Rabbits, rump shakers, and power pumps are a mere taste of the toys available to the elitist erotic explorer at Santa Barbara’s Adult “Bookstore.”

Upon entering the clearly, Y-gene-exclusive establishment, one is met with the reminder that they are “open 24 hours a day.”

The once-white walls are plastered in playboy pin-ups resembling a 15-year-old boys bedroom. The man behind the counter is accommodating, happy to spout his testosterone-tainted knowledge on the slickness of Joy Jelly or the holier-than-hot Prostrate Pro, to which he promises, “will blow your man’s mind.” Ah yes, thank you for sharing, and while this is all nice and, perhaps slightly uncomfortable, we ladies would love to have a few words with you. So listen up adult bookstore owners.

Women make up 50 percent of the population, and despite what you may have heard, come in all different kinds of, you guessed it: horny; and while the plethora of retro-colored vibrators and esthetically-pleasing products such as “love beads” are appreciated, it’s all a little, well, fast to be honest.

Where’s the ambience? We want to walk-in and be wooed by aromatic aphrodisiacs of lavender and vanilla, tempted with tasteful displays of chocolate body paint, and turned on by, um, Tantra, anything. Frankly, we want to be seduced. We want a little freaking fore play!

Swapping sex shop stories, a girlfriend confesses, “I’d love to go peruse the latest screwing sensation, but there is an immeasurable ew-factor going on at the options we have here in town.”

Of course, many turn to the Internet for intimacy.

There’s a Ventura based online sex store called Book 22 that caters to the Christian community. However, they clarify that they don’t sell anything that is not “approved” in the bible, like anal toys. Last time I checked Jesus was not preaching about latex and lubes.

Perhaps that cringing response lies in the shady, seedy-section of the bookstore that displays a sign overhead reading: Arcade?

There is a no previewing the “arcade” policy, which brings a whole new meaning to the coined phrases “pay-to-play.” A couple of bucks gets you access to a dark room screening one of several choices for your viewing pleasure. And just to be clear, this is not the fore play we are talking about.

Maybe what pops the cherry on the ew-factor is the glory hole coming out of the wall, no pun intended.

Sucking on a cigarette, just outside the store, the once friendly and chipper sales clerk clams up.

“We’re not supposed to talk about what goes on back there, but it’s the only place in town gays can come to ‘hook-up,” the employee said.

Right, of course, makes sense, I mean God forbid someone uses a car or, oh, how conventional of me, a bed.

So, to get to the point, we’re not asking for a Martha Stewart-esque scintillating experience… Just a place where a girl can buy a bunny sans the anti-bacterial wipes.