My name is Michelle. When I was 22, I humiliated myself totally. I'm 23 now, and still living the effects of that humiliation every day.
The date was November 18, 2011. It was a Friday night, and I was alone in the apartment. At the time I lived at ... in... , MD. The time was just after 11 PM and I was on my bed, in my sexiest nightie, making love to myself. I was on my hands and knees, or more correctly, on my knees and my chest, face turned away from the window, arms limp at my sides. I had a dildo in my vagina and a vibrator up my bottom. I was so happy and content. The doorbell ruined all that.
I jerked awake and bolt upright on my hands and knees. I looked at the clock, saw that it was 11:07 PM, and then stared at my bedroom door, open-mouthed. Then I looked at my bedroom window, making sure the blinds were securely closed—they were—and waited with choked breath to see if whoever would ring again. They didn't.
Who was it, at 11 PM at night?
Rattled, but recovering slightly, I slipped my hand around and removed both the dildo and vibrator. Quickly I slipped both under the mattress, and then padded across to the chair and snatched up my terry-clothe robe. I put it on and belted myself in on the way out the bedroom door. I crept down the hallway on my tip-toes anyway, hesitated at the kitchen door, flicked on the light, flicked it off again, and then proceeded through the dining room to the foyer (not really, just a walkway divided from the living room by an iron railing) and put my eye to the peephole. I saw only the empty landing and my neighbor's red doors on the landing. I stepped back and bit my lower lip. Then I retreated to the end of the railing, stepped down into the living room and hurried to the balcony curtains, where I peeked out. I saw no one on the sidewalk scurrying away, nor in the parking lot. I went to my left and up one step into the den and peeked out the den's window, which afforded a look up the parking lot I couldn't get from the balcony doors. I still saw on one, which didn't surprise me as it was pouring cat's and dog's outside. Still biting my lip, I stood back and crossed my arms over my chest.
Kids? I hadn't experienced it yet, but Ken told me kids sometimes play bell-tag, ringing everyone's doorbell in the building and then tearing outside to hide. Plausible, though kinda far-fetched in the rain. One of the neighbors maybe? A drunk? The wrong door? Possible, I guessed. I had taken a few moments to make it to the peephole. I was about to drop my arms and head back to the bedroom when a thought stopped me cold.
Could someone know? Could the doorbell be a wake-up call, someone saying Hi there, I know what you did? What if he had slipped a note or something under my door? I hurried back to the foyer but discovered no note. What if he taped a note to the outside of my door? Alarmed and breathless, I stuck my eye back to the peephole, made sure the landing was empty, and then twisted open the deadlock and unlocked the door and opened it an inch. There was no note, but there was a box.
Oh, no, I groaned. What is that?
Trembling now, I twisted my head back and forth to make sure the landing was truly empty, listened carefully for breathing, or any sound that might signal a lurker outside, and then closed the door and clumsily slid the chain to the side. Then I opened the door wide enough to see the entire package on the floor. "Fuck," I muttered to myself.
The package was a plain brown cardboard shipping box, sealed across the top with transparent shipping tape. There was no label, and no markings of any kind that I could see. Still trembling, I nudged the box with my left big toe and slid it 6" back. It was not empty, weighing, I guessed, in the neighborhood of five pounds. I couldn't stop trembling and I couldn't stop biting my lower lip. I hated this box.
You can't leave it out there, I told myself.
What if it's a bomb?
Oh, please ... Really? A bomb?
Feeling stupid as well as embarrassed, I stooped down and picked up the box. Something shifted inside, something heavy enough to unbalance the box, making me almost drop it. Quickly I brought it inside and closed the door. I didn't lock it yet, in case I need to throw the box back out. I put it on the mail desk and stood back, arms crossed again and worrying my thumbnail. This was bad. No matter what it was, this was bad.
I looked at the door, and then back at the box. I looked at the balcony curtains and then back at the box. I looked at the kitchen and through it with my x-ray eyes at my bedroom window, the probably cause of this trouble, whatever it was, and then back at the box.
Bullshit, I told myself, you're the cause of this trouble, not the bedroom window. I sighed, and then shuffled forward to the box.
Whoever had sealed it doubled over one end of the tape as a pull. Dutifully, I pulled the tape up the side of the box, across the top and let it fall down the other side. I then crossed my arms again and stared at the lid.
Don't be such a wuss.
I'm afraid to open the lid.
Of course you are. Open it anyway.
I did, lifting one side and then the other, and then the two end flaps.
Inside, still in their sealed blister packs were three huge dildos: one white, and the other two black. I gasped and skipped back, releasing the lids, which fell back into place. I continued backing until I hit the rail, and then twisted my head to look at the balcony curtains.
I was panic-stricken. Someone knew my secret. Apparently, someone knew all my secrets. Mewling pitifully, I backed from the box and covered my mouth with my right hand. My left arm remained over my chest, clutching me. I stumbled on the edge of the step-down and wind-milled a moment, before stepping down into the living room and stumbling four steps into the coffee table.
"Ow!" I complained shrilly, grabbing both my shin and my toes, three of which I'd stubbed on the unforgiving wood. Tearing, I looked up at the box, accused it unfairly, This is your fault, massaged my sore toes and sat down in the chair to consider.
Was this Ken? No kids had left that box in the damned hallway. Ken seemed the best bet: he knew what I liked and was not above a practical joke. But I had talked to Ken two hours ago, and unless he'd lied to me about being in Buffalo, it couldn't be him.
I began to tremble all over and clutched myself across the chest. My teeth started to chatter and I made mewling noises again. I hunched over to control my shivering. And then, some defiant part of me asked, So what?
What do you mean, So what?"
It's not like you didn't ask for this, Michelle.
I sat up, indignant. What are you talking about?
My defiant side laughed. I blushed, acknowledging the point.
"Oh, shut up," I muttered reproachfully and stood up.
The dildos were all Doc Johnson's. The same brand as my own, though all considerably larger. I laughed at the understatement. The one Ken bought me and which had been in my vagina only a short time ago was 7" long, with imitation testicles and scrotum forming a flat base. It could stand vertically. The next size up, the 9" older brother of my dildo was the smallest of the three in the box. Ballsy Super Cock it said on the package. It was an order of magnitude larger than my own, at least to my inexperienced eyes. It alone would challenge my vagina. The other two dildos were monsters.
I emitted a sudden, embarrassing giggle and mortified, looked at the apartment door, and then guiltily at the balcony drapes. I knew without any conscious decision that these were not from a neighbor. Someone had seen me. Someone with binoculars, obviously, though how I still didn't know. I never did anything with a light on.
The answer was obvious, of course: Infrared. Someone had watched me using infrared binoculars. I had never even considered it--idiotic, considering this was 2011 and everyone and his brother had night-vision binoculars ... I had even seen reports on the nightly news: No privacy, even in your home!
Chagrined, I unconsciously tightened the robe at my throat and felt totally violated.
The two remaining dildos, both black were a joke. Neither could be used on a normal 22 year old female. Certainly not on me. The smaller was 12" long—just the shaft was 12" long!—with a suction cup at the base. The shaft was roughly circular at the base, a poor representation of balls. I shivered, imagining me lowering myself onto that. It was twice the thickness of my 7" dildo.
The larger dildo was just ridiculous. Ludicrous. I picked it up and gazed at it in awe. 18" long, the package said. I believed it, without doubt. It too was all shaft with a slightly rounded base and a suction cup at the end. It must weight 3 or 4 lbs.
I laughed, imagining Ken brandishing it at me, grinning like a pirate. Ahoy, me Lassie. Prepare to be skewered. It was big around as a Coke can, probably larger, with a head the size of a Rhinoceros's. What it would do to my ... I shoved that thought away roughly. And then I noticed the note.
Oh, my God ... there was a note. Horrified, I backed away again.
It was short and impersonal. No greeting, no explanation, no threats of blackmail, no taunts. Just a man's semi-neat handwriting noting two website addresses; one each, corresponding to one of the monstrous dildos. Both were to the website xHamster. I'd never heard of it.
.... There is more of this story ...