Sainsbury’s thinks it can help the one in three Brits who are not happy in the bedroom by selling cheap sex toys. So now you can buy a dildo with your duck and all will be well. I don’t think so. Can you imagine anything less sexy than something called a rose gold bullet arriving with your carrots? Imagine if you get them confused and accidentally roast it? Actually, by the look of it, it might improve its performance. It’s not that I think it’s inappropriate (I loathe that word it immediately makes we want to be as inappropriate as possible) but I just don’t think it’s very sexy. A lot sex is in the mind. Most would agree that a large element of attraction, lust, love or whatever you want to call the thing that compels us to leap into bed with someone that is dependent on how we feel mentally. And a sex toy you associate with a supermarket just doesn’t really cut it.
Give me the French way of buying sex toys any day. I once had to research the subject for a book I was writing on French women and found myself in the basement of Sonia Rykiel in Paris. Any savvy Parisian knows this candle-lit basement on the left bank is the only place not to be seen buying sex toys. The choice ranges from the rather scary (I never did find out what an arse-blaster does) to the positively tame. The standout (pardon the pun) best-seller being the pink rabbit. An extremely knowledgeable, pretty sales assistant explained how it worked, its various speeds and how best to look after it. Naturally, I made my excuses and left, but if I ever am in the market for a sex toy I will be heading to Paris, and not Sainsbury’s.