Well, one of my dear blogging buddies needs to get a story off her chest, but not on her own blog. When I heard what she wanted to write about, I jumped at the chance to offer her space here. So here you go... a guest post by "Anonymous."
Yeah... I thought you would like that.
Why not? I am from the era when women learned to embrace our sexuality, actively participating in our own orgasmic satisfaction and proudly claiming the right to fulfill our needs.
Then why am I so ashamed of my recent purchase?
Let me tell you how it all unfolded. This is pretty funny and if I weren’t so worried my secret would embarrass the Hell out of me and spur the disdain of my family, I wouldn’t be writing this post anonymously and asking a fellow blogger to publish it on her site, keeping my identity, like my new vibrator, hidden in the closet.
Every time Glamour or More magazine had an article about “Sex Toys for Women” I would go online to shop for something to spice up the lovemaking that is sometimesroutine and boring. But, I could not bring myself to make a purchase. My husband is open to exploration, but he wouldn’t take me to one of the local Adult Store prevalent in our town. “What if someone saw my car parked outside?” he worried. “What if I bumped into to someone that knows me in the store?” I’ve broached the idea with a couple of girlfriends who said they are more than happy to accompany me to the Adult Superstore but the truth is, I just know I’d never be able to go through with it, much-less make a purchase in their presence.
So I deny the urge (pun intended) and feel frustrated.
Then Vibrant Nation, an online blogging community which I write for, was the catalyst I needed to stop worrying and buy a damn vibrator. I read one of many articles and one provided a link to, of all places, Amazon.com where there are several vibrators for women available.
This time I didn’t hesitate and sent the one I was familiar with, based on that Sex and the City episode, to the checkout. I bought it and sat back in my chair wiping the sweat from my brow. I waited for its arrival, confident that since I amthe only one who gets the mail at home, my husband, nor my visiting daughter, would ever know.
My package arrived from U.P.S. There was a knock on the door that my husband, normally gone for hours every day working or golfing, just happened to answer. As he handed me the package, I broke into another sweat; my nosy daughter was sure to ask me what I’d bought and I am no good at producing a quick lie. Thankfully, neither she nor my husband seemed interested. I casually headed to my bedroom and stuffed the contraband under my bed.
Later that day when all in the house were otherwise occupied, I took the box into the bathroom and opened it. Oh, my God. This was no back massager. This was a real, size-proportioned, pink penis with a protrusion at the base that did, in fact, resemble a rabbit. It was packaged in a Fort Knox sealed plastic that conformed perfectly. After getting the Rabbit out, I went about cutting the plastic up into little-bitty pieces so no one would know what came in it.
Next, I realized with horror that I would have to store the thing somewhere in my bedroom where no one would find it.
“Why not show your husband,” you might ask? After all, I did say he was open.
There was no way I was going to reveal this monstrosity to him; it was huge, it was a dildo, for God’s sake, and it was just too embarrassing for me to let on that I’d wanted, needed, and purchased it. (See attached picture)
So, into a bag it went, placed upon the top shelf of the closet where no one but me ever goes, and put my mind at ease.
That is, until that evening when all sorts of thoughts entered my head.
What if I die in a car accident tomorrow?
What will my family think of me when they go through my effects, readying them for Goodwill?
All I could think of is all of their loving memories of me would be erased by the discovery of my dirty, little (actually enormous) secret. So I devised a plan to hide it more securely.
I tried removing all the pages of my copy of Our Bodies, Ourselves, knowing no one in my family would crack it open and like one of those jailbreak movies, my “gun” would be safely hidden. I couldn’t cut the pages out, it was much too hard.
Maybe I could buy a lockbox, but wouldn’t that be a greater temptation to open? Thinking I’d been hoarding away stashes of money, I can just see imagine my family faceswhen they break the lock and instead of a monetary inheritance, they’d see a huge rubber dick and lose their lunch.
What to do? What to do?
Well, it’s still in the bag in my closet. I haven’t figured it out yet what I’m going to do with it. I’m not tossing it. No way. I paid thirty bucks for that thing and in this economy every penny counts. Besides – it works. Despite my overwhelming fear of discovery, I, of course, tried it out and I swear within 30seconds I had a great, heh hem... reaction. Yeah, that puppy (I mean bunny) isn’t going anywhere. There may be future dry spells in my marriage that I want to be ready for.
So the only thing I can do now is drive really, really carefully and watch out for the other guy.
Thanks, Linda Lou, for giving me the forum to share my story. Maybe someday I will come out of the closet brandishing my “pet” and not caring what the world, or my family, thinks!