It's been a tough week for you, and although you achieved a lot for yourself you still can't fight the growing sense of fatigue invading every part of your body as you prepare to leave your office late on a cold Friday night.
As you walk into your reception area you spy a small unopened parcel sitting on the counter. You wonder to yourself why your receptionist left it untouched but it is not something you dwell on as you pop it into your bag, without looking at it, and switch off your office lights for the last time that week.
You lock the outer office door and brace yourself against the cold night. The wind whips at your face during the brief walk to your car as you watch your breath appear in puffs of white before your ice cold lips.
On the brief drive home your fatigue casts its spell as you succumb to the sense of loneliness you have only just managed to keep at bay these past weeks. A sense of helplessness invades your being tonight as your eyes follow the icy road ahead. Not for the first time you find yourself wishing that it was not a cold dark house you were making your way to tonight. But before you can submit further to your somber mood you discover that the drive home will require more concentration from you. So for the remainder of your drive you focus completely on weaving your way home through the treacherous roads.
When you reach home you stand for a moment in the open doorway of your front door. The wind howls fiercely around you and although the temperature is dropping fast as the snow licks at your heels you find it somehow preferable to stand on your porch, than you do to go into your own house. But eventually you go in, and as you turn and close the door on the howling wind you wonder to yourself how you will make it through the weekend.
Walking past your answer machine you absentmindedly flick the play back button and walk on into the kitchen, leaving your bag on the bench. Dinner for one again it seems.
There are 10 messages on your voice mail. Two are boring, three are worse, one is from your friendly avon lady, two are from surveys carried out in your area that offer conclusive and irrefutable proof that men in your city outnumber women 10-1 and that the last available woman in the entire city just had a sex change and now calls herself Ralph, one is from some guy called Ralph complaining about some phantom pre -menstrual back pain, and the final message is from me 'Hey Honey, you know, I thought of you today.....and then I smiled'. You turn away from your meal preparations and start to re-trace your steps back to your answer machine but halfway out of the kitchen your eyes stray instead to your bag and the parcel that has slipped from it and onto the bench. There is something vaguely reminiscent about the handwriting. The stamp of the kiwi bird transforms your hopes into reality and you reach for the parcel and examine it closely for the first time. A smile finds its way to your lips as you spy your name and address in large clear printing. Instantly you know why your receptionist left it unopened, for there in the top left hand corner in large red capitals is the word PRIVATE.
At once you are torn between ripping open the parcel now and savouring the moment for as long as you can. After some thought and much spinning and shaking of the parcel in your hands, you opt for the latter. Putting the parcel down on the bench you walk over to your answer machine and re-play my message. Then because suddenly you feel playful and lightheaded you re-play Ralph's message and laugh to yourself at the suspiciously coincidental pranklike tones of that and the survey message. The humour does not escape you this time and you hold it in your heart and laugh your sweet laugh into your suddenly not so empty house.
After dinner, as also was the case during dinner, you find your eyes traveling frequently back to the parcel on the bench. As hard as it is to do, you leave it untouched on the bench as you make your way into the bathroom.
The shower spray on your face feels good. And as the water cascades down your body in soapy rivulets your hands trace the hard lines of your taut stomach. Your mind is alive with a kaleidoscope of colour and the sensual images racing in front of your closed eyes grows more intense as they draw you in more deeply into a world of passion and longing. Your hands move with the confidence of familiarity, tracing the hard plains of your chest, the curves of your shoulders, the firm flesh of your buttocks. Your thighs tense as the images before your eyes become more provocative in the very physical reactions they are drawing from your body. Your cock throbs and raises itself up to the sensual massage of the falling water. You hold its length in your hand and pump it slowly up and down as it grows for you. You caress your testicles, cupping them gently in your open palm as you indulge yourself for a moment in the building passion that suddenly takes over your body.
When your curiosity about the parcel returns yet again you stop the water running and leave the shower stall, grabbing a towel to wrap around your slim hips as you exit the bathroom.
The water beads on your still warmly fragrant flesh as you pick up the parcel and turn it over in your hands one last time before ripping open the wrapping. A video tape, no label, just a card with two words hand written in the same clear printing you saw on the wrapping. "Enjoy....Smiles!!"
