Life in the Land of Dreamy Dreams

I recently had occasion to visit Mr. Binky’s, a full service (har har- get used to it. It’s impossible not to talk in double entendres, and I’ve long since stopped trying) adult store in the city, due to a request from a client.

I found myself in the position of needing to do some research in a hurry, and quick forays into the industry ’boutiques’ proved less than satisfying. Their prices seemed outrageous, their selection flaccid.

And it was Mr. Binky to the rescue.

It’s an unassuming place- a low cement building at the edge of an industrial park, it gets a steady trickle of business from local truckers, cabbies and solicitors passing through as well as porn pilgrims such as myself.

You walk into a straightforward series of 8ft tall racks lit by million-watt fluorescents- no subtle mood lighting here, no pink or lavender curtains on the walls like those girl-friendly places that hide the serious hardware behind screens at the back of the store. No, here it’s linoleum and metal shelving as far as the eye can see.

Oh, yes, the shelves. The first things you come across are three full racks- each floor to ceiling and 30 feet long- holding nothing but penises of varying specifics.

And here began the education- who knew there were so many specifics? Sure, I could have guessed at certain stylistic issues- vibrating vs. stationary, length, width, that sort of thing.

But then there are colors. Bends. Remote controls. “Therapeutic” heated infrared tips. Materials of differing firmness- including glass, which, try as I might, I cannot see the appeal of.

Then there are the models- not as in “model #suchandsuch,” but as in “made from a mold of Ron Jeremy!”

More women than men had their not-so-private bits cast, though, for male masturbatory pleasure. Their boxes explain that you, too, could experience the ecstasy of this one’s luscious lips, or that one’s….oh, never mind. You get the picture.

After wandering the aisles for a bit, I threw in the towel and went to ask the 20ish chick stocking the aisles.

“Here’s the thing,” I explained. “I don’t really know what it is I’m looking for- the client hasn’t been terribly specific. It has to look upscale. Risque but not outright pornographic- appropriate for a gift basket with a ‘romantic getaway’ theme.”

She thought for a few seconds before asking incredulously: “So no vibrators at all?”

“I was thinking maybe more along the lines of massage oils,” I said, hoping to steer her in another direction.

She showed me a tube of lube with a shiny (but tight!) nude rear end on it. “This is a good size for a gift basket,” she said.

Clearly, we had different ideas of “upscale.” Eventually we settled on a selection of several different products and I left there having spent $200 on questionable materials.

All for the client, of course.

To be continued.

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