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.