Julia’s already done an awesom job of giving you a run-down of the ins and outs of the Pleasure Chest.  But I would also like to get in on the party that is this Valentine’s series, and since the Pleasure Chest is in my ‘hood, I would like to provide a, shall we say, artistic interpretation of the experience of visiting this titillating establishment.

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.