This story uses aliases to protect the identities of those involved.
In downtown New York, the Museum of Sex (MoSex) draws in thousands of visitors annually, all curious to learn more about human sexuality. Four of my queer, beautiful friends wanted to go. I decided to join them.
C was already shrieking before I was at the top of the stairs. Once I rounded the corner and my eyes adjusted to the light, I quickly spotted the photograph that was causing her to laugh uncontrollably: a pantless mustachioed man was plunging himself into a lady dressed as a maid, accompanied by the caption “HARD CORE.”
Once C had calmed down, we proceeded through the first exhibit, which showcased over a century and a half of obscene imagery. We learned about the earliest forms of condoms, read documents from brothels, and watched a lot of old timey porn.
With the growing realization that penises are actually pretty weird looking, we moved into the second exhibit: Splendor in the Grass — Kinesthetic Camping Ground. This room was composed of a series of five tents, each dedicated to a different phase of sexual stimulation. One tent in particular was filled with warm, fragrant smoke.
“I think we’re supposed to sweat it out and then do each other,” said V.
“But don’t fall in love with me,” she added.
The third exhibit focused on the sex lives of animals, where we were treated to statues and images of animals doing themselves and each other. Fun facts: 1) hedgehogs engage in oral sex, 2) in some species, males have milk-producing mammary glands and females have external, penis-like structures, and 3) same sex relationships have been documented in over 500 animal species (including penguins!). Also, 4) zebras have horrifyingly long penises.
We then worked our way through the Object XXX exhibit, which featured a number of items from the MoSex archives that represent the history, evolution, and cultural significance of sex and human sexuality, including a 2007 Furry mask and a “Lapjuicer.”
“I just came to have a good time and to see some dildos,” laughed C.
The climax of our visit was when we found ourselves in the “Jump for Joy” exhibit. In groups of two and three, we frolicked inside a bouncy castle of giant inflatable boobs. We threw ourselves against boobs of varying colours, sizes, and levels of firmness. Some were obviously audience favourites, as they were held together with patches and tape. Our favourite was a small one tucked away in the corner — it was perkier than most, and its level of inflation indicated it had been touched by the smallest number of hands and mouths.
After minutes of screaming with laughter, we collapsed, sweating slightly and breathing heavily. This is where V took a photo of me and captioned it “Indoctrinating the token straight into our queer cult.” I should have known then it was all a clever ploy to convert me.
Once our allotted time had elapsed, we climbed out of the exhibit and walked into the gift shop. Vagina art and glow-in-the-dark condoms were purchased, and I left with a newfound appreciation for boobs and the confirmation that sexuality is fluid.
