SPECIAL DELIVERY

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Submitted Date 03/09/2019
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His crisply pressed uniform hugged his muscular build. The powder blue shirt clung to his burly chest, the buttons straining to contain his massive pectorals. His bulging biceps exploded from the ends of the short sleeves revealing arms that have carried many pounds of mail. The navy-blue shorts looked as if they'd been painted onto his firm buttocks and well-toned thighs. His taut calves quivered with every step he took on his daily route through the neighborhood. These were the legs of a man who has walked for miles. The first time I noticed him, he was walking across my front lawn, his empty bag slung over one shoulder. He walked with a purpose, head held high. I'd stepped out onto my front porch to retrieve the mail. Never had I seen such a sculpted physique on a person such as the mailman. He stood average in height but every inch of his body had been chiseled into perfection.

The clatter of the mailbox lid closing shattered his concentration, causing him to turn and look my way. Short black hair, spiked and styled with gel to hide the thinning, complimented his sun-kissed complexion. His piercing blue eyes were deep pools that shimmered when he smiled. A thin nose seemed to fit right into place between the two orbs of ocean blue. His full sensual lips, soft as rose petals, slowly parted to reveal brilliant white teeth that glinted in the bright sunlight of the early afternoon. He gave me a warm, inviting smile. A single drop of sweat trickled down from his brow and swept the delicate skin of his cheek before tracing the sharp line of his jaw and dripping from his pointed chin. A blushing of his dimpled cheeks snapped me back into the present, and I quickly realized I'd been staring, my mouth hanging open like a starving lion staring down its first meal.

He raised his python-like arm to wave hello. His feather-light hands stretched out with the long fingers of a pianist. Each nail had been meticulously manicured with the precision of a masterful artist. It was at that moment that my clumsiness set in and I dropped the stack of envelopes and store ads that I'd so gracefully plucked from the mailbox. With the long strides of a gazelle, he was by my side where he knelt down and swiftly collected the mail at my feet. The musty scent of his cologne wafted up through the thick summer air and tickled my nose ever so softly. He rose to his feet, and as he handed over the mail, he said, "You should be more careful. Tampering with the mail is a federal offense." He winked and gave me a coy smile before walking to his mail truck on the corner.

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