I Brought Several Vibrators To University

ANONYMOUS

I’d always wondered if I’d ever have one of those really stereotypical 'American Pie' moments at University. Without going too much into detail about my personal life, so far it hadn’t really happened. There’d been the occasional ‘lecture love’ I’d stalked on social media right in front of them (which sadly didn’t lead to a quick bang in the silent study booths), and one or two active (and really unsuccessful) pursuits of a student-tutor love affair.

While it wasn’t completely to my disappointment, there’d never been any moments when ‘this one time at JazzSoc camp I stuck a flute right up my –‘, or a time when I had sex with the cream pie’s at Courtyard (yet). I always related to Jonah Hill in Superbad, talking about how University was this crazed time of sexual exploration and self-expression (because that’s what the film’s really about), but never really did anything worth telling my friends not to mention in my twenty-first speech.

Until this week, when I brought several vibrators to University.
 
Now not that I have to justify my consumer choices to anyone, but all these vibrators were gifts from giddy post-private school girls who think a vibrating rabbit birthday present makes us anything like the girls from Sex and the City. Super grateful, by all means, but having turned twenty-one recently, you can imagine I’d accumulated more than I could justify to even the most open minded mother on the planet. Like Regina George’s. Even she would think this many vibrators was just a bit much.

How many vibrator’s is TOO many vibrators? Well…
 
I don't want to say a specific number because no judgement, BUT it was a lot for me. And being the good friend I am, I did try all of them in the name of birthday cheer. However, it was only after my one-off use that I realised I couldn’t return them for a store credit, or sell them off to anyone I’d really feel comfortable selling to (the internet is a strange place). Plus, I was starting to seriously lack storage space. So, for some reason I decided Sydney University was the only place I could dispose of a few of the older models safely, free from ridicule, basking in the glory that was my sexually empowered and expressive student campus!

And if I had half a brain, I probably would’ve been fine.
 
But come 8:59am on a Monday morning, with seconds dwindling before that tutorial I was already riding a fine attendance line with, I forgot that I was packing a seriously strong arsenal of sex toys and ran into class.

9:03am – attendance checked off, degree-related stress fades. I took a sip of my coffee. That necessary buzz you need for a post-Sunday session kicked it. Once my caffeneited cognitive state overcame my body, I realised.

Holy shit. I’m in a class with SO many vibrators in my bag.

I felt like a  masturbation mercenary, slinging a bag of sex toys as I trekked through the guerilla warfield that is Sydney University. I no longer felt like I could participate in the average Monday morning class discussion, but instead hope one of the vibrators I had in my bag didn’t go 'kink Kamikaze' on me.

 
With fifteen minutes of class left, a few of the braver students left with the ‘sorry I have class across campus’ excuse and a calm look of relief across their face. Naturally, I began to relax.
 
Surely I was in the clear?
 
False, I was not.
 
What I thought had been a calming whirr of a coffee buzz taking over me, had instead been one of the six set modes of a “MAXXX BLACK” birthday buy.
 
While all the vibrators in my bag had been marketed for their ‘discreet pleasure’ prospects, considering the lack of stimulating conversation akin to a morning class, they sounded more like a chainsaw.

I started sweating - first emotionally and then literally.

 
In the middle of English literature, all I could think about was  thatthe vibrator whirring in my bag was my very own 'Tell Tale Heart'.
 
Now at this stage, I was super paranoid, and thought, surely it was getting louder.

'Am I overreacting?' I uttered in a scandalised soliloquy. The girl next to me was sniggering. My GOD she was sniggering!

Surely she knew that her table partner had perverse paraphernalia in her bag!
 

9:55am could not have come sooner. Sprinting (actually, power walking) out of class, I located the nearest bin, hunting for a sex toy safe space on campus.
 
Concelead behind the Holme building, I dumped the load, and slumped against the metal curved casing around the bin.
 
I can still hear the whirring noise of my former sex toys, and shame.