I stopped stroking and decided I didn’t want to touch myself; it was him I wanted to feel touching me. I knew there was no way I could mimic what happened this afternoon. I had never had a release so powerful. Why bother even trying? I would wait until his hands were on me.
After I showered, I pulled on my pajama pants and went to the kitchen. I made dinner for Charlie and then had peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. I spent the rest of the evening watching TV and playing with my dragon. I realized he liked being rolled on his back and having his belly rubbed. You could tell it made him happy by how his legs paddled the air. When I laughed at him, he would get up and bounce at me, wanting to play more. I would tease him, and he would flop on his back and expect me to rub him again.
The lobby called my phone. “What’s up?”
“There is a package. Well, it’s more than a package. There is a trunk down here with your name on it. Just arrived via messenger.”
It was probably something from a sports equipment company wanting to convince me that their products were the ones to endorse. I’d stick it in the office for Cecelia to unpack. It was odd that it came via messenger, though. Usually, these things come from a shipping company. “Can you send it up? I’ll grab it off the elevator.”
“No problem, Mr.Barallo”.
“Thank you so much. Have a great evening.” The guys in the lobby were the best. I had no idea how many people got turned away, but I suspected it was a lot.
I heard the elevator chime as the doors opened. Inside was a trunk with a giant bow like a gift basket. I grabbed the handle and pulled it into the apartment. I looked over the contents, and it was clear that this was personal. There were about twelve distinct kinds of toaster pastries. Some of the flavors I didn’t even know existed. I saw cookies, fruit, and a beautiful bouquet of pink and white roses. I pulled those out and put them in a vase; Charlie rode on my shoulder, watching everything intently. There were bags of freeze-dried proteins and vegetables, obviously for Charlie. There were two more bottles of the reserve stock wine and three pairs of pajama bottoms with ducks, donuts, and cats in sunglasses.
I didn’t need to ask who sent this over; it was Aaron, which made me tingle inside. He sent things he knew I liked instead of a generic website purchase. It meant he thought about me.
My phone buzzed. I found a text from an unknown number.
Unknown: Thank you.
No need to thank me. I should thank you.
Unknown: I beg to differ.
I didn’t even need to ask. I knew it was Aaron. I changed the contactinformation.
It’s very nice of you to say, but I don’t see a reason for you to thank me.
Mr. Timberland: Let me list them then—the gifts for my nephew and sister.
Mr. Timberland: For inviting my nephew to meet Joshua Turner.
Mr. Timberland: The jacket you gave me.
Mr. Timberland: The life-changing orgasm you shared with me.
Mr. Timberland: Giving me hope about feeling things for another person.
I was surprised that he shared that last part. It had only been two days, but I felt the same way, even though it seemed premature.
If that is why we are saying thank you, I will repeat what you said and replace nephew and sister with dragon.
Mr. Timberland: You are welcome, then.
Mr. Timberland: You can text me if you want anything.
Mr. Timberland: I mean, if you want anything for Charlie.
Mr. Timberland: Well. If you want something, you can text me too.
Mr. Timberland: I’m going to stop now.
LOL, I might text you because I want something.
Mr. Timberland: Oh, that’s good.
I dug through the box some more. I opened a bag of freeze-dried salmon.
