Death of an Anal Lube Salesman, or: The Da Vinci Load (part I)

The other day, out of dispassionate, journalistic curiosity, I walked into my neighborhood XXX emporium, run or at least fronted by a sweet-dispositioned South Asian man. Besides the aisles of adult videos and racks of vibrators, I noticed some items that you might not associate with the enhancement of libidinal interest.

Such as:

Pecker Party Ware, a package of plastic spoons, knives, and forks with penis-shaped handles;

Dr. Love Stethoscope, a plastic simulacrum of the actual medical device;

and

Phoney Face, the false glasses-eyebrows-nose combo. Yes, nothing gets a woman more excited than a guy wearing a Groucho Marx disguise.

In a glass case that also served as the cashier's counter were several bottles. One advertised a product called "Anal Eze," and another named "Anal Ease."

Now, putting aside the minor differences in spelling ("You say 'Anal-Eze' and I say, "Anal Ease'"...), I discovered that both are lubricating gels with a "slightly numbing effect," the better to ease the pain of well, objects traveling the wrong way down a one-way street. The box copy from Anal-Eze states:

Use Anal-Eze for those times when you need a little help easing comfortably into anal play. Maybe your toy is larger than you or your partner is used to, or maybe you haven't had much anal experience. Either way, sometimes a little help goes a long way. Anal-Eze is there to lend a hand. .. If you or your partner is experiencing discomfort during anal activity, try applying a little dab of Anal-Eze.

While I read this ad copy and noted its similarity to that used to shill 1950s products such as Brylcreem, it occurred to me that the proprietor had to order Anal-Eze from some manufacturer or distributor. And while he probably selected it from a catalog (most likely online), I wondered if perhaps he had purchased it directly from a door-to-door Anal-Eze salesman, a sex industry Willy Loman, who peddled his wares to stores specializing in anal sex accoutrements. And if so, what would be his story?

WILLY (to Singh, the proprietor of The End Result XXX emporium): Hey, what's the good word, Singh? Can I put you down for the usual six cases of Anal-Eze, two cases each of cherry, strawberry, and margarita?

SINGH: I'm sorry, Willy. I can't be buying from you anymore.

WILLY: What? You're kidding, right? More of that Sikh humor, heh, heh. Hey, I got something brand new. This is gonna rock your world. It's a Rectal Dilator --

SINGH: I'm sorry, Willy.

WILLY: Comes in five sizes up to two inches in diameter. It's great as a training toy for people working their way up the Hershey Highway, as well as for your hardcore fisters. And here's the beauty part: Each dilator has a small hole on the tip to prevent pressure build up. Just one thing: you gotta use plenty of Anal-Eze.

SINGH: Willy, you don't understand. I cannot buy anything from you. Not now. Not ever.

WILLY: What? What did I do?

SINGH: You didn't do anything, Willy. It's just that I can order the stuff from China over the Net for half the price I pay you. It's called globalization.

WILLY: You, too, Singh? Every customer, it's the same story. Globalization. Sure you can get the Chinese lube at half price, but you don't know what they put in it. I mean, where's the quality control? What if one of your Chinee anal vibrators explodes? Who you gonna call, huh, Mr. Singh? Whereas I stand behind every anal product I sell to my customers. I was Anal Salesman of the Year three years running. Anal lube built my family a house on Long Island, and butt plugs put my two kids through college. One of them, Biff, we nicknamed the Pocket Rocket --

SINGH: I'm sorry, Willy.

WILLY: I can't believe it. A man works his whole life selling sturdy, well-made anal toys and what's he left with in the end -- bupkus. All this time...I had the wrong dream.

(part II to come)