One of my favorite things to do is run into people I know in the middle of their sex toy shopping experience. It fills me with joy. The shame. The confusion. The embarrassment. I love the, “Great to see you, Sandra! Umm, wow, you work here? heh, yeah, no no, just looking.”
Adults in an adult store environment are like circling eagles. They don’t go straight for what they are interested in. They circle and circle. And if I approach at the wrong moment, they circle for fifteen minutes more than they would have because I was a gust of wind blowing them off course.
But approach at the right moment and I can cut that search down from half an hour of internal vibrator monologuing to a thee minute Q&A session arriving at exactly what that person needs. There’s that sigh of relief about three seconds after we nod in agreement, chest visually dropping two inches and shoulders relaxing back down from around their ears. Breathe.
But every few weeks, there’s that person I went to elementary school with perusing the strap-on section. I wait until he circles back to more neutral ground and I approach like a zen monk. Stuttering ensues. Averted eyes. Denial. They just want to run away because they didn’t know I’d be there. I play witness to the crime. Little do they know it’s perfectly legal.
I give space. I let them explore, eying me dust something as they head toward kinkier territory. I’ve seen it all before. I gauge when their personal space has shrunk back down to normal distance and I approach one more time. Conversation. Jokes. I poke at the absolute normalness of what they are obviously or not obviously interested in. Their world changes and slowly they become… wait, could that be? They become comfortable.
I love those awkward moments. There is nothing to be ashamed of. Really.