Gay London Life | November '26 Edition - Magazine - Page 46
Topher Taylor
assumed I was an escort. The staff came from all walks of life, and the tips were
a small fortune. One night I walked away with £1,400 in cash. I went straight to
Selfridges, into Dior Homme, and spent every last penny.
After a year of covering for no-shows on little sleep, I was 18, the bags under
my eyes were permanent, and I needed out. I’d decided I wanted to work in a sex
shop. I loved the subject, figured I’d be great at sales, and it was Soho, the ONLY
place I wanted to be.
I went into every sex shop in Soho, asked for the manager, and handed over
Topher
Talks
my CV. Back then there were about fifteen adult shops in the area, and I visited
each one. I realised how much the products fascinated me, and that I wasn’t
remotely embarrassed to browse them.
That weekend in Brighton, my mum rang to say Simply Pleasure had
phoned asking for me. It was the shop I’d been most excited about. Mum didn’t
sound impressed. Her blonde, blue-eyed, Irish, Roman Catholic child was
getting calls from a sex shop on the landline. Remember those?
I turned up to the interview in an Alexander McQueen graffiti hoodie, skinny
jeans and patent black shoes. Aiming for edgy. In retrospect, I looked like a Spice
Girls backing dancer. The manager, Jessica, took me into a dingy basement
I’ve always been fascinated by human sexuality, the psychology behind it, and
under the shop, and I loved it. We talked about whether I could handle the “fucking
the act itself, which probably won’t surprise anyone who knows me. Sexuality
nutters” who came in. “Abso-fucking-lutely,” I said, and started the coming Friday.
strips away even the toughest exterior, making people vulnerable, open and free
to explore. Plus, I just love talking about sex. We all own our sexuality, unless you
can only get off with the help of certain products. That’s where I come in.
Jessica was loud, tattooed and overtly sexual. She didn’t apologise for a
single thing, and I loved her for it.
On day one I was put in charge of Lingerie and Bondage, including buying.
I walked out of college at seventeen after being threatened with a knife and
I had no experience but knew I’d be good at it. I ordered a huge range of latex
told I’d be killed. It took me straight back to childhood bullying, and I was sick of
and PVC, and it sold out almost immediately. I printed photos of celebrities in
fighting. The college tried to help, even putting me into on-site therapy, but after
similar outfits and stuck them by the racks. When Victoria Beckham wore latex
a few months I wasn’t safe and wasn’t focusing on my work. So, I decided to work
leggings, we sold out, so I set up a pre-order service. Without realising it, I was
my way up in the real world instead. I was a good blagger. I’d figure it out.
learning how people shopped and identified with erotic products.
Do I recommend that route? Absolutely not. Big mistake. Very stressful.
I landed a job as a bellboy at the St Martins Lane Hotel in Covent Garden
after posting my photos on Gumtree. Ninety-nine per cent of the replies
I also built a rapport with the working girls on Great Windmill Street. I gave them
lingerie deals on the condition they sent clients to us for accessories. They said
“vanilla” at checkout for the special price. Soho had rough edges, but it also had a
code. One night a bloke followed me down Brewer Street. I knocked on a brothel
door, and the girls sent their security guys out to chase him off. Mess with one of us,
you mess with all of us. Sounds corny, but at the time it couldn’t have been more true.
I still have deep empathy for sex workers, because I got to see them as
people at such a formative age.
Customers ranged from wide-eyed tourists to full-fledged dominatrix
goddesses. Then there was Snakey Joe, a notorious snake charmer with
a wild past and probably the loudest person I’ve ever met. He called me
“TOBAAYYYY!” because he couldn’t pronounce Topher.
Then there was the first nutter. A guy with dilated pupils ranted that his
masturbator was “shit.” Refunds weren’t on the table, so I offered an exchange,
mainly to get him out. He pulled the used toy from his pocket and launched it
at me. It bounced off the till, and his sperm splattered across the counter. It
missed me by inches.
Gradually I took on buying the sex toys and lube too. I kept a calculator in
my pocket and typed product lists into my BlackBerry like my life depended
on it, because I have dyscalculia. I scoped out rival shops, so we weren’t
undercut. Gay customers price-checked every Soho shop before buying, so
our prices had to stay sharp.
Jessica was like a big sister. We’d flick through catalogues on the train
back to hers in Watford, planning the next big buys, much to the shock of the
people around us. I’d wear my Simply Pleasure lanyard on the commute just to
watch eyebrows shoot up.
Behind a till for 40+ hours a week, you hear people’s woes, curiosities
and dysfunctions, and you start seeing patterns. I was particularly drawn to
dysfunctions, because helping someone function again, or finding them a
workaround that gave them confidence, was deeply satisfying. My years on the
shop floor taught me more sex education than anything else could.
And all of this was the beginning of my career, unknowingly. And the reason
you’re reading me in this column.
I’d joined the adult industry. Everything clicked into place.
@tophertaylor
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