By Jessica Buck

 

This is a story about a girl and her vibrator. Together, they are the two leading ladies in an embarrassing shit show.


Backstory


I’m 30 years old now, but remember being around 9 or 10-ish when I first started masturbating. One night I had channel 3 on past 11pm (hours after I was supposed to be asleep), and came across the first a set of titties that made my lady parts tingle. Gradually it turned into an episode straight out of PEN15; I was constantly humping every humpable object in my room and pretending to be asleep so I could secretly watch Skinemax (RIP). This went on throughout my entire adolescence, and finally when I was 19, I bought my first vibrator.


via GIPHY


I was a sophomore in college and still not super comfortable with my body and sexuality, so I went to the sex shop in hopes of figuring it out. I was so shy I couldn’t stay long in the shop at all. I grabbed one of the first vibrators I saw—a long, silver, rocket vibrator with three interchangeable sleeves; ones with ridges and stuff. I never ended up really using the sleeves; I found out early that I was more of a vibration on the clit kinda girl, so I just had this 7-inch vibrator when I probably should’ve bought a bullet massager.


The Build Up


That winter break, I was home for Christmas and we were packing up to move out of my childhood home. Of course, I brought my vibrator with me because ya girl was leaving her FWB for a few weeks and still needed some pleasure. Throughout the break, I hid my vibrator in my pillowcase so no one would find it if they came into my room. It was so well hidden, that when I packed to go back to school, I forgot to grab my vibrator and didn’t realize until I was already at the airport. My stomach dropped completely out of body when I realized what I had forgotten— a feeling of pure fear, shame, and embarrassment that I’ve only felt one other time in my life. I was “grown” but still felt like I was going to get my ass beat. I had no choice but to make a call.


I asked my brother to go in my room and throw my entire pillowcase in the trash. “Ew, gross!” he responded—confirmation that he had looked inside the pillowcase. “Whatever,” I thought. I needed it gone and would risk desperate measures to ensure all evidence of my private pleasure were erased from that house. I got on the plane with my chest at ease that it was a mission accomplished.


It was not.


D-DAY


A week following my return to college, my family and I got on our weekly conference call. With all of us living different states, these calls were meant to keep everyone in the loop, but I hated them. We’re not on the call more than five minutes before my mother starts ranting about how she’s been packing up the house, praying over everything and finalizing the move. She “cannot believe” the things she has found, “under her roof,” how could her children bring “such things” into her home. I had no idea what she was talking about, so I didn’t comment, and then I a text popped up from my brother:


“Mom found your vibrator btw.”


This was the other time my stomach dropped out of my body.


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YIKES. Sometimes I’ve felt like I was in a coming-of-age movie because of the amount of ridiculously embarrassing situations I’ve found myself in. I frantically texted my brother, trying to figure out how this happened. Apparently, my brother retrieved the pillowcase, but as he was leaving my room, he saw our mother coming up the stairs. Panicking, he stashed the entire pillowcase in my empty dresser drawer intending to come back for it later.


But he didn’t come back later, he forgot. And so in my imagination, the epic discovery scene plays out like this:



FADE IN


INT. HOUSE – MOVING DAY


Gospel music plays in through the intercoms, Yolanda Adams belting out, “In the Midst of it All.” The movers are making their last trip inside the house to pack up Jessica’s bedroom. They’re exhausted, having moved a 2-story, 4-bedroom, 2.5 bath home in record time.


CUT TO:


INT. BEDROOM


The MOVERS choose to move the dresser last, and stand on either side, bracing their knees to lift. As the dresser becomes uneven, a loud THUNK sounds from the top drawer.


MOVER #1
Ma’am, you left something in one of the drawers, do you want us to take it out?


MOM
Oh yea, if you could. Thank you!


One mover opens the drawer and takes out a pillowcase, eyeing the noticeably heavy object weighing the pillowcase down. He peeks inside and immediately shuts it back. He makes eye contact with MOVER #2, who gives him a look that says, “What was it?” MOVER #1 opens the pillowcase up again and shows MOVER #2, who tries to hold back a laugh that wants to escape.



MOVER #1
Uh, ma’am, I think you should take this.


His tone is weird, awkward even. MOM peeks her head out of the other room, eyebrows crinkled in confusion. She walks into the bedroom where MOVER #1, without eye contact, hands her the pillowcase. She immediately eyes the weight of the pillowcase and looks inside to see what the mystery item is.


CUT TO:


INT. PILLOWCASE


A 7-inch silver vibrator twinkles.


MOM’s cheeks start to turn rosy as she closes the pillowcase, tightly balling the excess cloth into her fist. She makes no direct eye contact with the MOVERS.


MOM

Thank you.


Before turning to leave, MOM takes one last look into her daughter’s childhood room. Walls covered in *NYSNC, Aaliyah and JTT Tiger Beat Posters, and a dream catcher she made in Girls Scouts still attached to the bedframe.


She turns on her heel, but her mind wanders, thinking, “College done turned my baby girl into a freak,” as she shakes her head, appalled.


FADE OUT




The Aftermath


Chances are she just came across it during her last run-through before the movers even arrived, but I like to think of it as a dramatic, telenovela type scene that cuts to commercial break after a close up on my mother's face *staring in black mama*


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I often wonder how it actually went down, but my mother and I have actually never spoken about this incident. It has never casually come up in conversation and we’ve never had the type of relationship to freely speak about sex; I would argue that my mother never even had “the talk” with me. But while we’ve never officially hashed this out, I do think about it OFTEN. I wonder if she remembers or thinks about it as much as I do.


Over a decade later, I can laugh about the situation. But at the time, I’m not sure I’ve ever been more embarrassed in my life. Sex toys have substantially helped me become more confident in my sexual self; it’s been a journey of exploration that has thoroughly benefited my inner being and so I urge you, too, to prioritize that part of you – the finding yourself part – and in the meantime, stay curious and play. Just don’t leave your vibrator behind for your mother to find.



 

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