where?
iv.
Cuffs, ok, whips, fine,
Nipple clamps are a maybe,
Pony bridle? NO.
(Pleasure Chest logo photo from smussyolay)
Inspired , simply inspired.
Feb. 13
it’s a good date when
you think, “I should have worn my
my dinosaur necklace”
Feb 14
Spent Valentine’s Day
devising positions for
my six foot three date.
Feb 15
what? a catholic
missionary? well that was
nice while it lasted.