The flagship exhibit during my visit to MoSex was Bombas & Parr’s Funland, a carnival-themed exploration of human sexuality. The first installation was a boudoir-looking hall of mirrors called Tunnel of Love, in which you had to find the G-spot by touch. “By touch” was fancy sex talk for “by walking into mirrors until you end up in the right place,” and the challenge reminded me of the Magic Mirror Gate in “The Never-Ending Story,” more about confronting myself in a full-length mirror than worrying about what lay beyond. My friend beat me to the plaster nerve cluster, crying out, “I found it! The G-spot is over here!” and shepherding me to her location via call and response, like so many patient ladies before her.

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After we graduated the G-spot, we went head to head in a ball-toss game, racing to sink the most balls and propel our golden penis to the end first. Mine was off like a rocket, and I have to say the sight of it donging the finish line and lighting up the board buoyed my self-esteem quite a bit.

Beyond the side show lies Jump for Joy, a boob-themed jumping castle that showcases a wonderfully diverse range of billowing vinyl knockers and was tremendous fun to play in, even with a fetus dandling up and down on my bladder. Objectively, boobs are fun, and I can see why people like them. It’s hard to imagine a scrotum-themed moon bounce having the same “shoes off, climb on in!” appeal, or inspiring an Instagram feed full of beaming people nested between two balls.

Janet Manley
The author familiarizes herself with some boobs.

Somewhat beyond my capabilities was Grope Mountain, a rock-climbing traverse with anatomical features that culminated in a phallic jug-hold I judged to be about a 4.10. Feeling no desire to cling to a wall with my non-existent abs, I chose forego Grope Mountain, but later wondered if I might have gotten into it if I just went with the flow and gave the wall a chance – engaged in some maintenance rock-climbing, so to speak. My friend Jenna made her way around the wall easily using a mix of the blue and red holds (I told her it wasn’t cheating, she was just “open-minded” about her route), but needed a second attempt to make the dyno transition from butthole sloper to climactic jug. I told her it’s not about making the leap physically; it’s about taking a mental leap. She looked around desperately for hand sanitizer.

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One of the other rooms in the Museum of Sex was devoted to a retrospective on Linda Lovelace, the classic porn star you may know as “Deep Throat,” who was projected onto a wall performing her art on a hairy, bearded ’70s hipster in repose. What struck me was the general affability of the two in the vintage clip, both smiling and casual, in no hurry. Linda was wearing a blouse in the video, in fact, which was a great comfort to me, as I will only consider sex if I get to wear a billowy maxi dress, socks, and accent jewelry these days.