Special Delivery

Mike Hicks

There was a space right in front of the building just big enough for my car—a small miracle in that neighborhood—and I dutifully thanked the parking gods as I inched my way into the tight space. I double-checked the address before I shut off the engine, then pulled out my cell and punched in his number. He picked up on the first ring.“Yeah?”

“Joe, it’s me—Mike. I’m here. I found it OK.”

“Great,” he said,“You wearing the uniform?”

“Yup, I’ve got everything. You ready for me?”

“Oh, I’m ready, buddy,” he said.“Horny and ready to play.” I like it when they’re eager.“Come on up. It’s the fourth floor, apartment six.” There was the click of him hanging up. I put on the brown cap, grabbed the carton, and climbed the steps to the entrance. He buzzed me in as soon as I pressed his bell.

It was the first time I’d met him, let alone role-played with him, but I’d gotten the idea from our online chat that he’d be good at it. You can sort of tell. I started getting a boner in the elevator.

The door slid open to a dim hallway on the fourth floor. I found his door about halfway down on the left. A sound like running water came from inside. I knocked, waited thirty seconds, then pounded it hard a couple more times. The water stopped. There was some shuffling followed by the creak of footsteps coming toward the door. An impatient voice came from behind it:“Yeah?”

“Delivery.” I said.“United Package Systems.”

A moment passed before he spoke again.“Whatkind of package?” I’m not expecting anything.”

“The package is sealed, sir.” I should have said“concealed.”

“Just leave it by the door,” he said—as though he had no intention of letting me in. He was good. Little touches like that make it feel real. And hot. This was gonna be fun.

“But I’ll need a signature, sir.”

There was another pause.“OK, just a minute. I gotta put something on.” There was the sound of further shuffling before the door swung open to reveal one of those vast, stylish loft apartments that are called studios but that are bigger than a two-bedroom house. It gave the impression of being well constructed.

So did its occupant: He stood there, a vision of pissed-off masculinity, soaking wet, ringlets of black hair clinging to his neck, naked except for the towel he held closed at the hip. There was an accent of hair on each slab of pectoral, flattened against his skin by the water. Drops ran down the hard flesh of his stomach and disappeared beneath the towel. A trail of drips led from a door at the far end of the space across the hardwood to a puddle at his feet. He hadn’t mentioned his big feet—a turn-on for me—but then he hadn’t mentioned how much he’d bulked up his arms and chest since that pic on the Web site was taken either.

He cleared his throat. I quickly transferred my gaze from the indented navel up to the deep brown eyes.“Um, isthat the package?” he said.

“Yes… sorry. Here you go, sir.” I handed him the cardboard cube. He took it with his free hand and examined the return address with a puzzled expression. I handed him the clipboard and pen.“Please sign by the X.”

He reached for it with his other hand and the tow