Can't buy me love?

The first time I went into a sex shop, it was with a former boyfriend. He persuaded me by degrees. First it was, "Let’s just look in the window." Then, "Let’s buy you some seamed stockings," then, "let’s have a peek at the accessories." I ended up leaving with my first sex toy.

I realised afterwards why I’d avoided sex shops for so long. I’d never forgotten the story told to me by a friend who’d visited a shop in Amsterdam, only to have a pushy salesman line up a rainbow assortment of dildos on the counter, before slamming down a 12-inch studded leather vibrator.

“This looks like the style for a girl like you," he’d chuckled. For years I’d dreaded having a similar experience - however I now think that my friend was unlucky, for your average salesperson of erotic merchandise tends to be a tad more discreet.

Jonathan, a former sex shop assistant, agrees: "It’s all about making the client feel comfortable, and putting them at ease. You get such a wide range of customers – gay, straight, cross-dressers, couples - that you can’t really afford to be shocked by anything."

Yet there are still many people who feel uncomfortable about shopping for pleasure accessories. Businesswoman Lucy Tanat-Jones is attempting to address this. A classically trained singer, designer and product developer, she is also the owner of Organic Pleasures, a niche store in Edinburgh that stocks lingerie and sex toys made from natural materials. Dressed in a 1950s cardigan with lips painted matinee icon scarlet, it’s obvious that her vintage style has inspired the shop’s decor. A feeling of decadence, glamour, and opulence informs the merchandise range, which includes lingerie, oils, and borosilicate glass dildos in a delicate shade of rose. The tone of the shop is discreet, rather than coy.

"In Britain there’s still a fear of owning up to your sexuality, and a reticence about talking about it. We still need to work on that as a culture," she observes.

A young woman enters the shop. She’s looking for a corset for a friend who’s just had gender reassignment surgery.

"It’s tricky," she explains. "I have to find one that fits around male ribs, as she’s very sensitive about her body shape." Lucy tactfully suggests suitable styles. Like any good salesperson of erotic merchandise, she acts as a confidante, expert and advisor.

"I don’t think that the term 'sex shop' is appropriate for my store," she stresses, "mainly because I don’t sell porn, but also because the atmosphere here is very feminine and sensual. I prefer the phrase 'erotic boutique'."

What then, is a 'sex shop'? Is it in the merchandise, the clientele, or the aesthetic? Is it hardcore or softcore, whips or lace? And do these definitions really matter, in the end?

Perhaps the important thing is that nowadays, people of different ages, tastes and sexual orientations can purchase aids to pleasure and fantasy, without feeling the need to sport a raincoat and a shifty expression. However we name, label or define today's specialist stores, there’s no question that they are evolving. Nowadays people can shop for erotic accessories in an atmosphere of discreet privacy, rather than shameful secrecy. The difference is profound.

"I think that going into a sex shop is a new rite of passage, like trying your first dodgy alcopop, or losing your virginity," muses a regular. "And once you’ve crossed that barrier, it can become a regular pastime. It’s about experimentation, and it’s about pleasure. Where’s the harm in that?"