Sometimes I really shock myself with my bizarre reactions to things. I have some sort of expectation (I always do), generally the worst one possible, so that when I get to the situation I already have a good idea of exactly what doesn’t need to happen.
I’m went boot shopping, since I need to replace an older pair. Oddly, even in this climate, I didn’t find anything even reminiscent of what I was looking for. I just want plain black knee high lace ups, simple, durable. But none of the stores carry anything like that around, just weird furry boots and high heeled leather boots that would be ruined by me in a matter of hours, and all look almost exactly the same running from $50 to $300. All the while I have in the back of my mind “what about that weird purple building . . . don’t they sell costumes?”.
I drag my mother there. It looks tiny, rinky-dink. I’m not sure if it’s a sex shop as well, but when I see the blacked out windows that gives me a bit of a hint. I’ve always wondered what was in there, and given its name, I have a couple of ideas . . . .
My mother is loosing her nerve. “We can’t go in there . . . what if someone follows us home?” Right when she says this, a man with about five facial piercings literally stumbles out of the building, wearing ragged clothes and a vacant expression. My mother is clearly nervous, but the sighting only piques my interest—I HAVE to see what’s in there.
She’s walking extra slow, as though this will somehow prevent her from the shame of entering a place that seems far too risque for her. She’s a bit of a prude, or rather, she pretends to be. When it comes to being public about anything sexual, she’s embarrassed. I think it’s funny, and I’m rather shocked by the fact that all I am feeling is excitement at doing something that is “shocking” to her. The woman needs a little adventure, and so do I for that matter. I’m thinking that I’m going to blush and get embarrassed too, but I end up pleasantly surprised. We’re sheltered and from the country, so to speak. It seems strange to other people, but just think repressed.
We get in through the tiny little door. Lingerie EVERYWHERE. I’m assaulted by the obnoxious leopard print carpet, but I’m also instantly a little giddy. Not just bras and thongs . . . nope, these people seem to have made the store just for me. Corsets, everywhere. More than I’ve ever seen in one place. The whole bottom floor is chock full of ’em, and I’m going through the racks, grinning. Yes, I know, I am a walking contradiction. I despise femininity, I shoot guns and ride ATVs, but for some reason I have a bizarre obsession with something binding and high maintenance by my own standards. I could get into some fucked up Freudian psychoanalyzing mode, but I’m not going to . . . because I hate Freud.
My mom is getting interested. “They have a lot of stuff here,” she says, starting to look, loosing that nervousness in a matter of seconds. Suddenly, it’s not a whore store to her and she wants to see what they’ve got. I’m laughing to myself, thinking “wonder what’s over in that corner in the back . . .”. I go through everything, finding that, hey, I could buy a corset there cheaper than what I’ve gotten my other ones for, and I get my pick of which one I want.
There’s a man and a woman, arguing over which outfit to buy her for their sexual escapade. She’s holding out something red, and I’m not really paying attention, though I’m listening, as he says which one he likes and she debates him. Then the store clerk is laughing and helping them decide. When they leave the section, I wander over.
I find a leather corset, something that I’ve always wanted, but never found. I have the urge to chuck all my birthday money for some instant gratification—but I don’t, thankfully. I find boots too, though my mom is having that ‘eww’ reaction because they’re patent and to her, something a . . . uh . . . streetwalker would wear. If I was alone I probably would have tried some of it on and even bought something, but as it was, they all had heels and looked too feminine for my taste, though they were much closer to what I was searching for than anything I saw everywhere else. I wonder if that says something about me as a person . . . . But anyway.
I have to go to the back, I can’t resist. My mother isn’t brave enough to go with me, but I don’t much care—gives me a better opportunity to look at things. This is the part where I think I’m going to get embarrassed, but surprisingly, I’m not even feeling a hint of shyness, even as I look at dildos the size of my arm, and some weird porn DVDs stashed off to the side. I don’t know why I assumed that I would have my mother’s reaction. I guess since I have a tendency to get shy about strange things, I naturally assumed that anything sex related would cause a similar reaction. I’ve never been in a porn shop, but I’ve seen my share of weird contraptions online, and none of the things in that store held a torch to any of it, therefore I looked over things with a bit of boredom, surprisingly.
I find boots in the minuscule BDSM section, but unfortunately they have some sort of harness attached to them so that the wearer can be suspended upside down. Damn. Of course the ones I like, I can’t buy . . . . I’m not even going to get into that. I stare at a few of the movies, all of which have covers you can see (every place I’ve been in that sells porn has them covered over, which makes it no fun). I get bored fairly quickly though, and go back into the other part of the store, where I stare longingly at the leather corset I can’t afford. I pet it a few times, like a little kid, running things over in my head, weighing my options. Sure, I have $175 dollars, I just don’t want to give it up in one fell swoop . . . . My mom’s looking through all the lingerie, muttering something about coming back later.
I decide it’s time to go upstairs since there’s some masks that look to be calling me that I can see from the bottom of the staircase. I didn’t know they made masks for The Devil’s Rejects. There’s a bunch of men milling around upstairs, which makes me wonder if I’ve entered the section I’m really searching for (though I’m not quite sure what that is . . . something obscene, maybe? I’ve realized that my idea of obscene isn’t as prudish as I originally suspected, in fact, I might actually be normal. Who would have thought.).
Nope. Just a bunch of pot paraphernalia, nothing I’m interested in. I’ve never seen so many bongs in one place before, or actually seen them out in the open or not made of cast off plastic soda bottles. There’s some weird glass stuff in a case, that I don’t feel like checking out. They’re not glass sex toys, so I’m not interested (I like to ogle the weird ones). There’s costumes in a dark corner, but just the typical boring stuff. Think: purple ape. Sexy French Maid. How quaint. I frown, go back downstairs, stopping halfway to admire the picture that seems to look at you as you walk by.
I want to try on some of the corsets, but I refrain, trying to remind myself how lazy I am. I’m already wearing a corset, and I’d have to take it off and change in a environment I don’t trust . . . . That’s how I talk myself out of owning a fourth corset, and eventually, after another five minutes, finally leave the store. Ah, self control, sometimes it really does come in handy. I never did find my boots. I guess I have to order online again. Damn.