Previously published in the Dreamspinner Press anthology, Uniform Appeal.
Uniforms didn't do it for Rick. A firm ass in a tight pair of jeans rang all his bells. But uniforms? Not a single tingle. At least that's what he thought.
Until he opened the door to the new mailman...
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All you have to do is tell me your favourite uniform fetish. Which man in uniform really rings your bell... whether it be the humble fry cook, or the heroic soldier... don't be shy... let me know who does it for you... and why.
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Rick didn’t have a uniform fetish. This confession had led to his two best friends declaring there was obviously something fundamentally wrong with him. Which then led to them questioning whether or not he was (a) actually gay and (b) actually breathing.
He’d listened to their heartfelt pleas for the fireman and the cop. Not to mention the Marines and soldiers who served their country. Hell, even the humble waiter down at the local Denny’s got a mention. But a man in uniform just didn’t do it for him.
Eventually they’d given up on him, expressed their disappointment in his lack of taste and left him to his own devices when they hit the clubs. Nope—give him a firm ass in tight jeans and a T-shirt two sizes too small and he was perfectly happy, thank you.
At least that’s what he thought.
Then he opened the door to the new mailman.
“Morning,” the tall man said, his smile bright and friendly, complete with white teeth and dimples. “Mr. Richard Beaumont?”
“Yes… Rick,” Rick mumbled, vaguely wondering if it would be too obvious if he kicked himself for his total lack of cool. “I mean...yes, that’s me.” He huffed out what sounded like a desperate laugh, even to his own ears, and felt the flush of heat in his cheeks. “Morning,” he trailed off lamely and tried not to drool on the man’s shoes.
“Package for you, sir. I just need a signature.” The guy held out a computerized pad and pointed to where Rick needed to sign.
The mailman held it steady while Rick tried to scrawl in the little square box. “I swear my handwriting isn’t really this bad,” he mumbled, trying desperately not to get caught staring at the muscled thighs that bulged from beneath hideous, polyester, navy shorts.
“That’s okay,” he replied, pressing a few buttons on the pad and then slotting it back into the holder on his belt. “No one’s handwriting looks good on these things. Anyway, hope the package is something nice. You have a good day now.”
Rick closed the door slowly, telling himself he wasn’t really looking at the curve of the mailman’s ass while he walked back up the path. Nor was he watching the way defined muscles bunched and moved beneath the pale blue cotton shirt; which Rick thought couldn’t possibly have been tighter if it tried. Letting out his breath on a long sigh, he closed the door and leaned against it momentarily, turning the package over in his hands. He already knew what was in it. An antique doll he had bought to stage some Victoriana shots in his photographic studio. Stepping back in time and having your picture taken in the garb of the era seemed to be all the rage at the moment, and who was he to sniff at the latest fad if it was going to put money in his pocket? As he walked back towards the kitchen, the doorbell rang again. Opening the door, Rick found himself once again staring at the engaging dimples either side of the mailman’s smile.
“Hi, again,” he said, taking off his navy cap and running a hand through dark, chocolate colored hair.
“Hey,” Rick replied, trying to sound casual.
“Would you mind if I used your bathroom?” the mailman asked. “Only my van is parked like three streets over, and then I’ve got to drive for twenty minutes back to the depot, and you’re the last stop on my route...”
The light in those...blue, no wait, they were green, nope, brown...eyes was pleading and Rick found himself inviting a complete stranger into his home before he could question what the hell he was doing.
“Sure, it’s at the end of the hall,” Rick said, standing aside and waving the mailman in. Jesus, he thought when the guy smiled gratefully and walked past him. He’s fucking huge. Rick knew he was no slouch at just over six foot, but this guy was even taller and wider than him, and those broad shoulders tapered into a slim waist and lean hips. His mouth watered and his eyes lingered for far longer than politeness dictated on the curve of the gorgeous man’s ass. It was the perfect peach and completely edible. Shaking his head slowly at his own romanticism, he took a deep breath and went into the kitchen to finish making the coffee he had started before the doorbell had rung the first time.
Rick didn’t hear the mailman come into the kitchen, until a firm chest was pressed against his back where he stood at the counter stirring his coffee. “What?” Rick choked out as he felt the man’s breath in warm puffs on the back of his neck. He froze as long fingers snaked down the curve of his ass, sending a shiver through him. “What are you doing?” he squeaked, his breath hitching in his throat.
“Anything you want me to.”