Well, this has been another interesting Christmas for me, it is the seventh anniversary of my parents death, my seventh Christmas without a family. I didn't expect much for Christmas; only a few friends here at College know my story. The ones that had money and could afford them gave me presents. I got three or four small things, nothing major or worth mentioning and I gave my friends presents that I could afford. I did my usual bit for humanity by working in a soup kitchen and volunteering down at DFD.
DFD was a new experience for me but it seemed an appropriate match. DFD stands for "Drivers For Drunks." The program offers a free ride for anyone who thinks they are too drunk to safely drive home. I thought it was fitting that I volunteer with them considering my parents died on a Christmas Eve because a drunk college student didn't have any other way home except to drive. I was there for any student at the school who needed a ride. I took thirty-seven people home safely over the two-week vacation. They didn't drink and drive so they didn't kill themselves or any innocent bystanders, like my parents.
One thing did happen unexpectedly. I got a package in the mail that read, "Do Not Open Until Xmas." I didn't know whom it was from. There was no return address and no card was visible. The box was wrapped in plain brown paper with my name, the name of my dorm and my address affixed. It was fourteen inches long, six inches wide and five inches deep. I set it under the dorm tree and waited for Christmas.
As you might gather, I'm a strong believer in the spirit of Christmas; I always have been. Hell, I believed in Santa Claus until I was twelve years old. I still believe in him in a way. I don't wait for him to come to my dorm room and fill it up with presents nor do I look out my window for Rudolph's glowing red nose. I don't go talk to the fat man in the fake white beard and red suit at the mall although I still like to believe in Santa Claus.
I waited for Christmas to arrive with curiosity and anxiety so I could see what was in the box and perhaps find out the identity of the giver. It took more willpower than I've ever needed before to stop myself from ripping that package open and seeing what was inside it and whom it was from. I did it though. I did not open that package until Christmas.
Christmas day arrived. There was fresh snow on the ground and it was beautiful. I couldn't stop smiling. I ran to get into the shower as soon as I woke up. I showered, brushed my teeth, and got dressed in a nice church dress. It was cute: red with white frills. It looked like something a mother would put on her three year old toddler. Then, I ran downstairs. I wanted to open my surprise package before I went to church. When I got to the game room, there were only three people there. That was not too surprising considering most students had gone home for the holidays. I greeted them, wished them all a Merry Christmas and then hunted through the pile of packages looking for mine.
I admit it was kind of embarrassing. My little package was the least decorative package in the pile. All the other presents were wrapped up in gold or green or red paper; some of them had big beautiful bows and pretty little cards attached. Mine was wrapped up in plain brown paper, the same stuff they make brown paper bags out of. It didn't have a bow or a card or even a nametag. I grabbed up my package, took a seat in an empty chair and ripped it open. I tore the paper away and found a Nike shoebox. My first thought was "Oh God, someone sent me running shoes for Christmas." I tossed the paper on the floor, used my fingernails to cut through the tape holding the lid on and then opened the box.
Inside I found more brown wrapping paper. This was getting ridiculous! I grabbed pieces of brown paper and tossed them on the floor. Finally, I exposed the present itself and it wasn't shoes. It was wood. I looked down at it; I hadn't taken it out of the box. My eyes went wide and I quickly closed the box back up. Looked around to make sure no one else had seen, tucked the box under my arm and, as casually as possible, stood up and headed for my dorm room. What was inside? I didn't believe it!
Inside that innocent looking red Nike box was a piece of wood. Wood!!! Of all things, it was a piece of wood, about a foot long, six inches thick at its base and crescent shaped. Don't get me wrong, it was beautiful. It had a wonderful glossy finish and it was engraved. Inside that innocent little Nike shoe box was a dildo! Who the hell would send me a dildo?
I rushed back up to my room, keeping the box securely closed under my arm. I closed my door, set the box on the bed and opened it again. I took out the remaining brown paper, tossed it into the trashcan, sat down beside the present and, without touching it, sat there and studied the object.
It was a work of art as far as dildos go. It was carved out of oak and had been stained a deep dark, reddish brown and it was engraved. I leaned down and closely inspected the engravings. Starting at the base, the thickest part, there was a picture of a woman laid out on her back. She was naked with her legs spread and with a dildo sticking out of her cunt. An inch up from that was another scene; this was of a woman, also naked, on all fours with a dildo sticking in her ass. An inch up from that was a picture of the same woman kneeling, with her arms above her head, sliding a dildo into her mouth. I could see another image at the very tip of the dildo, but it was too small for me to distinguish at the time. The first three engravings were each about two inches square with about an inch between them. The fourth engraving was less than an inch in size. Who carved it, why did they carve it and how did they carve it? I wondered.
I argued with myself for about fifteen minutes whether or not I should even touch the dildo. Whether I wanted to touch it or not, I was sure there had been a mistake. Surely I wasn't the intended recipient. Surely, this was meant for someone else. Maybe there was another Samantha Downing somewhere. Maybe it was meant for her. My mind was working double time, running through the list of people who might send me a Christmas package. Who had my address? Who would have the guts to send me a dildo? Was this a message from someone?
After twenty minutes of staring at it, opening and closing the box, pacing and wondering, I made a decision. I would wrap it back up and write on the package, "No such name, No such number." Let the post office deal with it. I decided that I didn't want it. I got the roll of wrapping paper I used to wrap up the few gifts I gave, closed the box and laid the wrapping paper out on my bed. I was about to pick up the box and set it on the paper when I chickened out. It was the first Christmas surprise I'd had in seven years. Why did it have to be a dildo? I never sent the package back. I did go back to the game room to search the brown paper for a card. I also searched the box for a card, for a name, for anything that might tell me who sent it. I found nothing! I slid the dildo under my bed, still in the shoebox, and there it stayed.
In the empty moments my mind would wander to the object and I continued to wonder. No answers were forthcoming though. The box stayed under my bed until after New Years. I went out on dates and had fun. School resumed and I went back to class. In the back of my mind I obsessed over that present. I just couldn't forget it. Occasionally I pulled the box out, opened it and looked at the dildo. I never brought myself to reach in and pick the thing up. It always appeared unchanged and it never answered any of my questions.
January nineteenth was a day I would never forget. School had been back in session for about two weeks and things were going well. Lydia came up to my dorm room to practice giving a speech she had to present for her Public Speaking class. I helped her write the damn thing so I wanted to be the first to hear it. After she finished practicing she asked me about my Christmas. She was one of the few people in the school who knew that I had no family. I told her I had received a couple useful gifts. She then asked about any embarrassing gifts I may have gotten. I instantly thought of the dildo but didn't mention it. I just said, "No." She then told me about her Christmas and about how her younger, high school aged sister had embarrassed her by giving her a teddy. Then her older, married sister embarrassed her even more with a massage kit. The kit consisted of four different items. The first component was an electronic massager with five different detachable heads for different places on the body. The second piece was a small nine-inch bar with rubber spikes on it. The idea was for someone to roll this over your back. The third article was a bottle of oil. The forth part was what really embarrassed her, a battery operated, vibrating dildo. I could just imagine the look on her face as she opened the present in front of her father. We were both laughing.
.... There is more of this story ...