My guilty pleasure has become somewhat of a compulsion. But damn, it brings me so much joy. What is this pleasure, you ask. No, it doesn’t take double A batteries, but it does involve sex. Actually it involves the sex book section of Border’s, my favorite store in the world (well, next to Pier One I suppose). I digress.
I absolutely love the sex book section of Border’s. I discovered my fascination with it by accident, but it’s almost a compulsion now, but not for the reasons you’re thinking. See, there’s always a man in that section. And, I discovered that men get very, very uncomfortable when a woman walks into, I don’t know, the den of their secret sin? Well, now I can’t resist doing it for kicks. I walk into the sex book section, find the inevitable guy, stand uncomfortably close to him, start looking intently for absolutely nothing (ok, maybe not exactly nothing) and wait for the inevitable squirming to start. Right when he’s sufficiently annoyed and hoping like hell that he’s invisible, I remind him that he’s not by asking him a question. Today it was, “Are these alpha by author?” As usual, this one got flustered, slammed his book shut, threw it back on the shelf and walked off. It was the best!!
Americans are too uptight about sex. What’s the big deal? So, you enjoy reading about sex. I’d be more embarrassed to get caught in the needlepoint section.
It was so much fun. If you’re not shy and blushy about sex, you should try it sometimes. The laughs will turn a grey sky blue, any day!
Upon re-reading I realized that you might think I was suggesting trying sex if you aren’t shy and blushy about it. I wasn’t. Try my pleasure.