Deliveries in the Rear

The truck smelled like gasoline fumes, tire dust and my own sweat. Not a great combination. You’ve seen my company’s trucks many times, big boxy things with our logo about eight feet tall on the side panel, and you’ve seen men like me, the poor slobs who deliver the crap dressed in ugly shit-brown shorts and matching shirts. Not a great gig, but it pays the bills while I dream of having a career. Not that I’m bitter, but this isn’t what I thought I’d be doing with my life! It had been a long day, and I couldn’t wait to get the fuck out of this lousy delivery truck.

My last delivery was to an address on Mussel Lane, a sandy road leading around the cove to the beach. The house was a small stone Tudor cottage. The place was gussied up with abundantly planted window boxes and shutters that I thought were maybe a little too cutesy for my taste. There was a young man in the front garden, crouched down in the dirt, absorbed in his weeding. I pulled the truck up in front of the gate, and the roar of the engine and crunch of the gravel seemed to startle the guy. He jumped up suddenly, falling back into the boxwood hedge just behind the pickets.

I felt bad, so I ran from the truck to help him up. As I took his arm to pull him to his feet, I couldn’t help checking the dude out. He was about six feet tall, slim build like a swimmer or a gymnast. His hair was medium blonde, with chunky lighter streaks across the bangs and at the temples. Maybe the sun did it, but I suspected some chemical enhancement. He was shirtless, with a pair of old khaki pants rolled up at the ankles, his feet in dirty old sneakers. These were his gardening togs, I was sure. He would probably change into something smart and stylish for cocktails and dinner later at the Marina Club. I hated pretentious little snots like this asshole!

But he was unquestionably attractive. I felt my dick fleshing out in my sweaty brown shorts as he got to his feet. His skin was lightly tanned, and I could see creamy white ribbons of skin just above his waistband, where his swim trunks had hidden his flesh from the sun. He was laughing and brushing leaves out of his pretty mop of hair. His shoulders were freckled, a fact he probably hated. I, however. thought it was cute. The guy’s arms and chest were nicely muscled, with a downy coat of very blonde hair that ran down in a little golden trail across his abs to his belly. I wondered how blonde his pubic hairs were. Damn, I needed to pull his pants off him immediately, and check it out!

He thanked me for helping him out of the bushes, and I apologized for scaring the shit out of him. He went back up to the house, and I retrieved his package from the truck and joined him on the front porch. He had a pitcher of something on a tray with a very delicate stemmed goblet. He smiled a big generous grin, and pouring from the pitcher offered me the glass. I offered him his delivery.

His name was David. We chatted for a few minutes, and I swear I caught him checking me out, too. His amazingly blue eyes kept drifting down to my crotch as we talked. I had a raging hard-on that he probably couldn’t help noticing. My brown shirt, a size too small, was pulled tightly across my chest. He had a wistful expression on his face as he stared at the brown, curly hair that grew like wool across my pectorals and down my forearms. I imagined kissing David, his soft tan cheek brushing across my rough stubbled chin. His blonde locks falling into our eyes as our lips pressed together. My tongue slipping into his mouth...

Of course, nothing really happened. I don’t get that fuckin’ lucky. David took his package, and I finished my sweet, lemon-y drink. He walked back down the garden path with me, and said goodbye as I gunned the truck and threw it into gear. As I pulled away, I watched him standing at the gate through the rear-view mirror. That night I jerked off thinking of David, imagining the most incredible feats of sexual activity one man could possibly do with another.

A week went by, I drove past the cottage a couple times, hoping to see him again. This felt like a fuckin’ obsession. It was like the movie “Psycho” or something. I resolved that I would not make myself crazy. I would not stalk him any more. A dude like David wants nothing to do with a slob like me. I’d better look for my piece of heaven elsewhere. Then I noticed the last address on my delivery manifest: Mussel Lane. My heart jumped!

I pulled up to the house slowly, in case he was gardening. I didn’t want him to jump out of his skin again. (although I wouldn’t mind him jumping out of his pants!) He was not out front, so I went up to the house with his carton. I waited there several minutes, pressing the doorbell repeatedly, hoping my little blonde ambition would answer the door. I’m not sure why I thought to do this, but I went around to the back to see if he was there.

The bay side of the cottage was cooler, the breeze from the water lowering the temperature at least five degrees. There was nothing to break the glassy surface of the water except a few distant sailboats. The scene was framed by a huge crepe myrtle on the left, and a cabana next to the pool on the right. There in a lounge was David, totally nude and apparently asleep in the late summer sun. His lithe body shimmered in a film of tanning lotion, and I smelled the scent of cocoa butter in the air. Certainly very different than the smell of my damp uniform and sweaty pits. How could two men be so dissimilar and still be the same sex? I moved forward, determined to at least get a close-up view of the young man.

My prick ached to break out of my shorts. I felt it surge upward, straining against the elastic waist of my boxers. My shirt buttons were open, my chest and stomach were exposed and the hair across my chest glistened with perspiration in the sun’s rays. I stepped within a few feet of him and stood very still, so he wouldn’t be disturbed. I wanted to just gaze at his most excellent body for just a little while longer. I was totally smitten with this guy! David stretched and arched his back, like a flexing cat. Half awake, he put his hand to his cock and pulled on his tanning-oiled erection. I put my hand into my pants and began to yank on my hot, sweaty piece of meat that was now demanding to be released. David’s blue eyes suddenly opened fully. He looked up at me, standing in the middle of the patio with my dick in my hand.

He smiled and asked me to come over to him. I was amazed. He told me he had been expecting me. David explained that he had ordered something recently and was waiting for it to be delivered. The package was in my hand. He asked me if I would mind opening it for him. (Which I happily did, as it gave me some additional time to memorize his dazzling body for my lonely fantasies later.) The box was plain brown, with no name in the return address. I pulled out my box-cutter and broke the seal. Inside I found a double 48-count box of condoms. I looked up at David, who got up from the lounge and walked to the edge of the tiles. He turned to me with a grin and asked me if I wanted to join him in the pool. What the fuck was this? If I didn’t know it was impossible, I would swear David was flirting with me!

He dove in to the cool, crystal clear water. I gazed at his streamlined body as he traveled underwater across the width of the pool. His head bobbed up on the other side. I walked to the edge and stripped off my shirt. I’m a big man, about six feet three, and I’m in pretty good shape. Free-weights in the basement and a vigorous job keep the body fat down. I could see that David liked what he saw: the hairy mat of fur across my barrel chest, and the brush of dark hair on my muscular belly that contrasted with my pale white skin. He laughed and invited me into the pool again, splashing water across the surface. I dropped my shorts, and started to jump, but David wanted me to strip completely. My boxers joined the brown shorts in a heap on the ground. My ten inch erection stood out like a flag pole: white, engorged and naked. David gasped and dove back underwater. I was grateful that the chlorinated pool would wash the day’s stink off of me, just in case my jerk-off fantasy became reality, I wouldn’t gross David out!