We were standing in a dark, crowded room among strangers in absolute silence except for the clack-clack-clack sound of my shoes.

In every direction, there was porn. These were not instructional videos or “sex ed” clips from high school intended to terrify. Nor were they the soft porn of late night cable TV. The walls were lined with screens displaying hardcore clips from every decade since the video camera was invented, plus there were 3’x5′ white pedestals — the kind strippers dance on — featuring flickering displays of people performing every sex act under the sun. The only thing I didn’t see was inter-species porn, likely due to legal issues.

But if there were any animal fetishists in the crowd, no one was complaining. In fact, everyone was 100% silent. The videos were all silent. Captions scrolling beneath the images told us what movie we were watching and why it was significant. I giggled self-consciously, noticing that every man in the room had his hands in his pockets. I couldn’t bring myself to look openly at the display of a young woman giving an overwrought, sloppy blowjob to Ron Jeremy. And where, I wondered, was John Holmes in all this?

In addition to the video rooms, there was a vast array of sex toys, sexual simulation devices, dolls, and art work. I imagined a board room full of rowdy kids with art degrees planning for the most awkward, high-impact, museum experience they could create. Patrons enter through the museum shop accompanied by techno music; next, they’re confronted with dildos of all shapes, sizes and colors; then they’re tossed into a dark room surrounded by pornography and strangers.

After the rooms full of silent porn, I was relieved by the animal sex display. It was well-lit like a biology classroom. Three plaster deer mounted one on top of the other occupied the center of a room where art viewers maintained their pseudo-intellectual silence. My friends and I tittered about the two male elephants pictured on one wall and the disturbing alien-like length of elephant genitalia. We stood in awe of the female Bonobos who create an elaborate social system in which sexual favors are legitimate currency. I could only look out of the corner of my eye at the ape penises because they were long like swords, and frankly, they freaked me out.

It turns out that going to the Museum of Sex is an interesting way to get to know new people. My good friend Sara and I were already planning on going together, and we decided to invite Lily, whom we both had hung out with before but didn’t know that well yet. Lily seemed like the kind of girl who would at least have a good sense of humor about it the museum. When I asked her if she’d like to go, she brightened up right away and said she’d love to. She seemed happy about the chance to get out with some new people and see something interesting. It hadn’t occurred to me at that point that we would essentially be watching porn together.

Together, we found ourselves surrounded by dildos, avoiding eye contact with plaster primate penises, and gawking at full-body sex-simulation suits with someone who only moments before had been simply an acquaintance. Perhaps nothing could have prepared us for this. And yet, considering my slight tendency toward social anxiety with new people, this outing was surprisingly effective. It was like extreme flooding therapy for awkwardness.

On the walk back to meet our respective significant others, the three of us discussed our favorite and least favorite parts of the museum. We were all fascinated with the animatronic robot sex exhibit but found the interview with the artist a little disturbing for some reason. We all ogled the Real Dolls but didn’t touch them because they looked too grimy. Perhaps best of all, we all enjoyed discussing what we’d seen when we got back to the office because nothing cures awkwardness quite like spreading it.

 

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