I got lost on the way to the Erotic Empire. I ended up driving through the wasteland of Hartford for over half an hour, passing the same Super 8 Motel, Honda dealership, and crumbling Jai Alai building at least eight times. Not to mention the inferior Erotic Zone, which is confusingly located on the same street as the Empire. The word “Empire” suggests something palatial, but it’s really a squat, windowless brick building, sprouting weed-like from the shadow of the Gold Club—the strip club that I almost made it to once but instead threw up in the parking lot.
Inside they were playing the theme song to Dawson’s Creek, while men in baseball hats browsed the fancy glass anal plugs and vibrating rubber vaginas. Following “I Don’t Want To Wait [For Our Lives To Be Over]” was Bette Middler’s “From A Distance,” which played awkwardly as I tried on stripper boots and bunny ears. Actually, that’s a lie. I didn’t try them on, but I wanted to.
If I had to choose a single product, though, to represent the Erotic Empire, it would be the Great American Challenge—a gargantuan purple, rubber dildo, two feet long, six inches in diameter. I had to use two hands to pick it up.
Or maybe it would be the Virtual Girl, a soft, rubbery flesh doll with red toenails and a retail value of $899.99.
I don’t want to hate on the EE, though, because it certainly serves a purpose. But if you’re planning to have even a remotely romantic Valentine’s Day, save the Empire for another day. As Kathleen Walsh ’05 said, “It’s funny…coming here kind of…makes me never want to have sex ever again.”
I know what she means. Fatty Patty Doll—Three Colossal Love Holes (She’s large and in charge!) was funny, but not my cup of tea. The “Asian” corsets were more appealing, as were the FBI: Agent Sexy bodysuits. The porn selection was impressive, but again—not very female friendly. Unless you’re looking specifically for “Gangland: White Boy Stompin’,” “Anal Spitfire,” or “Cocks in Frocks.”
“Can’t knock it ’til you try it,” one man says to his friend.
Actually, I did buy “Antique Erotica—Turn-Ons from the Turn of the Century” because the cover was pretty and I had knocked over a candy display. It was an “Edible Booby” tray, near the wig rack. I accidentally tipped it over and felt really embarrassed. The manager came over and teased me, saying I had to buy all of them. I couldn’t think of anything to say, so I just said, “Haaa-aaa! Hah! Yeah!… Wait, really?” and helped him pick them up.
Taking this picture with the plastic bra was probably the most uncomfortable moment of my week, because random old men were watching, plus the entire management team.
Second most embarrassing—and for no particular reason—was getting busted for taking notes. The manager approached me right as I finished transcribing the details of the Rubber Replica Penis (Quickly & easily make an exact, Professional Grade life-size copy of any size PENIS & BALLS in intricate detail) to ask if I needed any help.
“Oh no, I’m just…taking notes.”
“Yes, I see. We don’t usually have people taking notes.”
“Oh! Right!” And I freaked out! I was laughing and breathing funny and darting my eyes and I dropped my pen. That was the end of the notes, and essentially the end of the trip. I was overwhelmed anyway, and tired of the pouting “Barely Legal” faces and the Titaroni and the penis extensions.
I hope everyone’s Valentine’s Day is filled with romance, but if it’s not, there’s a Help Wanted sign at the Erotic Empire. Or you could just get a Romantic Restraint Kit with Lavender Eye Mask and Ball Gag. Enjoy the holiday.
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