Simply a pleasure

On February 14 last year, I took part in a ritual gathering of Exeter singletons. I nursed a generous nest of cocktail glasses and mourned the myth my choice of university had sold me: the promise of babes with acres and the smuggling of small Tiffany’s boxes among rugby players come grad week.

As I tumbled onto Sidwell Street to return to my single bed, I stumbled upon a tableaux vivant of romance as performed by two local gentlemen. One, pushing 80, was galloping after a bus, roses in hand, desperate to reach his lady before the doors closed. Another, a disheveled Westcountry gent, was singing into his Frosty Jacks: “I am dying and alone and nobody knows it”.

Whether you are with the golden oldies or the sorry slob on Valentine’s Day, there are many good reasons to get naked and sentimental this year. Gay marriage, the new sharking pool coming on Exeter’s nightlife scene, of Fifty Shades of Grey.

So with much to think about on a recent return to Sidwell Street, I headed through Exeter’s most infamous pink doors into Simply Pleasures, to quiz their eager to please staff about the student body’s weapons of choice.

After some moseying among questionable razz mags, glow in the dark dildos and the worst Beyoncé blow up doll ever seen, a smiley male assistant offered me a hand. Trying hard to cling to some kind of professionalism, I muttered something about their best sellers, thinking the worst thing that could happen would be awkwardly licking some lube off of my own hand. He lead me away from my bottle-filled shelves of security towards a wall of ‘pipe dream extremes’ – a variety of flesh-toned personal masturbators.

Pleased with my disbelief, He reassured me that this was students’ most frequent purchase. It seems the posh wank is dead and that more and more male students are snuggling up with a latex orifice.

With my expectations in tatters, I asked him who comes here often? Apparently boys on a solo mission. (While I was there, the shop was free of archetypal long coat, dogging types and instead visited by a few young couples.)

The drug scene in Exeter has forever been described as dismal. It seems Exeter’s real vice is sold from a counter.

The sales assistant pointed to a packet of “extra strong male tonic enhancer” in packaging a year nine could have made on Microsoft Word. Apparently this stuff is gold dust, its cocktail of ginseng and god-knows-what flying from the shelves daily. Could this be the secret behind overcoming the biological boundaries of epic drinking feats with your phallic dignity intact?

A female counterpart – ‘The G-Spark’ – bragged about its breakthrough formula, but I don’t think I would ever take something that couldn’t spell ‘night’ correctly. I asked the assistant about toys he recommended for couples with V-Day in mind. He suggested a pair of weighted balls, the sex toy à la mode which also conveniently work like sit-ups for your vagina.

He then led me over to a cabinet of toys, sleek and geometric, by Lelo, a Swedish luxury brand a far cry from the store’s other offerings.

After some awkward vibration testing and a lot of eye-contact avoidance, my focus honed onto the price tags. These were definitely investment pieces, despite the generous student discount. For the not-so-brave, he suggested massage oil candles which are reusable and are especially designed to prevent awkward A&E visits. We made small talk about the benefits of water-based lube, and whether I could make a rhinestoned bitch collar high fashion.

It was only a matter of time before conversation turned Fifty. I leaned on a cabinet of emblazoned toys, dabbled with stickers marking the home counties house-wife’s personal approval. Silk blind folds, spanking panels and steel balls. The staff agreed the book had caused a rocket, not just sales, but in curiosity. It was as if ‘Christian Gray’ had become a password to a speakeasy of BDSM.

We chatted about the book’s poor literary worth. As one of the sales assistants noted, it sounds like it’s been written by someone who has heard stories about BDSM.

More couples who used to solely purchase toys have began climbing upstairs to the Simply Pleasures specialised section. Surrounded by hog ties, £100 gimp masks and circus whips, I resisted the temptation to try on a hysterical latex onepiece which is best described as a slutty garden glove.

Rather than opening up a secret societal obsession with suffering, the assistants suggest starting with silky Chinese rope ties, bondage tape and handcuffs. There is nothing sexy about a D-I-Y bondage kit, complete with instructions. Curiosity is actively encouraged once you can look past the all the gimmicky porn-set packaging.

So whether tonight you are sitting down to a dine-in for two and some 4/10 oral sex, or a cosy night with your favourite Victoria’s Secret angel, remember to think of Simply Pleasures, a promised land of frank advice in your quest for sexual satisfaction.