There is a knock at the door.
It's early morning and you weren't expecting anyone, but now dressed in your ill-fitting if somewhat modesty saving clothes you go down to see who is at your door.
You answer the door and it's a Brown Van Parcel Service guy.
"Good morning, Sir. Could you sign for this?" The man says handing you his electronic clipboard.
"What is it?" You ask.
"A package, sir, for this address." He says.
"May I see it first?" You ask and he gives you an odd look, but allows you to see it.
You read the package it and it's from Arctos Outfitters and it's addressed correctly with your name.
"Arctos Outfitters? I've never heard of this company." You exclaim.
The BVPS guy says, "I don't mean to be rude, but I'm a little behind schedule. Do you want to take the package or shall I send it back."
You don't know why but you agree to take it. You sign for it, and as you turn to go back in you make eye contact and wink at the cute BVPS guy then you say the last thing you thought you'd ever say, "Thanks for letting me see the package." in a suggestive way, caressing your beard, enjoying the feeling of it in your hand.
The BVPS guy smiles broadly, his demeanor changing to something a little less professional.
He says, "Sir... No problem sir. Thank you for letting me... handle... your package. You know, this is my regular area. If there's anything special you need delivered, just let me know and I'll personally assure it gets my full attention."
"I'm sure you will... boy." You add smiling broadly still not able to control what's coming out of your mouth.
"Oh yes Sir, indeed Sir. Thank you, Sir." He says and heads back to his brown van.
You turn and go back into the house, thinking about his cute butt. You close the door and as soon as you do you feel a bit dizzy. You mutter as you regain control of your speech, "What the hell was that? I just fuckin' made a pass at the BVPS guy... and he reciprocated!"
You decide it must be some long term effects of what the harness did to you. You decide to look in the rather large box; after all, you signed for it, it's yours now.
You get a pocket knife and open it up.
Inside are half a dozen pairs of jeans, as many big T-shirts and flannels, a pair of size 14 tennis shoes, a pair of black boots, also size 14, 2 sets of suspenders, 3 jock straps, 2 thick leather belts, one black and one black with a sliver bear paw buckle and a bottle of cologne; the scent is called 'Rugged'. No briefs or boxers were included, you notice.
"Good Lord!" you say as you realize what you have, "It's more Bear Gear!" and as you say it, your voice cracks and drops a half octave into the baritone range.
The stuff all looks like it will fit perfectly and it's high end quality, but you suspect that if you wear it, more might happen to your body and perhaps your personality.
You leave everything in the box in the hall and decide to make breakfast. As you sit eating your bacon, sausage, eggs and hash browns you're thinking about the stuff in the box. You catch yourself thinking, "Well, I do need clothes that fit me better and a pair of jeans and a t-shirt probably won't hurt."
You are shocked when you realize that you're actually considering wearing the stuff.
You decide to take your mind off of it and go watch some TV. You absently scratch at your beard and chest, removing that hair is the furthest thing from your mind now.