When Suze and I first got together it wasn’t long before I realised how open-minded she is. It took a while before she came out and told me that she is bisexual but while it was a surprise it wasn’t such a great leap for me to make. She’s always been pretty frank and open in all aspects of her life and looking back now I suppose I’d have been surprised if she hadn’t at least experimented with same-sex relationships.
What I’m actually writing about though is the fact that one day she said to me “When you’re out next can you get some porn mags”. I probably replied with “Pardon?” as I remember her saying something along the lines of “I fancy flicking through them with you.”
So the next day I obliged.
It has become increasingly difficult to get hold of pornography in the UK in your average newsagents. Many chains do not stock it as a matter of policy and some independent outlets don’t if they’re near schools or in areas where it might be frowned upon. Which is odd because hardcore porn is available more easily than ever from licensed sex shops.
Anyway I was without a car at the time. Bloody hell I’d forgotten how long ago it was, shit we were broke. But not too broke for porn magazines. I was working in the centre of town at the time so before catching my bus home I popped into the newsagents in the central bus depot and picked up three magazines.
The store was empty, everyone wanting to get home after work, most of the commuters had already left. I was therefore able to select the magazines without disapproving sideways looks from other patrons. The joke was paying for them because behind the counter was a sour faced old harridan who obviously thought I was a complete pervert.
OK so she’s not too far off the mark, but give me a break, every guy has owned a porn mag in their lives. Including (if she had one) her husband.
While I paid for them she sucked her teeth and tutted, glaring at me over the tops of her Dame Edna Everage glasses. I was quite amused and pissed off at the same time. For heavens sake she was working in a newsagents that sold jazz mags, what did she expect?
The comment that would really have upset her didn’t occur to me until I was almost out of the door.
“They’re not for me you know … they’re for my girlfriend”
The problem we have now is rather different. We tend to tour the local sex shops when we have time, looking for new toys to review, checking out toys that we’ve seen online at one of our review partners stores “in the flesh” so to speak before we have them sent out. One in particular has a very friendly staff who are instructed to approach you to see if you want any help or advice. We of course politely decline.
But as with many of the UK’s sex shops, despite its light, friendly atmosphere inside, it has to be located in the middle of nowhere, out of sight of those old dears with the silly glasses and the disapproving looks.
They don’t know what they are missing.