The day I bought a vibrator   added 6 years ago    

  By: chrissybgoode

Come on girls, we all know it! When it comes to sex 9 out of 10 men are totally inept. We also know what drives us to tolerate such incompetence and allowing your fingers to do the walking can really only relieve so much tension. So, after 10 months of celibacy, well you can imagine, I was well and truly ready to buy my first vibrator. All my friends (and possibly even my mum) knew I wanted to buy one. Anyone whose opinion meant anything to me was already aware that I was, quite literally, about to slide down a slippery pole into depravity. I suppose talking the talk had given me a sort of Dutch courage.



 
 

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So as I've said, I was well and truly ready, but there was just one problem. Talking the talk and walking the walk were really quite different propositions. Put me in a neon-lit shop in a dodgy suburb teeming with sex workers, seedy characters and backpackers who I will never see again and I suddenly became self-conscious. It took three months of talking about it before I could even drag my mouse-like resolve into the dingy back streets of my home town. It took three blocks of summing up passers-by and dark sex shop entrances to find one I could actually walk into.


The shop itself was pretty cool, which was exactly what I'm pretending to be. Ordinarily, there's no way you'd get me into one of those places with a mini-maze for an entrance. It's all very well that once you're inside, no-one can see you from the street. But as a pathetic 27-year-old first-timer, I'd rather know what the hell I'm about to walk into, thanks. Not to mention what I'm about to walk back out to. It would be just my luck to exit straight into the path of my boss or next-door neighbour.


So I’d picked a shop with an open front. I browsed the penis-shaped pasta and edible undies until I felt brave enough to go for the gold at the back. I was almost there when the surprisingly normal looking guy behind the counter greeted me. Shit! I wasn't expecting to interact. Wouldn't it have been better for everyone if we just pretended I wasn't here? A trip to the gynaecologist would be less distressing than this. Casually, he asked "Can I help you, love?" My heart pounding, "No … just looking", I choked. Fortunately no more was required of me and to my relief he returned leafing through a disheveled girlie magazine.


My pulse and movements quickened but finally I was there. And after a lifetime of averting my eyes from the male genital region in public, suddenly I was confronted with at least 100 replicas from floor to ceiling. My God! I'd never seen so many bulging veins and so much flesh-coloured plastic at once. Isn't that the same stuff they construct Barbie and Ken from? Honestly, I had no idea they made vibrators to actually look like a penis. Why would they do that? Here I was thinking I'd be choosing a funky, coloured, phallic-shaped device to accessorise my undies drawer. After all, I wasn’t buying it to gaze at, was I? It's not like I’d have to seduce a vibrator — blow-dry my hair, squeeze into my best pair of thigh-thinning pants and feed it beer to get some action. I wouldn't have to be impressed by its aftershave and its sexy physique. Note to vibrator-manufacturers: it's not a man, so why pretend? After all, when it's doing its thing I'm hardly going to be seeing much of its shaft, am I?


Did I want one of those smooth and discreet ones? Or one with a rotating pearl head? Clitoral stimulator? Anus tickler? Moving shaft? I was starting to know how a penis feels. All the blood was rushing to my head. In order to buy one of these things, I'd actually have to take it off the shelf, examine it up close and at least find out what the price was. It was all too much. I’d have to leave. I couldn't even get it together to meander past the cock rings and blow-up girls with their pretend 'cock-sucking' lips. I just wanted out. I was even more pathetic than I thought.


As I walked away from the shop, I decided I'd find a vibrator on the Internet. I'd mail order a male member. Anonymous, private, straight to my door. Perfect. I could see it now. The discreet box turning up in my letterbox. My tiny letterbox, the one that fills with water every time it rains. I'd be the last person in my building to get home one day to discover a massive phallus protruding from the slot, remnants of soggy packaging still clinging to its oh-so-lifelike form. That's it. I went back in. In. Out. In. Out. It was just like… well, we all know why I was there. For goodness sake girl, you need to get it together and act like a man. Just get in, get what you need and get out before anyone even notices you're here.


The guy at the counter gave me a wry smile as I passed him by for the third time. Back at the dildo display, I came to considering size. We all know that the old "it's not how big it is, it's what you do with it" line is full of crap, invented and circulated by men with small dicks. But how far in excess of average should I go? Not for the first time in my life, I wanted to avoid making a statement. The last thing I needed was the salesman giving me a knowing wink as he was fondling my massive purchase, "Vagina the size of a bucket then, love?"


Pink? Green? Ribbed? Sparkling? I grabbed for something close, medium-sized and featureless. Why break the habit of a lifetime? I realised I was lunging, sweaty-palmed, at the penises. How ladylike. My hands a tremble, I prayed not to disrupt the display. I certainly didn’t need the whole shop staring at my backside while I bobbed about replacing a pile of displaced plastic peckers. You could well imagine the smirks that would follow as the guy behind the counter sought to explain, "Love, that one goes down there … that's it but a little further in."

I was in luck; I managed to claim the desired item without attracting further attention. I Headed for the counter. Every guy in the store had noticed that the combination of fear, embarrassment and brazen hussy-ness had my heart leaping out of my shirt. Oh no, hang on. It was my breasts they were ogling. A word of warning: girls, even when toy shopping appropriate underwear still matters. My advice, absent a serious trench coat fetish, wear the minimiser not the push-up.


I wanted that vibrator in a brown bag and out the door before the salesman or anyone else noticed that I was drowning in a pool of my own persperation. But no, he wanted to test it to make sure it was working okay. Fair enough. Imagine getting home to find that even the battery-powered man substitute couldn't get it up. My face reddened as the dynamo whirred into action. After what seemed an eternity he whispered "good to go love" just loudly enough for half the shop to hear. A moment longer in that place and I was sure I’d have required blood pressure medication.


I could hardly contain myself on the way home, couldn’t wait to test drive my purchase, it was all I can do to keep my hands off the package and on the steering wheel. Straight into the bedroom, I threw myself on the bed and fumbled furiously at my jeans and panties. Freed of their confines, thighs parted, knees slightly bent, Brazilian pointed to the ceiling, I frantically discarded the vibrator’s packaging. Penetration was easy as that I'd fairly saturated myself with excitement. Once more the gizmo whirred into action. "Yes!" I gushed, driving the plastic penis deep within my febrile vulvae. "Oh yes, yes, yes!" I writhed with pleasure, my eyes half closed. "Oh… mmmmm… oohhhh my… yesss!". I moaned in decadent satisfaction, my hips bucked forcefully against the vibrators rhythmic intrusions, the sensations were exquisite. "Mmmmmm… oh yes… oh, yes… oh, yes please!” God! I was going to orgasm. I clenched my teeth and shuddered through the climax. All the while the mechanical man sandwiched between my convulsing labia continued to gyrate, my swollen clit throbbing with delight.


The evening was spectacular! Why didn't I do it years earlier? The only problem with a vibrator is that it really brings home just how hopeless most men are. Don't get me wrong, there's still a lot to be said for the well-thought-out, tender human touch. (Or, if you really can't find a way to be alone, the furious rubbing of anyone of your 9 out 10 average males.) But the vibrator is failsafe. Foolproof! Guaranteed! And good to go as long as you are. Come as often as you like! Six, seven times if you're feeling feisty.


Brilliant! I'm going to buy one for each of my single friends. No, for those who really need it — my married friends. And since I'll be in the sex shop anyway, maybe one of my "friends" would like to upgrade to the one with the clit tickler…





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Comments for The day I bought a vibrator

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Victoria    (2009-08-03 19:23:59)    Flag as inappropiate
Victoria Very nicely written and fun. Is this based on true events? It sure sounds like it could be. Thanks!
unknown    (2008-07-12 06:02:12)    Flag as inappropiate
Little ol hopeless me was rolling on the floor reading this. Love your sense of humour and honesty. But to defend the team I'm on, teaching us what women like can be intensely erotic. Or frustrating. Depends I guess. lol
unknown    (2008-06-26 19:38:11)    Flag as inappropiate
A vibrator is man's best friend. Oh, the things you can do to a woman when you are using a vibrator on her! If only when I was young I wasn't so intimidated by such things. I think our egos are all out of whack when we're young.
LadyEleanor    (2008-06-20 09:42:45)    Flag as inappropiate
LadyEleanor So true, but be fair, it's more like 8 out of 10 furious rubbers.
JRacq    (2008-06-18 17:12:54)    Flag as inappropiate
JRacq wonderful story! Got me a bit wet there at the end too ;)
virgochild74    (2008-06-17 16:50:34)    Flag as inappropiate
Hillarious and so true, I only shop online now, opens up a whole new world of naughtiness.


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Categories: Masturbation
Location: Anywhere | Roleplay: Any
Fulfillment: I will tell you later | Nature: I will tell you later