Sex and the city

Sex shops like this one dot many London streets

Rekha Borgohain Dixit

It was my first walk down the streets of London. Not the dark mean streets of some run-down locality, but the upmarket ones of Central London. And there I saw, interspersed amidst swanky Oxford Street stores, equally plush shops proclaiming that they sell ‘sex toys and adult material’.

Yes, I'd heard that in the Western world, attitudes are much more liberal than in India, where such paraphernalia is generally sold in the seedy grey market with little quality control. Yet, I was a bit taken aback at the grandeur of these shops. And my curiosity was piqued.
  
My first stop is at a Harmony outlet on Oxford Street. The law in the UK allows licensed sex shops to function, but prohibits display of “adult material’’ – which is to say, pornography - in shop windows, or allowing it to be visible from the door. But Harmony stores overcome these advertising restrictions with glamorous mannequins on the shop front,  strutting about in fishnet stockings and wielding elaborate feather fans.

Inside, the store is tastefully done up. The less shocking stuff - condoms, lotions and potions, naughty party outfits and lingerie - are what first catch the eye. Then, I chance upon stuff that’s generally seen at a joke shop. A phallic-shaped bar of soap. A box of chocolates with motifs of breasts. Playing cards with sexy girls on them. A dice game called Kamasutra.

The theme changes from the naughty to the erotic as you go deeper into the shop. There are chocolate thongs and candy bikini. Bottles of liquid chocolate, toffee syrups and other rubs. A selection of exquisite feather sticks. At £3 each, that's quite an expensive  tickle.

Now comes the more hardcore stuff. Dildos in every size, shape and material. From small, nut sized ones with inbuilt vibrators to scary looking devices the size of an arm. To the uninitiated, it can be repulsive. But I glance at what one huge brown monstrosity is called - The Great American Challenge - and I can't help laughing.

A signboard indicates that the basement stocks `Hardcore' and I make my way gingerly into this den. There's music playing, and to my surprise, it's a remixed Hindi track. But underground, the mood is very different. Grips and vices, leather and metal, whips and stilettos. An assortment of metal and electronic gadgetry that looks more like instruments of torture than pleasure. Well, to each, his own.  There is some action on a video screen on the wall, which is showing a porn film And there are stacks upon stacks of DVDs of hardcore porn films on the shelves.

If you visit one of these stores at an early hour, you'll see quite an assortment of people, from gaggles of giggly girls to middle-aged couples. At an Anne Summers outlet, part of a chain specialising more in female sexual fantasy merchandise, there's a young couple looking for a quirky gift for a friend. They laugh over the blow up dolls, christened Sharone Sloane and Roger More, and are in splits over a balloon cow, who is supposed to be `Udderly Fun' . They finally choose a pair of vibrating knickers. 

A middle-aged gentleman, in a Savile Row suit, walks up to the businesslike attendant and asks for something. She leads him to the ‘fetish’ section, but he obviously cannot make up his mind.  I leave him making a call on the cell phone, apparently seeking more expert advice.

The store attendant at Simply Pleasure.com, a small shop off Tottenham Court Road, is your regular, fun loving youngster. It's late evening, he's just got one customer who is buying some videos. So he plays a trick. As I gaze at an assortment of merchandise, a little blue vibrator on the shelf starts a crazy jig. I jump back, startled, only to realise that this toy is remote controlled, and the attendant is having a spot of fun at my expense.

But he’s friendly and we start chatting.  ''I've got something for every budget,'' he tells me. From £5 vibrators to life-size dolls that you've got to shell out £300 for. And loads of literature for the bookworm”.

He's been in the retail business for a couple of years. ''I first came here in search of a job that pays for my roof. But I've learnt a lot in these seven months,'' he says, once I tell him I am a journalist.

''You'd be surprised to know that most people here think they know what they want, but they actually don't. It's part of our job to study customers and understand what they need,'' he says, studying me with mock seriousness. ''I get a range of clientele, from sex workers to celebrities to those seeking therapeutic cures. I have learnt not to be judgmental any more,'' he says philosophically. And as I leave, he gives me a complimentary book listing all the ''consort services'' in the city. ''For your research, dear journalist,'' he says, his eyes twinkling merrily.