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UPS (mm)
All stories on this web site are purely FICTIONAL. The people depicted within these stories only exist in someone's IMAGINATION. Any resemblence between anyone depicted in these stories and any real person, living or dead, is an incredible COINCIDENCE too bizarre to be believed. If you think that you or someone you know is depicted in one of these stories it's only because you're a twisted perverted little fucker who sees conspiracies and plots where none exist. You probably suspect that your own MOTHER had sex with ALIENS and COWS and stuff. Well, she didn't. It's all in your head. Now take your tranquilizers and RELAX.
This is how it started.
Nick, Nicholas on his UPS nametag but he preferred the diminutive, had
been delivering to my office since I started working there two years
earlier. His Mediterranean good looks seemed enhanced by the standard
brown uniform all UPS drivers wore. His dark hair shimmered under the
fluorescent lights of the office; that same dark hair grew profusely on
his powerful forearms, heightening the aura of masculinity about him.
His smile could melt the coldest heart. I always brightened up when he
came by my desk. At first, we would just nod hello.
One day, I had put up a huge computer printout depicting the Starship
Enterprise from the 60's TV series. Primitive by today's graphics
standards since it was done on a standard line printer, utilizing
overprinting and differing alphanumeric characters to produce its
effect, nevertheless it was an impressive sight, covering about 16 pages
of computer paper once assembled. Nick stopped and commented on it.
"Hey, that's really neat!" The next day, I had a printout of it ready
for him as a surprise.
From that day on, we were sort of friends. Not friends in the sense of
having deep conversations or anything, but buddies. He managed to
arrange his schedule and I mine so we could take a break at about the
same time daily for coffee, shooting the shit for 10 or 15 minutes.
One day, we were talking about current events, in particular, CAMP
(California Against Marijuana Production) and the recent big crop they
had confiscated. "Shit," I said. "The stuff is expensive enough as it
is."
"You have some around?", he asked, looking surreptitiously about for
anyone who might be listening.
"Oh, sure. I usually have it around. It's the only drug I use, and I
like the results better than alcohol."
"You know, I haven't had a toke for, oh, maybe five years, certainly
not since I got married." I was acutely aware of the ring; it was
probably the third or fourth thing I noticed about him the first time
I'd seen him. "I have to agree, it beats drinking."
"You wanna stop by my place some evening and share some?"
"Well, I dunno. That might be alright." He seemed to be thinking.
Suddenly, he perked up. "Hey, my wife's got choir practice tomorrow
night. How about then?"
"OK by me," I said. "Right after work?"
"That'd be perfect."
I gave him written directions to my place the next day. "I sometimes
get delayed past normal quitting time if there are a lot of pickups or
traffic's bad or something. OK?"
"OK. I didn't make any other plans for tonight," I said, giving him a
quick wink. And with that, a brief, troubled, quizzical look clouded
his face but quickly vanished with what I swore was a mental shrug that
meant he'd considered it and decided it meant nothing.
When I got home, I laid out on the end table a Hustler magazine and
covered it with a couple of Playboys. I also got out the pipe and
lighter and sat those nearby. I sat near the window, watching the
traffic on my street. About 15 minutes late, Nick's old Chevy pickup
swung into a parking spot about two doors up from my place. He jumped
out, still in his tidy uniform. When I greeted him at the door, I
noticed that the armpits of his shirt was darkened by perspiration.
Inviting him in, I motioned for him to take a seat and offered him a
drink.
"Do you have any lemonade?", he asked. I did have the mix, so I whipped
some up. While I was in the kitchen, he had picked up one of the
Playboys. He took the glass from me and quickly gulped half of it down.
"Ah, man, that's good," deep satisfaction sounding in his baritone. "I
picked up quite a few packages right at the last minute and had to
unload them all in sort of a hurry to get here." He took another quick
gulp and sat the glass down. As I busied myself with the pipe, he
resumed thumbing through the magazine, stopping at several of the
pictures, and turning the magazine sideways to properly orient the
centerfold.
I lit the pipe and took a deep draw off it. "Here you go," I said,
handing the pipe to him.
"Thanks." He took a deep draw as well, and after holding it in for a
few seconds, struggling to keep from coughing, he lost his battle.
"Shit. I hate when I do that."
Laughing a bit at his line, I said, "Go ahead and take another hit."
He did so and succeeded in holding the smoke in for maximum effect. He
handed the pipe back to me. While he slowly exhaled, he grabbed the
next magazine and started through it. The pipe passed between us until
it was smoked out, and I refilled it. "Feeling anything?", I asked.
"Oh yeah. As a matter of fact, I'm getting real stoned. It must be
because I haven't had any in so long." After about half the second pipe
was gone, he refused any more, so I finished it off myself. I was
fairly stoned by then, too. He picked up the Hustler, chuckling to
himself as he thumbed through it, looking at the cartoons. "Shit, this
magazine is sick, sick, sick." When he reached the centerfold, he let
out a low whistle and turned it for me to see. "Nice, huh?" I nodded.
When he came upon the picture feature with the male and female couple,
he studied them rather closely. All of the sudden he laid the magazine
aside, and standing up, reached his hand down inside his trousers,
adjusting himself. "Ow!" He fidgeted a couple of seconds. "There.
That's better." As he finished his adjustments and sat back down, I got
a brief glimpse of what made him uncomfortable. "Fucking pot always
makes me horny."
He finished with the Hustler and, as he laid it down, he looked at me as
if to ask, "What now?" I said, "I have more magazines if you'd be
interested."
"OK by me. I wouldn't mind looking at a few more."
I went and grabbed about eight more magazines from a stash in the back
of the house. As I laid them on the end table, I pulled over a chair so
I could look at the same time. He grabbed an issue of Cheri off the top
of the stack. I prepared another pipe full of grass. As he thumbed
through the magazine, he stopped at several of the photo spreads,
viewing them for himself. As we smoked, if he found a picture
interesting, he held the magazine more at an angle for me to have a
better look. I nodded, occasionally I'd make an approving grunt, but
what really had my attention was his crotch. He quite clearly was
aroused, and, to top it off, a small wet spot was forming on the dark
brown fabric.
Turning the last page in the magazine, he laid it aside and reached for
the Hustler laying on top of the pile. More of the same action
followed, but when he reached the picture feature with the male and
female couple, I stopped him. "Wow, this is a pretty hot scene, huh?"
He nodded. "Yeah, it sure is." He had been flipping the pages in
reverse order, and when he went back one more page, there was a shot of
the girl laying on her back. The man had his semi-hard prick pulled
through the fly of his jeans, the head of it nearly brushing her lips.
"Man," Nick sighed, "look at that. Lucky fella."
"You like blowjobs?"
"They're the greatest, man. And look at her! She really looks hungry
for it, don't you think?"
"Ever thought you'd like to pose for pictures like that?," I asked.
"You've got the body for it."
"You think so?"
"Well, I'd say the guy in the magazine there is probably more beefed up,
but then he is getting paid to do these pictures, so he probably works
out to look his best."
Nick bristled a little. "Hell! You call that muscles? Those gym
bodies aren't anything special. A man who works with his body seems to
attract women a lot faster than a Soloflex body."
"What makes you say that?"
"I hear it from women all the time. They see me around their offices,
or when I'm out playing sports, and they all the time are trying to pick
up on me."
"Do you ever make it with them?"
"Of course not!," Nick answered indigently. "I'm married."
"I know that," I responded soothingly. "I was just curious. Anyway,
I'm not sure what you mean about the difference between work and gmms."
"I guess they thik its more masculine and natural than a gym body."
"Likehow? Can you show me?"
There was a barely perceptible time lag in our conversation before he
said, "Yeah, I guess so." He sat the magazine aside and stood to face
me. The stain on his uniform slacks had gotten larger, and the trousers
tented out. He slowly undid each button, an almost sensual act,
revealing a white t-shirt. The thick hair on his chest darkened the
pure white cotton. As the shirt came off and he tossed it onto the
chair, I caught the faint odor of a man who had been perspiring.
Looking nowhere in particular, Nick pulled the t-shirt over his head and
tossed it onto the chair with his shirt. He went into a sort of flexing
routine. He indeed had a nice body. He didn't have the definition that
a bodybuilder would have had, particularly over his abdominal area, but
you could tell his arms and chest were powerful. The thick mat of hair
virtually obscured the nipples on his pectorals, but it thinned to a
line running down his stomach to disappear below the waist of his pants.
I started to speak and found my mouth was very dry. I quickly sipped
some Diet Coke and said, "Yeah, I can see the difference all right." I
paused, unsure whether to proceed, but not for long. "Does the same
sort of thing happen with the legs?"
"Yep," he said. "I'd show you, but I've got a small problem so I'd
better not."
"Aw, don't worry about that," I said, acknowledging that I knew what he
was talking about. "The pot and those magazines will do it to anybody.
I know. Its just us guys here, after all."
He continued to flex his biceps, but he seemed distracted. "What the
hell," I heard him mutter then. His hand went for the belt and loosened
it. He unzipped the fly, once again slowly and erotically, it seemed,
but maybe I was lost in the fscination of it. He unhooked the fastener
and slipped them down to his ankles. He started to flex his leg muscles
then. "Can you see the difference?", he asked.
I nodded. "Uh huh." His legs were dark with the thick hair of
Mediterranean men; his calves were tight, his thighs massive. But what
fascinated me more than anything was the tight white Fruit of the Loom
briefs that hugged his butt behind, and struggled to hold his raging
hardon in the front. His cock was pointing to his left and upward, and
the pink color of the head of it was clear because the fabric had a
somewhat transparent effect from the oozing precum. His testicles
nestled snugly in the pouch of his briefs. Nothing captures better the
erotic essence of man than seeing him in a pair of briefs for me.
The air seemed thick; I seemed to be having trouble breathing. I
couldn't take my eyes from his basket. A couple of minutes had passed.
He spoke then, seemingly measuring his words, almost as if he himself
wasn't sure what he was about to say. "Would you, uh, perhaps, like to,
you know, see a bit more?" I could only nod.
Before he gave me the view I hungered for, he reached down and picked
another magazine, a Club, off the pile, and stood thumbing through it.
He stopped briefly at a couple of pictures. I saw his dick jerk often
but irregularly. After he'd thumbed all the way through it, he went
back to the centerfold and laid it out on the table so he could see it
where he stood. It was of a buxom redhead sitting in a chaise lounge,
her legs pulled up so that you could see her asshole, and her fingers
spreading wide her pussy. Her tongue licked er lips as she looked off
camera at whatever. I imagined he thought she was looking over at him
and it made my heart pound to think what fantasies might be running
through his mind.
Having arranged all this, he straightened up, looked quickly around the
room as if he expected someone to be lurking in the corners, watching,
then pushed his shorts down to his knees. As he straightened up, I was
treated to a magnificent sight, one of which I never tire, a hard cock.
His was a beauty. It was 6.5" of sturdy manhood. It had a slight
upward curve from the base to the circumcised head. Beneath it were two
large testicles, but they could not swing freely as his scrotum had
obviously been crinkling up with the sexual tension. His cock jumped
and jerked in the air. As I watched, a big drop of precum oozed from
the slit and ran down the underside of the shaft onto his ballsack.
Another gob followed it quickly, this time dripping towards the floor in
a long, pearly string. Shuffling a little, he turned and bent forward
at the waist, showing me his powerful buttocks. As he bent forward, the
asscrack spread apart, and I could see his brownish pink hole amongst
the kinky hairs. "Nice body, buddy," I complimented him.
Suddenly he straightened up, turned, and reached for his shorts, pulling
them up over his genitals. "Sorry, man," he said. "I don't know what
came over me. Fucking pot I guess."
Before he could do anything more, I reached for his bulging briefs and
touched him. "I could help you with that, you know."
For a moment, as I caressed him through the cotton, I sensed his
weakened resolve, a moment of evaluation of what I was offering. But he
tensed again. "Hey, I don't think so. I'm married, remember?" Still,
he made no move to stop me.
"I remember," I said, half to myself. Nick was standing; I was still
sitting, and I was mesmerized by the vision in front of me. Everything
else was shut out but the sight of a fine male body in these white
cotton briefs, bulging obscenely, wet with his excitement. The warmth
from his balls against my palm was like fire. The moment seemed
timeless. I don't know, maybe two or three minutes passed and I quickly
glanced up. Nick had his eyes closed. His face seemed contorted with a
weird mix of passion and guilt.
I couldn't stand it any longer. I had to get closer. I brought my face
forward and inhaled. The damp cotton still bore the perfume of the
detergent his wife had laundered with, the slightly heady aroma of male
perspiration mingled with it. I had to get closer. I leaned towards
him, and my forehead brushed the hard shaft. The heat there went
straight to my brain. I pressed against it. I felt it stiffen,
pressing back, hold for a second, and relax, as much as any stiff cock
can. It twitched again.
I reached for the waistband. Nick jumped back slightly. "No way, man.
Don't go any further."
"All right," I said. My right hand was once again caressing him,
though. He seemed willing to let me go this far. Once again, I pressed
into him with my face. I hungered so much for a taste of his flesh; I
trembled with desire for him. My left hand wandered up his stomach, the
crinkly hair tickling my palm, and it came to rest on his left pectoral
musce. I squeezed it slightly. I felt his erect nipple against my
palm, and I located it with my fingertips, tweaking it and rubbing it.
"Oh, man, that feels nice." I wasn't sure what Nick was referring to,
the tit play or my face in his crotch, but then I decided it was
probably both. My other hand traveled upwards, too. Again, Nick
stepped back, but not so suddenly this time. "Larry? OK if I sit
down?"
"Yeah," I replied. "Make yourself comfortable."
As he plopped into the chair, he said, "That's kinda hard under the
circumstances," and he briefly flashed me that brilliant smile. As soon
as he was settled, he grabbed another magazine, an issue of "Gent". I
slipped to my knees and again started to make love to him. My hands
rested lightly on his chest, fingertips flicking lightly across the
upright nipples. As I nuzzled his nuts, he scooted his hips more
forward, and I sniffed around his crotch below his tight sack. Pushing
my face forward, I rubbed up over his balls and slowly up the shaft, my
face getting wet with the precum he oozed so profusely. He squirmed as
I repeated the motion time and time again. He went through two more
magazines. He had begun to breath heavily through his mouth, and small
groans and moans gave evidence that he was turned on. Without a word,
he was urging me on.
He sat the current magazine aside and grabbed an older, beat up copy of
"D-Cup". I shortened my strokes a bit, occasionally passing over his
balls, but concentrating on the upper parts of his dickshaft. "Oh,
yeee-ahhh", he moaned. I mewled lowly. "You're hungry for it, ain't
ya?" he chided. "Well, sorry, cocksucker. It's spoken for, but you
sure treat it real nice. Real nice." I glanced up, and saw him looking
back at me from under the magazine he held. He was watching me at work,
servicing him. He gave a brief nod of approval and looked back up at
the porn.
After a moment, he laid the magazine aside. It was open to a three-page
centerfold, spread out. An older blonde who had huge breasts was
pictured, her eyes closed, lips parted--both sets. Her pussy lips were
shaved. One hand squeezed a milky drop from her ample teat. The other
hand pulled open her asscrack, showing off the tight pink hole. I felt
Nick put his hands on either side of my head, holding me in place as he
gyrated his hips seductively, lewdly, sliding his rockhard dick across
my face slowly and deliberately. It had become even more rigid and
swollen, thicker, within the last minute or so. My lips parted hungrily
and I could taste his secretions, mansweet.
A low groan formed in his throat and rose in quick crescendo to a lion's
roar. Quite suddenly, he arched his back, lifting his hips up off the
seat. Holding my head firmly to the flyfront of his briefs, his steely
penis spasmed and jerked repeatedly, and my nostrils flared with the
musky smell from the copious bolts of semen it shot out into his briefs.
When at last his orgasm subsided, he relaxed a bit, settling back into
his seat, hugging my head to his crotch, my cheek resting in the pool of
cum soaking the cotton. His breathing slowly returned to normal, and in
a couple of minutes he pushed me away.
"Look at the mess you made!", he scolded me. He lifted his waistband
and looked. "Jesus. And just how am I going to explain this to my
wife?" As he spoke, he scooped up some of the spunk pooling in his
pubic hair with two fingers and splattered my face with it. "That's
what you wanted, isn't it?" I nodded and, cat-like, washed off my face
with hand and tongue.
"Now get me a towel and washcloth so I can clean this shit up." I stood
to do as he asked. He followed me back to the bathroom, his UPS-brown
trousers pulled up but open. Closing the door behind him, I left him to
his toilet.
When he came out, he looked pretty normal. Even acting as if everything
were perfectly normal, he said, "Well, we'll see you at the office,
huh?"
"OK, Nick. Thanks."
"Yeah, well...." And out he went.
This is how it always ends. But I keep hoping that maybe someday he
won't stop me when I try to pull his underwear down.
(Copyright 1991 by Larry Johnson)
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