Jim groggily picked up the phone. "Hello?"

"Good morning sir. This is Francine with MCI long distance. How are you this morning?"

Jim emitted a low, plaintive groan into the receiver and slammed the phone back down. He wanted to doze back off into his dream, but recalling it was his girlfriend Sharon's birthday, he decided he should give her a ring. He picked the phone back up and dialed, but curiously, after 12 rings there was still no answer.

Jim groaned.

"Son of a bitch," he mumbled, swinging his hairy legs over the side of his bed. "MCI is doin' it door-to-door, now."

The rapping sound repeated smartly, almost professionally. Jim shuffled across his hardwood floor, grasping for his robe. It would not do to answer in the buff. One could get arrested for that. Jim wasn't about to follow in his father's footsteps, not that direction.

The door had time to sound off once more before Jim groggily reached it. Belatedly, he realized he was probably a fright, as he usually suffered from near-terminal bedhead in the morning. It was too late, however; the light of day was streaming inside, illuminating every single flaw he possessed.

"Package, sir," came a voice just as smart, sharp and professional as the knocking.

Jim peered painfully past the terribly cheerful sunlight pelting him like tiny golden swizzle sticks and into the eyes of a remarkably tall woman dressed in a kind of uniform he failed to recognize. It was black with yellow piping and looked almost painted on her without really revealing anything. She was also, to his surprise, rather taller than he was. That did not happen very often to him.

"I'm sorry," he stammered, still not quite there, "a package? From whom?"

Once again a little late, he noticed that the statuesque carrier had a cardboard box the size of his head underneath one arm. Her other hand held a clipboard, which she checked.

"A...Hubert Wu, of Climax, Minnesota." Her words were clipped and clearly in formal dress, without being entirely unfriendly.

Wu? Doctor Wu? Christ, Jim thought, what did that quack want from him now. His expression must have been telling, for the woman before him shifted slightly.

"Did you wish to refuse the package, sir?" she asked.

Jim chased the last of his cobwebs away. "Oh, no...no, that's fine, I'll take it."

She smiled a tight little smirk as Jim accepted the box from her. The odor of vanilla and jasmine followed the package, though jim could not discern if the smell originated from it or the woman. He signed his name absently on the proferred clipboard, whereupon the oddly dressed carrier performed a neat aboutface and returned to her van, also colored black and yellow. Jim nearly dropped the package as he was virtually forced to watch the hypnotic motion of the woman's incredible hips and ass...the action made Jim think of Swiss clockwork, except that clocks rarely graced Jim with the stirrings of an erection. The van, which was of an unfamiliar design, started up with a low purr and pulled out into the street. Smartly, of course.

Jim closed the door, restoring the murky dank that lived quite comfortably inside his home. He walked to his dining table (not that he ever ate off of it) in order to set the tan box down and get some coffee going, but he stopped when he thought he heard a strange noise. It sounded a little like bees fucking.

"What the hell?" Placing the mysterious package to his ear, Jim discovered the source of the noise, if the quiet, rhythmic humming could be awarded that term. As he listened, Jim found that, bizarrely, his normally predictable penis was still swelling, poking out of his robe for no apparent reason.

A puzzled expression grew along with a thrilling tightening deep inside of him. As he watched, his cock stiffened quite independently of any stimulation, rising towards the table with an insistant but subtle rhythm. His confusion started along the dusty path to concern when he spotted a glistening drop of moisture grace his purpling member. As he reflexively backed away from the box the first drop of precum fell like silver honey upon the yellowed linoleum floor. Soon, both of his heads were staring blankly at the other.

"Jesus," he croaked, "this is weird."

His heart was pounding, whether from the cloud of strange arousal or from anxiety was unclear. After a minute, however, the tension slowly departed from his body; it left him more quickly when he took another couple of tentative steps backwards.

"Wu, what the hell have you done now, you freaky old man," mumbled Jim to his dick. It failed to answer, instead sinking to half-mast. Jim knew, though he had no right to be so certain, that whatever odd creation was in that cardboard box on his dining table, it had created his mysterious arousal from thin air. A part of him (the part about six inches long) was most intrigued by the notion of such magic, while most of the rest of him wondered just what in the world had he just exposed himself to, and was it dangerous? After a remarkably short time, the two halves of himself jointly considered what might happen when his girlfriend, Sharon, was shown the innocent cardboard box...

He could not just leave the thing there from now on though, could he. And he knew enough about Dr. Wu that, while undeniably nuts and miserably patronizing, he was never malicious or cruel. So Jim steeled himself with a few quick short breaths and rushed the box, feeling himself slowly respond to whatever was inside of it as he tore through the tape and staples. His cock was stirring just as he managed to open the lid. He furiously threw the little foam peanuts out of the way, looking like a mad popcorn popper. He set aside a small blue envelope, reached into the box once more and pulled out...