The author of this story is known to Mamamia but has chosen to remain anonymous for privacy reasons. The feature image used is a stock photo.
My lovely, and sometimes a bit naughty, boyfriend bought me a little gift the other day. It’s a We-Vibe. It’s a vibrator with an inny bit and an outy bit that vibrates and you put it inside your vag and you can go out shopping, commute to work, and run errands which, probably doesn’t include a trip to the fanny waxer, because that’s a lot to explain.
Anyway, you operate it via an app and customise your vibrations – so maybe you like the waves or the staccato vibrations. So many choices. It makes everyday tasks a just a little bit more interesting.
Or perhaps you hand over the reins to your partner (because they can operate the app too, remotely) and… say you’re at the post office buying an express post bag and suddenly you get a lightning bolt of amazingness in your pants that hits you just as you present your card for PayPass on the machine thingy and your card goes flying. And you laugh like a maniac and you walk out of there looking like a puppet on a string. A string that is attached to your vagina. And the dude at the counter hovers his hands over the 000 buttons until you’re out of sight.
I mean, that could feasibly happen.
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Anyway, it’s fun.
So fun, in fact, that we decided to try it out at a very nice restaurant for lunch one bright and breezy Sunday. We booked the kind of place that you always picture a boozy Sunday lunch to take place – water views, cocktails, people wearing ochre linen, a few tossers, great food.
There was a textbook looking DJ playing some chilled beats in the corner, there were tables of coiffed women out for a rowdy lunch, there were hot young couples on dates, there were a few fancy family functions, some French Bulldogs tied up outside, tanned waitstaff floating around smiling and secretly hating everyone, you get the vibe.
I need to share that I made a few mistakes with my little We-Vibe adventure and it was a steep learning curve.
Firstly, I wore teeny tiny underpants that definitely didn’t contain the We-Vibe rubber base plate.
I also wore a rather short skirt, which eradicated a second line of defence.
I didn’t think about this at the time though. I just toddled off to the bathroom after we were seated, gave my boyfriend a knowing wink, pulled out the purple rubber contraption out of my pocket and popped in my… other pocket. I hit the little button and buzzzzzzz we were off.
As we were sitting down to our lovely seafood lunch, with really nice wine and little plates of deliciousness, we were perhaps a little gigglier than you would expect from a couple at 2pm on a sunny Sunday afternoon. But other than that, you wouldn’t have singled us out.
We chatted, ate, and drank, and all the while my boyfriend toyed with the app, taking me up to the point of no return, then pulling it right back, then upping the ante again.
Listen, when you’ve had a vibrator up your lady bits for an hour or so, things can get rather relaxed and, ok, I don’t want to say it, but there’s no other word for it: moist.
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When our bill came, I turned the device off, because I’m not rude. I don’t want to look a waiter in the eye when I’m on a rapid-fire fanny vibration cycle. I paid the bill and we were good to go.
I sort of forgot it was in there.
As we walked across the busy restaurant floor towards the exit, I heard a dull, squelchy thud.
It felt like something had dropped out of my vagina. And then I realised something had. My boyfriend made a choking sound. I felt instant heat rise up my neck and I panicked.
I looked around frantically but I couldn’t see it anywhere.
That SPC tinned fruit salad ad from the 90’s where that kid says ‘slippery little sucker’ as he tries to pick up a juicy cherry sprung to mind.
That’s when I spied something purple about two metres away. The We-Vibe was lying sideways at the base of a table and thankfully the very sweet looking couple sitting there hadn’t clocked it.
I smiled at them and leant down and grabbed it, feeling thankful for my man hands, which by their sheer size, managed to conceal it enough. So it didn’t look like I’d thrown a used sex toy across a crowded restaurant.
I shoved it in my pocket, thankful (not for the first time) for pockets in skirts, and looked to the floor avoiding eye contact with anyone.
I heard some giggling as I did my hot-faced walk of shame towards the door which felt like it took an eternity, but I didn’t dare look up. I don’t know who saw it, but statistics tell me that someone must have.
As we exited the restaurant I turned around – it was actually my boyfriend giggling, trying to hold it in, not doing very well. He had tears in his eyes. Then this made me laugh.
We laughed all the way home.
And I have been smashing daily Kegels every since.