I have an ugly history with parent walk-ins and mishaps; even my first kiss was interrupted by my middle school lover’s dad. Unfortunately, the purchase of my first sex toy was no different. In fact, I went two for two on parent walk-ins, and one of the parents wasn’t even my own. While the foreign gadget did introduce me to a world of true, organic orgasms (about two years after I thought I had experienced my first climax, but that’s a story for another time), I still haven’t decided if it was worth the embarrassment that I endured for its obtainment.
Let’s rewind: the year is 2019 and I’ve been sexually active, much to my best friend’s knowledge, for almost exactly two years. We’re sprawled out on the floor of my childhood bedroom, wine drunk on Barefoot’s Peach Fruitscato, praying my parents don’t overhear our inebriated conversation. Somehow the topic of vibrators presents itself, and it comes out that I’ve never owned nor used one of the magical machines (I’m not sure how the logistics of using without owning would work).
This did not sit well with my friend, who obviously had my best sexual intersets at heart, and she simply would not allow my vibrator virginity to continue. She opened up her Amazon account right there and ordered me the exact same toy that she had, in a coordinating color and everything. To this day I feel that the greatest indicator of an everlasting friendship is matching sex toys.
While it was quite funny to wake up to a $32 Venmo request for “Sex Toy” (hungover, I might add), it was funnier when we realized that she had default shipped the paraphernalia-filled box to her house instead of mine. After she swore up and down that she would keep a military grade watch on the mail delivery to her home, I agreed to let her keep the Amazon order.
I still recall receiving a screenshot that put me in a full fledged state of panic one afternoon at school. It went something like this:
Friend’s Mom: Why is there a vibrator being delivered to my house?
Friend: It’s *my name*’s! (Note, she had every chance to defend me here, but instead I was thrown immediately under the bus….)
Friend’s Mom: Why is *my name*’s vibrator being delivered to my house?
My life was over. Not only was I completely consumed and paralyzed by the thought of my best friend’s mom seeing my giant, purple, nine-setting rabbit vibrator with realistic veins, but I now had the added worry of whether or not she would share the news of the purchase with my mom … Oh the horror. Luckily the situation was laughed off and never blatantly discussed; between the mom and myself or mom-to-mom. I would like to think that my friend explained the details of the situation in greater detail after that brief text exchange, but alas, I may never know.
She didn’t tell my mom! Awesome, right? Wrong. Things always have a way of coming full circle.
While I was intrigued by the new toy, I was also intimidated by its power. As a result of my fear, I chose to let the gadget marinate in my bedside table for a bit to acclimate itself to my room. The morning after I partook in a divorced-child-style vibrator hand off in a gas station parking lot, I placed my prized new possession carefully in the top drawer of my nightstand; a hiding spot that I was confident would be secure enough to deter my family members.
Not two hours into my school day I received another anxiety inducing text, this time from my own mother:
Mom: I just found your vibrator. I’m sorry.
Me: What? Why were you in my nightstand? I swear I haven’t even used it yet.
Mom: I was looking for Swedish Fish! Usually you keep candy there. Last time I try to rob you….
I learned two things that day: 1. My mom had been secretly robbing my not-so-secret candy stash for God only knows how long. 2. If you find yourself in need of a top-security hiding spot, skip the nightstand and opt for under the mattress.
Annie Position is a student at Cornell University. Comments can be sent to [email protected]. The Sin Series runs during alternate Sex on Thursdays this semester.