Getting A Sex Toy By Mail

I had a funny experience around ordering a sex toy I've been wanting. First a brief background of why I ordered this toy.

For many years, I've had my eye on a fairly expensive sex toy, but couldn't justify getting it with other debts and expenses. There's also been a fair bit of shyness or embarrassment around ordering this particular sex toy, a Realdoe. It's well designed, well made, and has some unique patents, so it's not an inexpensive purchase either. So I haven't just run out and bought one on a whim. It's a strapless strap-on, primarily designed for women to have penetrating sex, without the (for some) unsexy appearance of a strap on harness, and with the bonus of penetration for both partners.

But it's not just for lesbians. It can also be used by a man in a number of scenarios, so it's had appeal for me for a long time. It could be used for pegging, which I've been curious to have tried on me. Or, I could put the bulb of the Reeldoe in my ass, and then penetrate my wife front or rear This has submissive possibilities that could allow her pleasure and deny mine. She could even use it as a handle during missionary sex where she holds the bulb and thrusts the horse in my ass to control my movement.

The other main potential use I have thought about is as an oral toy for me. I have often fantasized about submitting to my wife by being "forced" to give oral sex to one of our male friends. But in reality, that may never happen, so in the meantime I can use the Realdoe to practice giving oral sex.

I've discussed all these scenarios with my wife, but no one else, and I've been pretty reticent about getting one for the cost and embarrassment reasons.

Well, I finally decided to order one last week as a present for myself. I had discussed it in general with my wife, but didn't tell her I actually ordered it until the deed was done. The company is apparently very prompt about shipping, but doesn't send email updates with tracking numbers, etc. So I didn't know when it would get here. They are in Florida, and I'm in California, so if it was going to come by UPS ground, for example, it might take a week or more, who knows. Again, I didn't know from the order which method would be used for shipping. So I started looking for the delivery on Monday. With all the expectation, and potential embarrassment, what if someone visiting our home - or one of my adult kids -sees the thing? I can't imagine what shade I would blush.

I had all sorts of fleeting worries about the shipment getting lost, or falling into the wrong embarrassing hands, or in some other way having it come out that, "Hey, look who ordered a massive lesbian vibrating cock, and for all we know he's going to use it in his ass, hahahaha". I would want to just die and bury my head deep in the ground.

We live in a townhouse, so there is a common path in the townhouse complex that goes by our front door, and it gets lots of traffic. One potential is that it would get left by the door, stolen by a neighbor, or a guest of a neighbor, and then once opened, would provide for funny looks, or worries about what a pervert I am, or who knows what? Or maybe there's a big picture on the side of the contents. Or a label saying that it was shipped from the Florida lesbian strapless dildo company! In my completely irrational paranoia, I just knew all my neighbors were going to somehow find out, and would immediately put it all together, and talk about it constantly. As if they even give a rat's ass.

Not having seen or heard from the vendor by Monday, I started checking mail and our porch. I pulled in the garage after work, walked in the back door, and went to look for a delivery out front. I opened the door and my heart stopped a beat, because the box was there, the right size, sitting on the mat.

Oh jeez. Here we go.

But when I picked it up, it was something innocuous for my wife, and not the sex toy of the century. Disappointment, as well as relief. Sigh.

I then realized that I hadn't gotten the mail. In the mail box, there was a notice from USPS saying they had attempted to deliver a package, and it required a signature.

WTF? I've got to sign for the freaking dildo? Can't they just discreetly leave the box in a shady corner, avert their eyes, and use some sort of cloaking technology to prevent the prying eyes of neighbors from knowing? Do I actually have to show up in person at the post office, and ask a clerk to hand me my dildo face to face? Really? What if our hands touch during the exchange? Does that obligate me to call them the next day and thank them? All I can say is if they're expecting flowers, forget it.

After bringing in the mail, I tucked the post office slip in my wallet so I would remember it the next morning, but left it out enough so I'd see it when I picked up my wallet when getting ready for work.

At that point, my wife called. "I'm running late. Can you pick us up something for dinner?"

"I can get Chipotle. Do you want the usual salad?" I offered.

"That sounds awesome. Thanks Babe!"

About fifteen to twenty minutes later, I was leaving the restaurant, and putting the receipt and my wallet in my pocket. As I was juggling wallet, receipt, food, and keys, I dropped the package notice on the ground, and only just barely saw it out of the corner of my eye as it fell.

Wouldn't that be great? Some stranger finds the notice, picks up the package, and knows it was supposed to be for me? Best case, at that point, they keep it, and we never know each other. I'd rather order a new one and waste the money than face the humiliation of getting it back. Worst case, they get it, open it, and then make the effort to return it.

I can just hear the helpful neighbor calling me and saying, "Um, if you'd like to come here to my house, right by the elementary school and local convent, and pick it up, my religious granny will be here to answer the door around 7 ish? Of course she'll have a few questions for you." As in, the Church Lady from Dana Carvey's skits on SNL.

No, thank God, I saw the slip, looked around, as if anyone would know what it was for, and gratefully got into my car.

When I got home, I told my wife about the impending arrival, and the incident of dropping the package slip.

She teased me of course. "You realize that you don't get to use the toy without me, right?"

I pretended to protest and argue playfully, but both of us knew I would comply.

After we ate the food I had picked up, we ran an errand together. On the way to and from the store, she teased me as I drove, and not just verbally.

"You realize, she said in her warm, amused voice, while lightly wandering her fingers on my crotch, "this is all the sex you're getting tonight. I'm tired, it's been a long day, and I want to go to sleep right away. There's going to be no 'action' tonight."

All I could do was to groan in response, and try to focus on the road and traffic.

It was only a few minutes from our house to the store, but her teasing words and touches were enough to get me plenty hard and aching, and prominently showing through my shorts. At the store, I had to keep the shopping cart in front of me to hide the bulge in my workout shorts until it finally subsided. It all caused no end of enjoyment for her, of course

She repeated the verbal and physical teasing on the way home. Fortunately, as I unloaded the groceries from the trunk, no neighbors were walking by our driveway. My bulge would have been fairly obvious and embarrassing.

When we got ready for bed, I wasn't too surprised that she teased me for a short time, and even less surprised that she stopped without having sex. I went to bed horny, hard and eager.

To compound the effect of the teasing and denial, we're due for me to make a "semen donation" in little more than a week as part of our fertility treatment. Until then, so she has no reason, other than her own pleasure, for me to orgasm, and plenty of reason to keep me eager and ready until then. So it's going to be a long week, with very few releases for me. She had a nice intense orgasm the other night, and might want more pleasure for herself tonight, but is happy to keep me on edge as long as it suits her. And again, if you know me, you can guess that it turns me on nicely and I love it. It's a kind of delicious agony.

This morning, I made the trek to the post office, and wondered how bad could it be. Would the package be chastely wrapped? Or, would the sender's name be prominent, and the contents be obvious based on the size or name of the shipper? How many people would see the package? And how long would I have to serve in jail as a perverted sex offender?

I pulled into the post office parking lot, and was relieved that there were very few cars. I walked in, and was even more relieved that there was no line, with only one person at a window ahead of me. The clerk was a friendly woman of Asian heritage, around my age or possibly older. She was not unattractive, but not particularly hot either. She seemed easy going, and was talking casually with the customer ahead of me about who knows what. Their transaction was obviously done. I just wanted to give my slip, get my box, hopefully discreetly, and get the heck out of there.

When it was my turn, I walked to the window saying "Good morning."

She smiled, and saw my slip. She asked in a perky voice, "Picking up a package? Let me get it for you. Can I see your ID please?"

I pulled out my driver's license, glad that they were checking, but a little mortified that I had to verify my identity in public to obtain my sex toy.

She gave a little murmur, rechecked the package slip, and said, "The address on your license doesn't match the delivery address."

Oops. I forgot that I hadn't gotten a new license since we moved. Was I going to have to prove my new address? I immediately tried to think if I actually had something with me that would show my name at the new address. I couldn't think of anything. Oh jeez, was I going to have to provide a DNA sample? Call one of my lifelines for identity verification? Would I have to verbally identify the contents to prove I was the intended recipient?

Luckily, she looked briefly at the slip and the license, and said "It's good enough that the name matches."

Phew!

With a smile, she walked off to find the parcel, no doubt stored on categorized shelves, with mine in a section labeled "Ew! Sex toys for big perverts." (Jimmy Fallon's pronunciation of "ew", if you're reading aloud.)

When she brought my delivery to the counter, I was relieved it was in a standard Priority Mail mailing container, mostly white with some blue and red, and the usual labels, bar codes, etc. Nothing obviously perverse about the exterior. It was in a normal rectangular box, like the size of a fairly thick hardback novel, which didn't seem to give away its contents.

She looked at the package a little curiously. I wanted to just get it over with. However, I didn't want to appear in a hurry or nervous, so I waited patiently.

She looked up and said, "Hmmm, this requires a signature, but it's weird, because it's not paid for."

I was confused because the label obviously showed the priority mail postage was paid, and I knew I had charged my credit card for the item. I was afraid there was a mistake about the payment, and that she was going to charge COD. I was also worried that it would somehow reveal who the shipper was, and what it was for. I got a little nervous, but figured it would get sorted out, hopefully quickly.

She continued to look at it, and said "The package requires a signature, but they didn't pay for the extra $3.00 for the signature collection."

I stammered a bit, and offered to be helpful, just wanting to be done. "Um, if I need to pay $3.00 postage due for the signature, that's fine. I'm not worried about it."

Ok, that was a little lie. I was a little worried. But I was trying to act as casually as possible since she was still holding my dildo in that box.

As she was looking at the box, and at her computer screen, a terrible thought occurred to me. Since it was Priority Mail, and signature was required, it's possible that her computer somehow had a listing of the contents. It didn't seem likely, but what do I know? Does the post office have ways of knowing what's inside? How often do they x-ray stuff? Or do they see so many packages that they know who the common shipping companies are and what they're sending inside those harmless looking boxes? Did this friendly lady actually know my fake cock was in her fingers, and I couldn't have it until she decided to give it to me? No, that's not possible, is it? She handles packages of all shapes and sizes all day long, apparently for years, and she couldn't possibly care less about this one box. Even if she knows what's inside. Right? I honestly couldn't be sure. But wanted to keep it moving.

She looked at me with a warm smile. Then she leaned forward confidingly, and I swear she reached out one of her hands on the counter, as if she was gesturing toward me. I think she would have actually touched my hand to comfort me if mine had been within reach. In a soft tone, she said, "It's ok. They made a mistake. We won't worry about it." Was she flirting with me? It's the postal clerk! What am I thinking? This is all my imagination. I was relieved not to have to pay, and not to make it more complicated, but still just wanted to get it done.

Then she pointed to the pin pad at the counter, and asked me, "Please sign on the electronic screen."

I quickly scrawled my normal signature. It's always a little more difficult than on paper, due to those unwieldy stylus pens with the cord attached. Still, it was no less legible in reality compared to my regularly scribbled signature.

I put the pen stylus down, only to have her add, "You have to print your name too." Sure enough, it did say on the screen to print AND sign your name in the box. Duh. She was looking at her screen, and she could see what I was writing on her own monitor. So I dutifully printed my name as legibly as possible. She had seen my name on the package slip, on my license, double checked both, verified it on the parcel, and now was seeing it signed and printed on screen. It wouldn't take a photographic memory to remember me if there was anything unusual she wanted to recall at the end of the day.

"No, my day wasn't really that eventful honey. You know how it is. The tedious day in the life of a postal worker. Wait, come to think of it dear, there was this one guy at my counter with an unusual package today. Now what was his name again? Oh yes, I clearly recall..."

Surely she wouldn't know me again or remember my name, would she?

Thinking I was done and ready to go, she looked at me, still smiling, and said, "You need to write your address too."

I was surprised. I've never had to do more than sign and click the yes/no buttons on those electronic pin pad things. Writing my name was different enough. But my address? That's quite odd. But the empty box on the little touch pad said to write the address, so I did. She watched her screen again, and I felt self-conscious, wondering if she was an amateur handwriting analysis expert and could determine my thoughts about the package from the anomalies in my writing. It didn't look pretty, but you could make out the address, city, state and Zip.

It seemed to pass muster, because she finally said, "That's it," with a smile, and handed me the box.

I heaved a sigh, smiled, and felt the relief wash over me. I responded, "Thank you," and turned to walk away.

I made it! If she knows what's in the box, she didn't make any indication. I'm free and out of danger of humiliation. I can walk out of the post office holding my dildo tightly to my side, and my head high, and no one will be the wiser.

But she positively froze me in my tracks as she gave one parting word. I must have turned either white or crimson, or both, but I will remember to the day I die that I saw her smile and heard her say in a chipper voice, "Enjoy!"

What postal clerks say "enjoy" to their customers! For all they know it's medicine, or bad news, or legal documents, or the remains of my dead ancestors. She cannot say "enjoy" when she hands a package to a customer. Unless, is it possible? Did she know? And if she did, would she actually have said that?

My thoughts were swimming as I tried to walk naturally to the door. Naw. It's not possible. She couldn't have known. I'm sure she didn't. Well, pretty sure anyway.