Airborne Express 1

He brought our paychecks every other Thursday, which was reason enough to like him: but there were many other reasons. He was "my kind of guy". Twenty-something, polite, slight but powerfully built, and black. That ebony shade I love so well, that complimented his dark uniform, though I would have preferred to see him in Navy Dress Whites, or those skimpy shorts the UPS and FedEx guys wear sometimes. The truth is, I'd have preferred to see him with no uniform at all.

There was never any reaction when I greeted him, as I always did, with "Hi, Handsome!" I suppose these delivery dudes get used to everything and anything. He was always courteous and a bit reserved, as I signed the delivery sheet and thanked him as warmly as I could. We'd get the occasional other delivery from him (our Company never seems to be able to get anything done on time!) and it was always the same routine.

Still, he stayed on the route a lot longer that most of his predecessors; I guess he did his job well. So, as the months rolled by, he relaxed just a little, and there might be the off-hand remark about the weather or some such. Meanwhile, I fantasized all sorts of wild things that I'd like to do with this gorgeous hunk...

He knew my name, of course, since I always signed his paperwork; I made sure my signature was illegible, so he'd have to ask. But his greeting was always "Good Morning, Sir" - no first name, or even "Mr." - until the day he asked, out of the blue, for my phone number. I didn't know why, but supposed it had to do with business, and gave him my business number. Then, scarcely thinking of it, I said, "Would you like my home number too?"

Suddenly he turned shy, but looked at me slyly and said, "If you want to give it to me...": his voice sort of trailed off softly. "Sure would", I said, "and I hope you use it!" - and I rattled off my home number, which he pencilled lightly in the margin of his pad. There was something haunting about the way he'd said "..if you want to give it to me...", and there was that "double meaning" sort of implied... But, he said good bye and drove off, leaving me to forget the episode - as if I could!

Two weeks later, I had almost forgotten it, so I was a bit surprised when he said, after I signed for our checks, "You gonna be home tonight?" "Sure", I replied, "why?" "Thought I'd call you", he said. "I'll look forward to hearing from you, then", I said, - and he was off on his rounds without another word. I was left to wonder all day if he really would call, and persuaded myself that he probably wouldn't...

But he did! I knew instantly who it was when I heard him say, "Hello, this is Leon: I told you I would call you": I'd picked his name off the tag he wore on his uniform, though I'd never called him by his first name. "How nice to hear from you", I replied.

"I think I'd like to meet you, uh, outside of working hours", he said, rather hesitantly.

"That's nice", I replied, "but you don't sound really sure about it somehow".

"Well, I'm, uh, sorta new at this, and uh, uh...": he fumbled for words.

"Tell you what", I said; "come over to my place tonight, and we can take it from there". I couldn't think of anything else to say.

He asked where I lived, and when I told him, he said he wasn't that far away, and would "maybe" come on by. So we left it at that, a "maybe" kind of thing: would he, or wouldn't he, I wondered?

Five minutes later my doorbell rang, and I about jumped out of my chair! But it was some nitwit looking for my neighbors, and it was an hour before the doorbell rang again. THIS time, it was Leon, dressed rather casually in jeans that were not tight enough to be very revealing. As always, he called me "Sir", which I don't like even in formal situations, so I said, "Hey, call me Bruce, and I'll call you Leon, OK? We can be 'at ease', since we're 'outside of working hours', as you put it. How about a beer? Might relax you a little".

We settled in the living room with two frosty glasses of beer. There was a brief silence. Leon seemed tense, perhaps because I was busy studying his features, so very dark, so very smooth, so very well put together.

"So, tell, me", said I, "just what is it that you said you're 'sorta new at'?"

"Well, uh, you're the only person on my route that always says 'Hi, Handsome' to me, and, uh, for one thing, I guess I was wondering why you do that", he said.

"The obvious answer", I replied, "is that I, at least, think you ARE handsome - VERY handsome, in fact". (I found it hard to believe that I was the only one he'd run across that had said so!) "Perhaps you are fairly new to San Francisco?"

"I'm from Jamaica", he said (where, I thought, was the accent?) - "Jamaica, New York, that is" (ahhh, that explained it). "But I was raised-up all over: my Dad was in the Army, so we bounced around quite a lot. And you're right, I've been in The City only a coupla years: how'd you know?"

"Guys that have been here longer, or who were raised here, I think know a bit better how to deal with another guy telling him he's 'handsome': men in San Francisco are, ah, pretty much out in the open about that sort of thing".

"Well, you are, at least..." Leon ran out of words. He was trying to formulate his next expression. "Still, I guess I kinda like being called 'handsome', even by a guy", he said.

"Good!" said I: "but you should know that there can be a lot more attached to it than just 'saying' you're handsome..."

"Yes", he said, I suppose there can be...": again he seemed confused and at a loss for words. Then, "But I don't think you are handsome".

I laughed out loud. "Join the crowd!" I said. "It's true, no one ever said 'Hi, Handsome' to me, and I expect I'd faint dead away if anyone did!"

Now Leon was really confused. "But I didn't mean to say you aren't handsome..."

"Forget it", I said, giving his leg an affectionate pat; "like I said, if anyone called me handsome, I'd know he was a liar! But just don't call me ugly!"

It was Leon's turn to laugh shyly; "No, no, I don't think that at all. I just think...": the struggle for words again.

"'You just think'... I'm a horny bastard hot for your bod, right?"

Leon took it in stride, to my surprise. "No", he replied, forming his thoughts carefully as he spoke, "I don't think you're a 'bastard', and if you ARE 'hot for my bod', you've never made that entirely clear".

"Hon", said I, "I have been hot for you since the very first day I saw you! But what you do with your bod is no business of mine unless you give the word, and I never saw any indication that you had any interest..."

Leon hesitated again. "But you see", he said, "I've never ever done anything with another guy".

"Not even with your army brat friends?" I asked.

"My Dad was a Colonel: and with me being so Black, I didn't mix with 'army brats', as you put it".

"Well, twenty-whatever is not too late to start..."

"Twenty-three: no, I suppose it isn't. But I don't know where to begin..."

"Supposing - just supposing - you were going to start here, tonight, with me, I'd say we begin by taking a shower together: it's a nice relaxing way to 'get to know each other better'. After that, we'd 'play it by ear' - see what we feel like doing together, if anything. It's really that simple".

Leon closed his eyes and sat silently for a while. There was turmoil going on inside his head, I could see that. But I could also see that he was developing a hard-on: guess he was trying to imagine the reality of what I'd just said, and it was beginning to take effect. I played the scene for full effect, then decided to "go for it".

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written by organs