An Awe-gasmic Outing

Yes! Ohhh Yes! Oh GOD Yes!

I went to Sexpo. I braved the perverts, the droolers, the creeps and the try hards. My friend was helping out at a stand that sold material covered handcuffs. She was in desperate need of distraction from the unrelenting exposure to the sex obsessed. Not sure why she called us. K and I spent the night somewhere between mild embarrassment and absolute hysterics.

Some of the 'highlights' must be shared with you. If only to purge them from my poor over stimulated brain.

First was the glass dildos. Not so bad on their own if you like that sort of thing. The feature that disturbed and revolted me was the fact that they are DISHWASHER SAFE. I never, ever, EVER want to eat off plates that have shared soap suds with someone's implements of self gratification. It also makes me a little nervous of moving into a house that has a dishwasher already installed. Who knows what unsavoury items have rested in that cutlery basket?

Second was the indoor water feature shaped like a penis. I thought water features were meant to add ambiance and class? I think cock fountains are really pushing those boundaries into the needlessly grotesque.

Thirdly was the nipple clamps. A disturbingly large variety. I must be a little naive but the idea of electrified alligator clips on my nipples doesn't exactly get me going.

In fourth place would have to be the stand dedicated to the Camel Toe. Go The Toe stocked t-shirts, stubby holders and a nauseating music video clip all 'celebrating' this unsightly condition.
People actually posed for this video and the posters. Pure morbid curiosity led us to spend 30 seconds of our life there, which we will never get back (or get over).

Last but far from least (well, except least tasteful) was the stall tendering kits for taking casts of body parts to allow consumers to immortalize their 'bits' as pen holders, keyrings and various household receptacles. Call me a prude but the 'Twat's the Time' clock surrounded by twelve casts of female genitalia really tickled my gag reflex. It was like a freeway pile up. You know you shouldn't look, that the nightmarish images will be forever seared on your retinas but you just can't help yourself. I don't want to see the house with the clock, the vagina biro holder and the anus/butt cheek fountain. Ever.

Gradually these images are fading from my mind, my nightmares and my damaged sub-conscious. Begrudgingly, I admit that some of the displays were fun and less deviant than I gave them credit for. The vibrating rubber ducks, the exotic footwear and the 'Bad Boys Stripshow' were our favourites.

I never want to be accosted by strangers wielding dildos again though. Or nearly have my eye skewered on unfettered nipples belonging to the drug-fucked looking 'models' lounging on leopard skin rugs. I could also happily pass my remaining days without seeing the 'mother and daughter' outings in progress. Excuse me if browsing vibrators with my mumsy is not my idea of quality family time. Next time I think that 'stone cold sober' is not the state I wish to be in when perusing such an exhibition.

Ahem, not that there will BE a next time. Really.