The Package I Waited Two Days to Open Alone

A few years ago, my whole life revolved around work. I left home when it was still dark and got back when it was dark again. I didn’t complain, because I liked what I did, but that routine left me little room to meet people. Sometimes I’d open an app, exchange a couple of messages with strangers, and then close everything without feeling up to it. There were nights when I simply didn’t want anyone near me.

The subject came up one afternoon, over laughter and glasses of wine, at Marisol’s place. There were four of us, and the conversation drifted, as always, toward sex. Daniela was the one who blurted it out without shame: she used a vibrator almost every night. The other two nodded as if it were the most natural thing in the world. I kept quiet, holding my glass, because I had never used one. My own hands had always been enough for me.

But the way they described it stuck with me. They weren’t talking about just any device, but about something that made them lose control, that brought them orgasms unlike any I knew. That night I went home with my curiosity lit, like an ember that wouldn’t quite go out.

For days I pushed the idea into a corner of my head. I had too much work, too many excuses. Until one Friday afternoon, when I found myself especially restless, my body awake and desire right at the surface. I opened the app, ready to look for someone to come and put that fire out.

And then I remembered Daniela.

I closed the app. What if I buy it for myself?

Instead of writing to a stranger, I went into an adult toy shop. I had never browsed one with such attention. Vibrators, suction toys, dildos of every size, with descriptions that promised things I had never even imagined. I read every listing with my heart beating a little faster, feeling naughty, as if someone might be watching over my shoulder.

I spent a good while lost among options until I saw it. The classic rabbit vibrator, with its rotating shaft and those two little ears meant for the clitoris. The reviews were a chorus of satisfied women. I didn’t think twice. I added it to the cart and confirmed the purchase before I could change my mind.

The only thing I hadn’t accounted for was the wait. I didn’t want to pay for urgent shipping, so the package would take forty-eight hours. Two days. At the time it seemed silly to me. I had no idea what was waiting for me.

***

Those forty-eight hours were a delicious torture.

From the moment I confirmed the purchase, my body seemed to understand that something was coming and went on alert. Every brush of clothing against my skin became a stimulus. The bra seam rubbing against me, the fabric of my blouse sliding over my nipples, and I could already feel them hardening beneath my shirt. I went to the bathroom in the middle of the workday and found my panties slightly damp, without having done anything to cause it.

I work face-to-face with the public, and those two days were a test. I was helping a customer and, without intending to, my gaze would drop for a second toward his crotch. I caught myself imagining things that had nothing to do with the moment, wanting something in my hands, to squeeze, to feel. I had to breathe deeply and go back to the conversation as if nothing were happening, my cheeks hot.

At night it was worse. I got into bed and my hand would travel on its own, but I forced myself to stop. No. Wait. Let it arrive first. I wanted to break in that toy with all the desire I’d been building up, not spend it before time. So I stayed awake, turning over and over, with a dull heat between my legs that wouldn’t let me sleep.

The second day felt endless. I checked my phone every half hour, waiting for the shipping notification. “Out for delivery,” it finally said by midmorning. From that point on, I was unable to focus on anything.

***

The package arrived at dusk, when I had almost lost hope of getting it that day. I signed with a clumsy scribble and closed the door. I left it on the table and stared at it for a few seconds, as if it might bite.

I tore open the cardboard with trembling hands. Inside, a discreet box, elegant even. I opened it and took it out. When I felt its weight in my palm, a shiver ran from the nape of my neck to the base of my back. It was soft to the touch, heavier than I had imagined. I turned it on just to check it, and the vibration tickled my fingers. I switched it off immediately, almost frightened by my own anticipation.

I made sure it was fully charged and went to my room. Luckily, I had the place to myself: Tomás, my roommate, was working the night shift and wouldn’t be back until dawn. I closed the door anyway, out of habit, and stood in front of the full-length mirror.

I began to undress slowly, without rushing, watching myself. I wasn’t used to stopping to look at myself like that. The blouse fell first, then the skirt. I stayed in my underwear for a moment, taking myself in with my eyes, and for once I didn’t look for flaws. I liked what I saw. I unhooked my bra and let my breasts go free; the cool air was enough to make my nipples harden. I slid my panties down my legs and nudged them aside with my foot.

Naked in front of the glass, vibrator in hand, I felt powerful.

***

I ran it first over my neck, still switched off, feeling the contrast of the smooth material against my warm skin. I moved it down over my collarbone, across the center of my chest, circling each breast without touching the nipple yet, deliberately stretching out the wait. When I finally dragged it over one of them, I turned it on to the softest setting.

The vibration tore a sigh from me. The rabbit spun slowly while the body hummed just enough, and I moved it from one breast to the other, letting that tremor spread through my whole torso. I closed my eyes for a second, then opened them again to look at myself in the mirror. The woman in the reflection had her mouth parted and her breathing unsteady.

I kept going down. Over my stomach, over my navel, tracing a slow path toward where I truly needed it. The closer I got, the harder my heart beat. I brushed the inside of my thighs first, teasing, delaying the moment, until I couldn’t take it anymore.

I brought the vibrator to my sex and slid it over me, not penetrating yet. I was soaked. The tip slid between my lips with ease, and the wet sound it made turned me on even more. I moaned softly, alone in the room, hearing myself for the first time without holding back.

I threw a couple of cushions onto the floor, in front of the mirror, and sat on them. I opened my legs wide, leaving myself completely exposed to my own reflection. Seeing myself like that, open and wet, was more arousing than any image I had ever looked up on a screen.

Out of curiosity, I brought the vibrator to my mouth and tasted my own flavor on the tip, feeling the vibration against my lips. It was an impulse even I hadn’t expected. Then I lowered it again.

***

I brought the tip to my entrance and pushed only slightly, letting it in just a few centimeters. The rotating body began to move inside me while I searched for the exact angle so the little ears would reach my clit. When I found it, everything changed.

It was a blast of pleasure unlike anything my fingers had ever given me. The internal and external vibration at the same time, in two places at once, made me arch my back. I let out a long moan that bounced off the empty walls of the house.

My wrist began to find its own rhythm almost on its own, pushing the toy deeper and deeper, faster and faster. With my free hand I stroked my breasts, alternating between one and the other, squeezing them, tugging at the nipples, pinching them until the little pain blended with the pleasure. If I had been able to reach them with my mouth, I would have sucked them without shame.

I never stopped looking at myself in the mirror. Seeing my own body moving, my hips seeking the toy, my face undone with pleasure, took me even higher. I had always liked touching myself in front of the glass, but that night was different. It was deeper, more intense, more mine.

Only a few minutes passed before I felt the first wave rise from the center of my belly. My legs closed around my own hand, trapping the vibrator still throbbing inside me. A broken sound escaped my throat, almost a cry, that I didn’t even recognize as my own.

The orgasm split me in two. And when I thought it was starting to fade, the little ears kept working over my clit and, seconds later, a second spasm tore through me without mercy. My thighs were shaking, my toes curling on their own, and I kept staring at myself, unable to believe what I was feeling.

***

When I finally switched off the vibrator and set it aside, I lay stretched out on the cushions, gasping. They were soaked beneath me. I laughed to myself, out of breath, staring at the ceiling, my body still trembling inside even though the toy was already still beside me.

I slowly sat up to look at myself again. My hair was tousled, my cheeks red, my chest rising and falling. I ran my fingers over my neck, my breasts, my stomach, recognizing myself relaxed and satisfied in a new way. There was no doubt left: it had been the most intense orgasm of my entire life. And nobody had given it to me. I had given it to myself.

For the rest of that week I went back to the room every night, exploring programs, speeds, and corners of myself I hadn’t even known existed. I discovered that pleasure didn’t depend on anyone showing up on a screen, or on waiting for a stranger to be in the mood. It was in my hands. Literally.

Sometimes I still think about those two days of waiting, about the delicious torture of knowing the package was on its way. And I smile. It was the best thing I’d given myself in a long time. The first of many.