While attending Clarkson, about halfway up the forty minute trek to the mall and the (then) nearest Wal-Mart there was a store called The Erotic Expose. It was situated in a parking lot all by itself like any small town sex store in the middle of nowhere and clearly advertised its purpose. This should probably have been our first warning. I don't know about you, but a lone sex store along an otherwise empty road just screams horror movie rape scene to me.
Sometime during my junior year, My friend Peter and his girlfriend Michelle, and myself decided to go to the store. In order to actually enter the store, you had to walk down a long sketchy hallway directly at the cashier's alcove. Why, I do not know. We were immediately IDed by a bearded man who looked like he would have made Pennywise the clown file a restraining order against him. He spent the entire time we were in the store watching a documentary about serial killers that sounded less like a "don't fuck with these guys" and more of a "how to rape people and eat them." Do NOT wander off alone in the North country.
The Erotic Expose was clearly a former house where someone had gutted the rooms and removed all the interior walls so you had one large odd shaped shopping are. It was oddly empty as there were few displays, which made things kind of awkward. No matter where you stood, you had a clear line of sight to the other embarassed patrons, who were mainly old hosuewives looking for something battery powered that could last longer than thirty seconds.
The best way to describe the store is dildo Mecca. The largest wall, about thirty feet long, was lined floor-to-ceiling with every type of 'marital aide' imagineable. I began to giggle, which I'm sure made the few patrons within the store feel plenty good about themselves. This was still in the early stages of my sexual awakening so a lot of the products were nothing short of stunning to me. There were vibrators contorted into shapes that I knew couldn't possibly be healthy for the female vagina, there were toys of all sorts of colors, and there was the granddaddy of every "insertable" ever made.
It was a three foot long, four inch thick black fist, and it was beautiful. I was transfixed. Who in their right mind could fit that into any orifice? Why a fist? Why is it about three times too long for a normal vagina? What kind of cavernous women are shopping here to justify such an item? Why does it have to be black? Does this store realize that half the people in this county probably belong to the Klan?
The worst part is, I'm not even sure that was the weirdest item in the store since there were blowup cow and pig dolls (with realistic squealing noises) that sat on a nearby shelf. (Insert hick - bestiality joke here.) I didn't end up buying anything, and Peter selected a few interesting lubes with the help of the clerk (Peter is color blind) as he leered creepily at Michelle. I don't remember a lot, but I do recall that he kept continuing the conversation, probably because he could already picture Michelle tied up in his basement.
Having survived the expedition, we drove back to school and I performed the scene in Ace Ventura where (SPOILER ALERT!) Jim Carey finds out that Einhorn is a man.