You rush to get dressed. For now, you leave the ring on your bedside table. You throw on a shirt beside your bed and slide on some boxers. Shit. Where are your pants??? "Just a second," you shout as loud as you can manage. You'll have to go to the door without them, you decide. This probably isn't the first time this has happened for this delivery person, you'll just have to apologize. You jog over to the door, feeling like your new feet are causing the whole apartment to shake. Your downstairs neighbor probably thinks you've got an elephant on loan from the zoo. Finally, you reach the door, and swing it open.
The delivery guy is standing there in his uniform. The baggy brown shorts are a sharp contrast to his lightly muscled legs, which are dusted in curly brown hairs. His button-up shirt has a nametag that says 'Brock'. He's got to be college age, but you can't be sure exactly how old. He has a friendly smile on his face, although it's a little tinged with surprise. His green eyes are wide. He has a mop of chestnut hair, which frames his square face nicely. His toned arms are holding a box, your box, and a clipboard is resting on top of it. He's sweating a little, it's a hot summer day and this probably wasn't his first delivery. "Sorry," you say gently, and hold out your hands to take the clipboard. He looks down, sliding it carefully off the box and into your grasp. You look up in time to notice him gulp slightly and run his bright pink tongue over his bottom lip. He steadies himself and looks back up to you. "Mr. [name]? Can I get you to sign here." "Sorry for the wait, and the indecency," you say, gesturing to your clothes, "but I was asleep when you knocked. I didn't want to miss the delivery."
"It's fine," Brock says, looking at you intently. "You're not indecent. A lot of guys come to the door without a shirt on." He takes a deep breath. "Are you all good there?" You'd forgotten to sign, but looking down you realize you have a good excuse. You tilt your head slightly. "A pen?" Brock looks embarrassed, his cheeks reddening a little. "Sorry sir." When he hands you the pen, his touch seems to linger a little longer than it should. Just slightly though. You sign the clipboard and hand it back. This delivery boy obviously likes what he sees, you consider. You're seeing someone, but it's hardly exclusive at this point. You'd gone on three dates, testing the waters, and had another one planned. But for all you know, he could be dating other people. Besides, you're not REALLY yourself right now... and you really want to get this cute delivery boy inside. "Brock?" you say, as he turns to go. "Do you have a minute to come in?" You give him a wink, showing him the attraction is mutual.
Brock's eyes flash excitedly. He looks back to his truck for a moment before making up his mind. "Okay, sir." He steps inside. You take off your shirt. "Can you close the door behind you?" Brock's shorts instantly tent. His erection looks big, even through the vague, formless khaki. You grab him by the hand and pull him to your bedroom. You both sit down, and he pulls his delivery uniform off, leaving him in bright white socks and plaid boxers, still tented. He grabs your pec (which is a little softer than usual), and runs his hand down your chest, your tiny gut, past your thigh, and lands on your calf, gripping it firmly. He repositions you so you're lying down, and kisses your huge feet. The few wiry hairs on your toes bristle a little when he kisses them. "You're a very sexy man," Brock says breathlessly. "I want you to know I've never done anything like this..." That gets you hard too.
While he's occupied, you glance over to your bedside table at the ring. While Brock is occupied, you slide it on. You have a feeling something fun is about to happen.