The Package Lucía Opened When No One Was Home

The doorbell rang just as Lucía was starting to get lost in her reading. She marked the page with her finger, sighed, and got up from the sofa with the laziness of someone who doesn’t want to leave what she was doing. On the other side of the door, the delivery man was holding a small, anonymous box, with nothing written on it except her name and the apartment address.

—Thanks —she said, signing with a quick scribble.

She closed the door, locked it out of habit, and went back to the living room with the package in her hands. She knew perfectly well what she had ordered: a small, discreet toy, barely a first step toward something that had been running through her head for weeks. Up to then, her only experience with that part of her body had been the tip of a pen one night out of boredom, an awkward caress that had left her more intrigued than satisfied.

Her parents were away for the whole weekend. The apartment was hers, the silence was hers, and the afternoon stretched out ahead with no possible interruption.

She sat on the sofa and tore at the cardboard impatiently, carelessly, eager to see what she had bought before any excuse could stop her. And then she stared at the contents with her mouth slightly open.

There wasn’t just one toy. There were several. A complete collection, arranged by size, from one barely thicker than a finger to another twenty centimeters long and with a girth that made her swallow hard. Someone had made a mistake, or the seller had been generous, but the envelope with her name on it left no doubt: this was for her.

Well —she thought, with a nervous smile—. Surprise.

She took the smallest one and turned it between her fingers, gauging its weight, its smooth, slightly cool feel. She wasn’t in a hurry. That was the advantage of being alone: she could go slowly, listen to her body, stop whenever she wanted and start again.

She unfastened her pajama bottoms and let them fall to the floor. The first touch was timid, just the end of the toy brushing the outside of her clit, drawing slow circles. She liked the sensation more than she expected. She repeated the movement, pressed a little harder, and felt her nipples harden beneath her T-shirt without having to touch them.

She looked up at the rest of the collection, still neatly arranged in the box. Each toy seemed like a promise, a question she would have to answer sooner or later. The idea of having them all at her disposal, with no one to judge her, sent a shiver down her back.

She closed her eyes. She took a deep breath. The afternoon had only just begun.

***

First she tried it on her pussy, sliding the small toy all the way in, playing with a rhythm she set herself. But it wasn’t enough. She pulled it out, took one of considerable size, and started again, this time less patiently, moving it hard, chasing that tension rising from her belly and leaving her breathless.

She spread her legs on the sofa, put her feet on the coffee table, and let herself go. The first spasms surprised her with their intensity, a wave that made her arch her back and bite her lip so she wouldn’t scream in an empty apartment nobody was going to hear anyway. She was soaked, hot, completely surrendered to what her body was asking of her.

And that was when she remembered why she had bought all that.

She took the smallest toy again. It was slippery, shiny, and when she moved it lower she found her ass just as wet, lubricated by everything her pussy kept leaking. She set the tip against her anus and stayed still, feeling the pressure, the tingle of something new.

—Easy —she told herself softly, almost a whisper—. Slowly.

She took another deep breath. She loosened her shoulders, let the tension drain out of her legs, and pushed just a little. Half of it slid in with an ease that astonished her. No pain, only a dense, warm sensation, unlike anything she had ever known before. For the first time she trusted her own body, that part she had always considered forbidden, and what she got back was pure pleasure.

She pushed a little more until it was all the way in. She left it there for a few seconds, feeling her ass close around it and then expel it with a small spasm, as if it had a life of its own. That sensation of fullness and emptiness, of having something and losing it, drove her crazy. She repeated it once. And again. And again.

Every time the toy went in and out, a new current ran up her legs and blended with what she felt in front. She discovered that if she combined the two things, the fingers of one hand working her clit while the other pushed slowly from behind, the pleasure multiplied until it became almost unbearable. She had to stop for a moment, gasping, frightened by her own intensity.

She even reached for the medium one and held it there, but she knew at once it was too much for a first time. It didn’t matter. For an afternoon of discovery, what she had just felt was more than enough.

She lay there, catching her breath, with a silly smile on her face and her heart still racing. Then she carefully cleaned the toys, picked up the mess from the sofa, and dried the floor with the pajama top that had ended up on it. When everything was back in its place, no one would have imagined what had happened in that living room.

But she knew. And she was already thinking about the next time.

***

The next time was the next day. And the one after that, that same night.

Within a week, Lucía could already get the tip of the big toy inside and keep it there for several minutes, breathing calmly, learning the exact rhythm of her body. Three fingers went in without effort, and each session felt more intense than the last. She reached a point where she barely touched her pussy: all her desire had concentrated in that other place she had ignored for years.

She discovered that anticipation was almost as good as the ending. She spent the day with her mind elsewhere, counting the hours until she was alone, imagining textures, sizes, new sensations. In class she didn’t pay attention. At dinner with her friends she smiled without listening, lost in her own secret.

After a month, she could barely feel the big toy anymore. Her body had gotten used to it, had learned, had asked for more. And she, far from being scared, accepted it with a mix of pride and a touch of unease.

How far am I going to go?, she sometimes wondered, lying in the darkness of her room.

She began experimenting with other things. Everyday objects that she suddenly looked at differently: the smooth handle of a utensil, the curve of a firm piece of fruit, any shape that promised a different sensation. Each discovery was a small triumph, one more step on a staircase that didn’t seem to have an end.

She also changed the way she prepared herself. She no longer just threw herself into it: she lit a candle, put on soft music, gave herself time to get into the right state. She turned each session into a private ritual, something entirely hers, a space where she could be exactly who she wanted to be without having to explain herself. She liked that power, being in charge of her own body and discovering that it responded better the bolder she was.

There were nights when she fell asleep exhausted, body limp and mind blank, and woke in the morning with her first fixed idea already on what she would do that afternoon. She didn’t recognize herself, and at the same time she had never felt more like the owner of her own self.

Three months after that first afternoon, what had begun as curiosity had become a routine she couldn’t do without. She missed not a single day. She knew herself better than ever, knew exactly what she wanted and how to get it, and even so the feeling that she always needed a little more never left her.

***

One night, in front of the bathroom mirror, Lucía studied herself as if she wanted to recognize herself. The shy girl who had signed for that package without knowing what was inside no longer existed. In her place was someone who had learned not to be ashamed of her own desire, who had allowed herself to explore without asking anyone’s permission.

Soon it would be her birthday. She would celebrate with her friends, blow out the candles, pretend her head was at the party. But inside, she was thinking of something else. She was thinking that toys were no longer enough, that her fantasy had grown to the point where she needed something more real, warmer, more alive.

She wanted to share it. She wanted two hands that weren’t her own to open her slowly, for two bodies to take turns filling her while she surrendered without reservations. She had imagined it so many times that it no longer seemed impossible, but rather like a plan.

And there was barely a month left.

She turned off the tap, looked at herself one last time, and smiled at her reflection. She knew that birthday would not be like any other. The only thing she had to decide was whom to invite to her gift.