This short story is a Happy Birthday gift to a fan. Hope you enjoy it, too.
*
I was just stepping out of the shower when I heard the doorbell. I hadn't ordered a pizza and I wasn't expecting company. I figured it was some kind of salesman that I could get rid of quickly so I grabbed a towel, wrapped it around me, and headed toward the front door.
I opened the door, trying to stay back a little. I wasn't interested in the whole neighborhood seeing my almost bare butt at the front door.
A young woman, who appeared to be in her early twenties, with a backpack slung over one shoulder, looked up and asked, "1837 Boston, right?"
"Yes," I acknowledged that she had the correct address.
She looked at a small slip of paper in her hand, "You're Paul, right?"
"Yes," I agreed that I was actually Paul. However, I didn't tell her Paul was my middle name, nor did I mention that I seldom used that name. She was just selling something and I wasn't in a buying mood.
She turned and waved at a car parked at the curb, pushed the door open a little farther, and stepped into the house, using her hips to push the door closed behind her.
I heard the car leaving about the time I saw this young salesperson drop her backpack and open the front of her trench coat.
On. My. God. I must have stared at her for a full minute and I may have drooled.
Some magician had ripped the middle out of a Playboy Magazine, waved a magic wand over it, and put the real live centerfold inside my house.
Before I could close my mouth and swallow, she reached forward, pulled my towel off and smiled, "Oh, nice. Yum, yum."
I think I caught her arms before she dropped all the way down to her knees, but she already had my cock in her hand and I wasn't going to get too rough with her. I did not care to risk a permanent injury.
I may have stuttered. I know I swallowed hard and had to cough. "What...what...who..." I took a deep breath and tried to calm myself. I looked down to see that she was still holding my stalk, so I carefully phrased my question. ""Who are you?"
"I'm Paula," she answered. "Isn't it neat? Like, I'm Paula, and I'm sent to be Paul's date for the evening. Wow, cool, I've never had that happen before."
I guess the look on my face told her I was really confused. She stopped stroking my ramrod. I didn't want her to stop. I really didn't want her to let go, either. But she seemed to need that hand to take the paper out of her pocket.
She looked at the paper, "1837 Boston Circle?"
I groaned. This has happened before. This dumb city won't allow a change of the street name. I live on Boston Avenue. I don't know the man who lives across town on Boston Circle, but I have his telephone number somewhere. Occasionally UPS or FedEx leaves something he ordered on my front porch. I don't think I knew his name was Paul, either.
She looked at the paper again, "Paul Augustus Baer."
"Yeah, Gus, that's his name. He lives across town."