The Rabbit

Minkus really had me thinking after our conversation last night. How is it possible that I’m 23 years old and haven’t experienced the power of an orgasm? A glorious, make your legs tremble, bring tears to your eyes, projectile squirting, type orgasm like the ones my co-worker described as she confided and overshared to me last week about her office romance with our manager? I’m pressed. I guess if I really want this experience, I need to let go and explore my body, my damn self.

I roll my eyes and say out loud, “Might as well try to get some inspiration since Michael’s already volunteered himself into sending nudes. Let’s see what the world wide web has to offer.”

Phone buzzes. I see Minkus’ messages coming in.

“Jesus! Google is beginning to feel like I've just opened pandora’s box with so many options. Let’s see what these folx are saying.”

This one looks promising. I respond, sending her another link. “Everyone keeps raving about this thing called a Rabbit?”

“Yeah, that’s pretty popular, but you can always go about it the old-fashioned way, too, Lety.” Minkus sends me a gif of wiggling fingers.

I grimace at the thought. “Ugh, thanks, but no thanks. I’m going to need more than just myself on this one. It's been a few years since the breakup and already feels awkward enough that I AM the person I have to get sensual with.”

“LOL. That’s the point!” she explains, “It’s how you discover what it is you like.”

I askmyself, 'What do I like?'

“Yeah, I guess…” I reply.

Minkus sends another link, “This seems like a good one, Lety. Look at the reviews! And the price isn’t too bad either.”

Chuckling, I tell myself, “If this isn’t a best friend, I don’t know what is. Not even the guys I’ve dated have gone to these lengths to ensure I have a happy ending.” I add it to my cart and check out, mostly convinced by their discreet shipping guarantee. I send her one last text before bed.

“There! I bought it. I’ll give yours and Michael’s advice a shot and keep y’all in the loop since you’re both clearly invested. You can officially be proud and leave me alone now, please and thank you. Night, Minks. Love to hate youuu!”

“You’re so dramatic. Don’t act like you haven’t been dying to shoot your shot, anyway. LMFAO.”

Bitch. She’s not wrong, though. I laugh and turn out the light. I consider her suggestion, but can’t seem to get myself into the idea. I give up and, frustrated, I go to sleep.

Several days pass and I double check my email to check the delivery status. FUCK!

Delivered yesterday? How is it possible I didn’t receive the package? I was home…

A million thoughts come racing to mind.

Should I give it one more day? I begin fearing for the worst and definitely don’t want to ask if anyone has received a package. How am I going to explain that one?! I go outside to have a smoke, but I can’t stop thinking about it. Maybe I can muster up the courage to ask mom when she gets home from work? She’s pretty open...I think.

I lie and call customer service instead only to have them confirm it was indeed delivered. I give it a few more days, until finally one night, mom, dad and I are finishing up dinner in the kitchen and she gets up to go grab an opened box. She has this look on her face, and before she can ask, I dread the inevitable.

In a tone I’ll never forget, she asks, “By any chance is this yours?” as she pulls out a fleshy, light pink, little rabbit out of the box. The dildo! I think quickly and the first words I blurt out are, “My friends are so stupid! They asked me for my address and I guess this is what they were pranking me with?”

Mom laughs and says, “Yeah, right. Tu crees que me voy a tragar ese cuento?” Damn it. I tried. You can see dad’s discomfort as he gets up from the table to let us have this conversation. “I’m serious! It must’ve been Minkus or Adam. They think they’re sooo funny.” This time, I’m trying hard to convince even myself.

“It’s ok, Lety, this is your discovery.” she says, “But I did, show it to Gonzalo...”

Gonzalo?! I feel the blood rush up to my head and immediately become defensive. “You did what?! Why would you do that?! And why would you even open MY package in the first place?”

“Well, I didn’t know it was YOUR package. I ordered some stuff and thought it was mine because the package was blank and there wasn’t a name on it.” GREAT. This “discretion guarantee” was worth shit. She stammers on, "The only reason I showed it to Gonzalo is because he was sitting here as I was opening the mail and he heard my reaction. So when he asked what was going on, I told him I found your dildo.”

Christ! Can this get any worse? I am absolutely mortified as she continues to say, “And once I told him it was a dildo, he asked if he could feel it because he’s never seen a dildo before and said he’d always heard about them, but didn’t know how to discuss these themes of sexuality with his clients. We weren’t doing anything wrong! I just showed it to him because he was curious. Your dad was even with me!”

Yes, yes it can get worse and it did.

I feel the left brain yelling at me. Not only has my mom opened the box, but our cousin, who also happens to be a blind psychologist, fondles my dildo and officially psychoanalyzed me in front of my dad?!

I am fuming and insist, “Regardless of this being a prank, you have violated my privacy and humiliated me. It does not matter how innocent this seems to you, it is a violation. If you guys are so intrigued by the dildo, maybe you should keep it!”

I get up and snatch the rabbit from her hand, hanging it on the kitchen keyholder rack for everyone to see, yet never to be seen again.

Stupid Minkus! Stupid Michael! This is what I get for listening to them. It would have been much simpler trying that Italian glass perfume bottle I was curiously considering and called it a day.

path to womanhood