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I’ll admit it, I've always been a little curious about what goes on in those "sex shops" as my mother so blatantly refers to them.
Okay, technically that’s not true, I haven’t always been curious, that would imply that my youth was saucy and scandalous, and goodness knows it was the furthest thing from that. Unless playing (no, not like that!) with dolls until you’re twelve counts?
Thing is, I've pretty much always been more than marginally embarrassed by all things even remotely sex related. I blame this on my being taller than an estimated 87 percent of the population.
You see, tall people are genetically inclined to be more easily embarrassed than the average-heighted individual.
Let me give you a 'for instance'. Let’s say, for instance, you find yourself in a large gathering of people. As an abnormally tall person you will find at least three of those people, all of whom are complete strangers, point this fact out to you.
As if you've been blissfully going through life without getting your hair caught in tree branches and concussing yourself after walking into too-low light fixtures (unfortunately, I can’t say I've had that pleasure).
At just over 6 feet tall, you become hyper-aware of yourself and, as the above instance so unfortunately suggests, so does the general public. Everything you do becomes an event.
Walking through a door becomes a betting game as to whether or not you’ll actually make it through, falling over is declared a state of emergency because let’s face it – you’re basically a twin tower and sex talk gets pretty awkward when the probability of your conversational counterparts being boob-height and/or (not rarely enough) crotch-height is so devastatingly high.
Adult World, with its questionable font and red neon signage, is the epitome of all things remotely sex related. It is the chamber of secrets. The place that no man or woman has (admittedly) gone before.
Having decided that I’d reached a time in my life where it was necessary for me to face my sex shop fears in the crotch-height I, like any self-respecting adult, asked my parents to accompany me on my endeavour.
After being flat-out rejected and on the receiving end of some very concerned looks, I realised just how much of a taboo the whole ordeal in fact is.
If my own ‘poster children for liberal parenting’ parents were so outright offended by the prospect of peeking into a porn-stocking store, what would the rest of the world say on the matter?
The answer is no.
At least that’s what the rest of my world said. If ever you were looking for a way to test your relationship with people, definitely ask them to go with you to a sex shop. This is an especially helpful friendship test if you’re going for no other reason to satisfy your own curiosity – cue more concerned stares and undoubtedly an unfriend or two (not by my doing).
I must say, I have never put more planning into a shopping trip (?) than I have into this, and I had no intention of even buying anything.
Three days of careful planning later I found myself in central Cape Town at precisely 11am, blushing profusely with my male accomplice in tow (carefully calculated protection from potential sex predators) ready to cross the flickering threshold.
Painted the shade of purple that can only be expected from a store of its nature, it was decidedly warm and stuffy – although this may have been on account of the early onset hot flush I had in response to the situation.
I can’t quite be sure. Either way it became necessary for me to fan myself.
We handed in our bags at the counter, because apparently porn theft is right up there with credit card fraud, and made our way through the surprisingly tiny shop.
To be honest it wasn't anything different to what I had been expecting. After I recovered and came to terms with how uncomfortable I am with seeing 10 000 dildos, I saw Adult World for what it truly is: just a store that sells sex stuff.
Not a chamber of secrets, not a hub for sexual predators and scary old men, not run by tattooed, leather-donning shop assistants, but just a store painted a pervy shade of purple that just so happens to sell pornographic DVDs and life-sized penetrable dolls at obscure prices.
I'm not going to lie, amidst my hot flushing, blushing and embarrassment, I was somewhat disappointed. But isn't that the entire essence of Adult World?
We grow up wanting nothing more than the freedom of adult life, but once we look past the proverbial dildo, we see it for what it truly is: just being a grown up (who still blushes the moment anyone mentions sex).
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