For as long as I can remember, I've had a secret fantasy about deliverymen. I'm sure you all know the one: you get a routine delivery, groceries or laundry, and when you hand the deliveryman a generous tip, he thanks you with more than a smile. I never thought I would have the chance to make the fantasy come true, but one day last year, I did.
My local supermarket offered free delivery and I usually took advantage of the service. Steve, their regular deliveryman, was a nice guy but not much to look at. He was around 50 and balding, with a little bit of a beer belly. He would have been completely ordinary except for his gorgeous blue eyes and killer smile. When he dropped off the groceries, I would find ways to make that smile appear just so I could see the twinkle in those baby blues.
Steve had an easygoing personality that made it simple for us to become good friends in a short time. Little did I know that under that cordial smile there beat the heart of a lion, with a libido to match. My own libido had been neglected since I broke up with my last boyfriend. I was more than ready for a new adventure and thought Steve would fit the bill nicely. I was even more turned on by the fact that Steve was a transplanted Texan, with a drawl guaranteed to soak my panties every time he opened his mouth. In my dreams, he was opening his mouth for more than conversation.
Steve had been delivering my groceries for about 6 months, and thanking me politely for my tips, when he dragged himself up my steps one Saturday. He looked awful. "I hurt my back yesterday," he explained.
"You should get a massage," I said. "I have chronic back problems and that helps me a lot."
"That sounds great," he said, grinning at me. "Know anyone who could do it for me? Free? I'm kind of broke right now."
I was silent for a minute, wondering if this was my chance. Steve had never so much as touched my hand, except for a quick kiss and hug at Christmas when I rewarded him with an extra $20 on top of the regular tip.
Steve seemed to sense my dilemma. "Well, if you know anyone, let me know," he said quickly, turning to leave.
Before I could stop myself, I blurted "Well . . . I could do it myself . . . I learned some massage techniques from the chiropractor I went to last year." I smiled shyly, hoping he would get the hint. It didn't take long.
Steve smiled and asked "Where do you want me?"
Lost in my fantasies of having him all over me, I didn't answer. He touched me on the shoulder and I jumped guiltily. Laughing, he repeated the question.
"Sit at the table," I said. "I'll start with your shoulders." I got some cream from the bathroom and told him, "Take off your shirt."
When Steve pulled his tee-shirt over his head and threw it to the floor, I gasped in amazement. His beer belly hid an amazingly powerful chest, with just enough hair to make me drool. I've always loved hairy men. He sat back down and I began to massage him, but couldn't really work on his back with him sitting up.
"This isn't working, Steve," I said. You'll need to lie down."
He stood up and glanced at my tiny sofa and miniscule love seat. "I guess we'll have to use the bedroom," he said softly.
