Warning: the following contains material of an adult nature:
Sitting on the filthy bench of the subway, I noticed an ad showing an African-American teen with a short brown haired man jumping for joy on a huge air bed of inflated breasts. It looked like some fun, so this ad led to me finding myself on a sweaty-cold afternoon walking a crowded pavement surrounded by skyscrapers as the GPS on my iPhone directed me to an odd, little washed up green marbled corner shop.
Struggling to open the “X” door from the cold breeze made these frozen fingers twitch. Inside, there was a descending stairway. With every step down,the lighting started to fade until it was as dark as a stag-beetle's back. It led to a room filled with candles made up of exotic shapes and brown leather sofas with black flower-outlined coffee tables. Another stairway lead the way to the start of the museum. It was a pitch black room, dim light bulbs hung above. Screens showed images and short clips of “money shots”, bodily fluids, close-up encounters and historical masturbation. There were exploration of historic pornography and what sex positions were originally called and how they have evolved to the present.
The freakiest thing used as sex toys back in the day were candlesticks, broomsticks, bottles, and flashlights. Basically any household items were re-purposed for women to penetrate themselves.
There was also the famous "New York's last glory-hole” being exhibited, designed for public anonymous sex . The colored Sharpie markers with the cut-out penis girths and testicles display seemed very 20th century because of the grafitti on the walls, like people signing their names or writing down any thoughts on the bathroom: very "throwback." I remember back in middle school, our bathroom stalls were filled with people tagging themselves, “Jessica was here 03/23/05” or “Marina + Juan 4ever.”
The next floor had statues and frames of animal’s behavior and the many different ways animals mate. There was a statue of a monkey with a peculiar penis and a couple of monkeys in the “missionary” sex position. As the statues became much more exotic, a feeling of awkwardness arose. A young couple nearby looked like a perfect match. Both looked like they were in their mid-20s, walked side by side, brushing off one another's shoulders. The model height, long-curly haired blonde gazed steadily with slightly raised eyebrows, lips lightly pressed together. The handsome dude had the sharpest jaw line and glowing green eyes, with long perfectly filled eyelashes to match it. His eyes always looked the other way when he passed the bizarre erotic figures. His nostrils flared, nose twisted in a sneer, his perfect chin-jutting. There was also a young, old-looking man (or an old, young-looking man). Not one single wrinkle on his face, but he had these strong facial features that made him look older, and his white and grey hair made him pass as a pretty studly looking dad. His facial muscles seemed relaxed and he steadily gazed at each evocative image, his mouth turned up slightly at the side with a gentle smile.
The beauty of the art was like baby Picasso scribbling over a puddle of water. The reflected lights bounced off the sculptures making them shine like an oiled up body builder. The monkey possessed several skeleton-bare tree logs in each of its hand. His shaft presented a human-like private figure, but more in the shape of a Slim Jim.
After all the disturbing art, there was a bouncy house which was available for only a minute and they would actually time us for that minute used. There was a chance of bouncing around again by going to the back of the large crowd. It was like lining up for the front row seats at Six Flags. It was not worth it to go on that line just to experience the "Castle of Breasts."
Finally, after leaving such an embarrassed eye-gazing competition with fellow strangers, the gift shop awaits, full of kinky objects and marijuana paraphernalia. They had popsicle dildos that vibrate and swirl around, spanking whips, cuffs, and glow in the dark condoms. They also had giant 3D textbooks full of naked women with big butts. As each of the pages of the marijuana cookbooks were being flipped, it made my my stomach emit a beastly growl. The "illegal" foods looked better than "legal" foods. The pepperoni and basil-crusted pizza with the extra hash oil seemed so much more exciting than just some plain ol’ pizza to me.
Overall, time spent in that gift shop with its kinkiness made me realize that my brain needed a break from these dirty thoughts. The adventure I’d experienced in the bounce house wasn’t as fun and gratifying as the advertisement promised on the subway. Those pictured seemed to have the time of their lives in the inflated boobs house. Not me. Not to mention the disturbing and unsanitary objects that people used for pleasure. The Museum of Sex was nothing but the same pornography as found online, much cheaper. Pornography is probably best left to the internet anyway.