Chapter Four

 

 

My hubby came home for lunch today and we saw “The Package” stuffed in our mailbox. I felt all tingly inside, but at the same time, didn’t want to touch it—like it was radioactive or something. I finally found the courage to pick it up and stash it into the house before we went to the grocery store to buy some batteries and wine for later tonight when he gets home from work.

I was kind of glad that I’d be alone this afternoon to fire it up. I told myself, “Let’s see what this baby can do.” I figured that by the time he came home, I’d be a real pro at this.

Before I took the vibrator out of its package, I wanted to make a little tableau on my art table, and capture some possible covers for this book. I created some shadows by positioning my fancy art lamp that my husband bought me a few years ago when I started taking watercolor classes.

I wanted to insert something retro into my tableau that would remind me of my mom and Erma Bombeck, so I went into the kitchen to get Mom’s cookbook from the early sixties. It has all sorts of great photos that would appeal to a wife and homemaker from “The Leave It to Beaver” era. I put a few pages from her cookbook on the table between my vibrator and snapped some pictures. These would do for now; I may ask my husband later for some help with my cover design. He’s been really good at making covers for my books in the past.

That done, I attempted to put the batteries into the vibrator. My husband is usually the one to put batteries in things and he was at work. So, this time I had to be a grownup and put the batteries in all by myself. I have a Master’s Degree and you would think I’d be smart enough to do this simple task, but no—I couldn’t figure it out. All I saw were the plus signs on the batteries. ‘Boy, am I stupid,’ I told myself. I had to call my husband.

Of course, he was in the middle of doing something important at his very important government job and he told me that he’d call back.

 

****

 

He called back a few minutes later and helped me out.

I told him that I couldn’t figure out how to put the batteries in.

“Does the diagram show pluses and minuses?” he asked.

“All the batteries are pluses.”

“Hold on, let me check something,” he said. After checking what the batteries looked like online, he realized they only have a ‘plus’ sign on them; not a minus. I could hear him cursing Duracel and their battery markings. To make matters worse, the instructions for the batteries that came with the vibrator were not marked as well as they could have been. The deck was stacked against me.

“Okay,” he said, “here’s what we’ll do. See how each battery has one flat end and the other has a nipple.” Now he was speaking my language.

I told him, “Yes. I see.”

He answered, “The nipple side of each battery is always the plus side. The flat side is the minus side. Look at the diagram and it should show which way the batteries go in.”

I finally got it right and he started laughing and said, “Have fun.”

 

****

 

I took the vibrator into the bedroom and propped myself up on the bed for my experiment. I ran the vibrator on the inside of my thighs and thought that it felt pretty good. So far; so good.

I decided to do a “dry hump” against my panties, vowing to stay a “vibrator virgin” until my husband came home. I let it run a little, experimenting with the different speeds. Okay, so it tingles, but it doesn’t really feel sexy. Maybe I’d better take my panties off, after all.

I did so and tried using the vibrator against my bare flesh. Ho Hum…It still wasn’t working for me. Miss Happy was not satisfied. Was it because of my “atrophied vagina”? I wondered. Such an image was a definite turn-off and once again I cursed the doctor who introduced those words into my head in the first place.

Maybe it would be better if I waited for my husband to come home, after all. I’m sure with enough wine we both can lose our inhibitions with this damned thing. If not, maybe I can at least use it to help his back problems, and thereby save on some physical therapy bills. I guess I’ll go wash the dishes from lunch. Sigh…