The Heist

The Heist

This story is dedicated to the real-life Antonio. Thank you for the friendship and the inspiration.

Antonio:

My job is boring. Boring virtual meetings followed by boring virtual research that leads to boring virtual conclusions. Just boring. My lunch hour is my only escape. Being a natural born people watcher, I always preferred to take my lunch break out by the Riverwalk. Plenty of people would come every day to see the water, the flowers and the ducks. I would go to see the people. But I don't go to the Riverwalk anymore. I have found somewhere better to spend the best hour of my day. Now instead of watching people, I watch one person, but oh...what a person he is.

There are many food options in this quaint little downtown setting, but they are pricy and I am frugal. I also want to control what I put in my body. I am thirty-one now - not in my twenties anymore. I have to be smart about my choices. When I turned thirty, I gave up on sugar and carbs. Between that and several hours a week in the gym, I am in the best shape of my life. Hence, the brown bag I bring from home every day.

A month ago on a Monday, my boss informed me of a last-minute Zoom meeting that I needed to attend. It was scheduled for 12:30 - smack in the middle of my cherished hour-long lunch break. With other boring meetings prebooked both before and after, my lunch could only be shortened, not moved. Thirty minutes was not enough time for my daily visit to the Riverwalk. But still, I needed to get out of the office. So, I brought my homemade salad out to the back alley. At least there were steps to sit on and fresh air to breathe.

Until the air wasn't so fresh.

I was only five minutes into my shortened break when a UPS truck backed into the alley, coming right at me and spewing exhaust. It came to a stop and mercifully, the engine was cut. Eventually, the back door rolled up. There stood a young man in the most ridiculous uniform in the history of uniforms. He was wearing a light brown short sleeve button down shirt with light brown matching shorts, a light brown hat and tan work boots with tan socks peeking out. His shirt was probably meant to be tucked in, but it was so short that it certainly would pop back out from the slightest movement. Just standing still, there was a strip of white skin visible below the shirt and above his shorts. The short sleeves were tight around his bulging biceps. Even his thighs and calves seemed to be exploding out of his shorts and boots. He wore a belt so loosely buckled that it more weighed the shorts down than held them up, revealing the Under Armour logo on the waistband of his underwear.

My dick immediately began to come to life.

He was blond haired and nicely tanned. I couldn't see where his eyes were looking but he had a cocky smile that was arrogant, obnoxious and adorable. I wanted to know if his eyes were blue or green or hazel or whatever, but the sunglasses were a formidable foe. I couldn't not gaze at this guy. He had a look about him. He looked like he knew that whenever he entered a room, all eyes would turn to him. In fairness, they probably did. As stupid as his shorts - who wears shorts to work? - were, he rocked the whole look. He made super-lame look super cool.

He began moving around in the truck, sorting packages. This alley serves as the receiving dock for six stores, three restaurants and a dozen offices (mine being one of them). The UPS dude had many packages to sort through. Some of them were on high shelves and when he reached for those, his short shirt would ride up to his ribcage. Sometimes, depending on his angle, he would be positioned so that I had an unexpected view of his belly button. He had to be a good twenty feet away from me, but even from this distance, I knew it was the most beautiful belly button I had ever seen. When he reached up, it was stretched out into a beautiful oval.

My dick kept growing.

As he set a box down on the floor of his truck, it snagged on the bottom button of his already too-short shirt and it popped off. Oh, my god! Now he didn't even have to reach anymore for me to see the belly button show; it was just right in front of me. Nonstop. When his arms weren't up, the belly button was a perfect round circle. A nice innie that was teasing me from across the alley. When he bent over, it would wink at me before briefly disappearing in a crease of skin. When he stood back up, it was like a new present was unwrapped all over again. And even though I already knew what was in that particular box, it was still the best present ever.

As muscular as this dude's arms and legs were, he was just a touch soft in the middle. Not fat by any means - no. He was thin but not ripped. For whatever reason, he did not spend his gym time doing crunches or anything else to build his core. And I hoped he never would. He was freaking beautiful as he was.

Suddenly, a hand squeezed my shoulder. "Antonio?"

I startled and looked up. It was one of my coworkers, Robert.

"Yeah?"

"It's 12:35. Your Zoom started five minutes ago."

Shit. I stood up, angling myself away from Robert to hide the massive erection that was tenting my suit pants. Unfortunately, angling away from Robert meant angling toward Mr. UPS. I gave him one more glance and I could swear he was smiling. Grinning, really. Was he grinning at me? Did he know I was watching him? Could he see my hardon? Those damn sunglasses. I couldn't tell.

I headed back in with Robert and I realized that my salad bowl was still full of salad. I'd been so completely enthralled by the show in front of me that I never ate my lunch. Who was this guy? This cocky, arrogant asshole. I bet he has some dumbass obnoxious white-boy name given by rich, yuppie parents. But then again, he's driving a UPS truck. It's a quandary. I wanted to know more. Does he work a regular route? Is he here in the alley every day at this same time? Putting on this same show for whoever will watch? I don't think I'll be visiting the Riverwalk again any time soon.

Bryson:

My name is Bryson. I am twenty three and I am a UPS driver. In college, I majored in History. I was advised against it by my parents and my counselor, but History was my favorite subject so I did it anyway. The problem was that I never wanted to teach. My degree is based on knowledge about the past. What do I do with that in today's world? That is what my parents wanted to know when I graduated with no job and no plan. That's when they cut me off financially. I had to get a paying job. Immediately. And since I had no interest in law, banking, business or archiving (whatever the hell that even means), it meant putting my other skills to use. My only other skill was being young and able bodied.

With limited options and having no desire to work in a warehouse, I became a delivery driver. It's not that bad. It is a full-time job with benefits, which I needed desperately to keep my parents from kicking me out. The packages are rarely too heavy to handle and I get to spend my days outside. It's fine while I figure out what I want to do with the rest of my life. The worst thing about my job is the uniform they force us to wear. It's brown on brown on brown on brown. No flare allowed. No bling of any kind. Not that I'm usually a bling guy, but this is drab and depressing. At least I'm allowed to wear sunglasses.

They gave me a set of three short sleeve shirts for the warmer weather. When I wore one for the first time, I thought it was a little short. I literally could not tuck it in; one slight move and it popped right out. I went back to the guy in charge of the uniforms at the depot and asked him if I could trade for a bigger size. Helping me meant more work for him. He wasn't interested in more work. He asked what the problem was. I pointed to the strip of skin between my shorts and my shirt and I told him that I am not a toddler. I should not be showing belly. That finally got his attention. He instructed me to lift my arms. I did and I could feel my shirt ride high up my ribcage. The depot guy just grinned. He told me that additional shirts were on backorder and since I was technically in uniform and not unable to perform my duties, I would just have to live with it. I heard him chuckling as I walked away. He was imagining dozens of customers every day getting the same show he just got.

I've been on the job for a year but I have a new regular route. The middle part of that route takes me to an alley downtown where I have a whole slew of businesses to deliver to. I get there around noon. In order to expedite the process, I park my truck in the alley and sort the dozens of packages by specific address before making my runs on foot. It's a system that works.

My first day on my new route I was doing my usual thing when something unusual happened. A man was staring at me as I worked. I didn't mind his staring at first. He was a good looking black guy in a suit sitting on a set of back steps, right across from where I parked my truck. If I was honest with myself, "good looking" was an extreme understatement. This dude was freaking hot. And even though he was wearing a suit, I could tell that he was ripped. Outside of work, he probably lived at the gym.

But then his staring intensified. It was severe. It was disconcerting. I felt like I was on stage in front of him. It was so distracting that at one point when I was setting down one of the bigger boxes, it snagged at the bottom button of my shirt and ripped the button right off. It was gone; nowhere to be found. I already felt like I was on display with the short shirt and at that point it might as well have been a crop top. But I had a job to do. What difference did it make? If we were at the beach or the pool I would be showing a lot more skin than this. And no one would care. We were both guys. I'm sure he saw more skin every day in the gym locker room than I was flashing right now.

But his gaze was borderline creepy. He was pretending to eat his lunch. I say pretending because I never saw him take a single bite. I thought maybe there was salad in his bowl but I guess he wasn't hungry for salad. He seemed hungry for me. I knew that with my sunglasses on, he couldn't tell that I was staring right back at him. He was watching my every move. He couldn't help himself. And when a coworker finally came to call him back inside, his salad bowl was still full and so were his pants. The dude was sporting a major erection. He had a flagpole tenting those suit pants. Did that make him more creepy or less creepy? I couldn't help but grin as I tried to decide. I don't know if the alley steps were his lunchtime destination every day but I kind of suspected that I would see him again tomorrow. I hoped so. In anticipation of a repeat audience, that night I ripped the bottom button off of all three of my shirts. Gotta give the people what they want.

Antonio:

I ate my lunch on those same back alley steps at that same time again the next day. I had wished and hoped and dreamed that this guy had a regular route that included my alley. Well, the UPS Gods had smiled down upon me. My Belly Button Boy was back. And damn if that bottom shirt button wasn't missing again. Was he wearing the same shirt on consecutive days? Did the bottom button pop off of all of his shirts? Was that a common hazard of carrying large packages every day? Whatever the reason, I wasn't going to complain.

I have a belly button fetish. I always have. It's not a path I chose, it's just how I am. It's how I'm hardwired to be so how can that be wrong? I don't think I'm exactly ashamed, but it's not something I tell people about either. They wouldn't understand. There are groups and forums and communities online, but I didn't join any of them. I'm more of an anonymous navel gazer. And while there are some decent girl belly buttons out there, it's the male navel that excites me.

The internet has everything. As I grew older and embraced this fetish I that didn't really understand when I was younger, I did a little web surfing. There are about a billion images of the male navel out there, some wonderfully sexy and some repulsively disgusting. There are also extreme fetishes that involve gut punching and even navel stabbing. This I do not understand. I do not judge other people for their fetishes. Whatever makes you happy... You do you. But personally, I don't get it. Curiosity drove me to briefly explore those worlds. They were just not for me. If I ever had the opportunity to get up close and personal with a belly button that wasn't my own, I wouldn't attack it or hurt it. I would worship it.

Up until now I have fed my cravings with weekend trips to the beach. I could see hundreds of shirtless dudes in one afternoon at the beach and none of them would be near as exciting as this UPS driver. I found him to be intoxicating. He literally has the most perfect belly button in the world. It kept invading my thoughts the whole rest of my workday. When I got home, I had the best masturbation session of my life as I closed my eyes and relived my too-brief lunch break.

So, yes. I was back the next day. This young man moved with a languid grace that was poetry in motion. He could have been performing a dance. Every move he made, every bend, every reach, every twist... It occurred to me that if he had been working shirtless, I would of course have still stared, but this stolen glimpse was thrilling. Seeing what I was never meant to see was magical. Something about the belly button peeking through the teepee of fabric flaps formed by the too-short shirt made it almost scandalous. It was a secret private showing that went on for an hour.

But I did two things differently on day two. One: I forced myself to look less conspicuous by actually eating my lunch. Two: Like him, I wore sunglasses. Now he couldn't see where my eyes were trained any more than I could see his.

The thing that wasn't so different was another complete failure to conceal my raging boner when it was time to stand up and leave again.

Bryson:

His sunglasses didn't fool me. As I predicted (hoped?) he came back the next day. Like eating his sad salad and hiding behind a pair of Ray-Bans was going to trick me. I knew why he was there. And just maybe, he knew that I knew.

I played it up for him. I took longer than I needed to arranging the order of the packages for the customers that this alley served. I stacked and restacked. I would twist and bend my body in different ways to keep things interesting for my admiring fan.

And he really was ridiculously hot. His tucked in Oxford shirt was so form-fitting that I could actually see the shape of his eight-pack abs through the thick fabric. Unfortunately, I had no packages for his address. If I had, what would I have said? What would he have done? It certainly would have been an icebreaker. Maybe if our little game here continues long enough, I'll send him something myself. But I don't know his name. I'm not sure that addressing a fake package to "Hot Black Guy" would go over too well. Or maybe it would. Based on his mammoth hardon two days in a row, maybe the handsome man would be open to receiving a special delivery from me.

As it turned out, he ate his lunch in that spot at that time every day for the rest of the month. Would I ever be brave enough to approach him?

Antonio:

I was becoming obsessed with the new object of my unique and unusual desires. I watched him work every day all month. I jerked off every night to the new images filling my mental photo album. And while I would never tire of watching this magnificent creature, I was getting bored of my own hand. I wanted more. I wanted to do real things to this real person and not just in my fantasies.

The logical, simple thing to do would be to walk up to the guy and start a conversation. It could be about anything. The weather, the Red Sox, I could ask him where he bought his sunglasses. One of us might suggest we catch the game at a bar one night. A friendship could form. Maybe more than friendship? That would take time to build to. Time that I was too impatient to spare. And if I did approach him and he turned me down, then not only would I lose my chance for an up-close and personal experience with the belly button of my dreams, but I wouldn't have the balls to continue our lunchtime game anymore either. I would lose everything.

I needed a different plan.

I started stalking him after work. It was easier to do than I thought it would be. First, I needed to find him. Who knew where his route took him after he left my alley every day? I Googled UPS sorting facilities and found several in a twenty-five mile radius, but only one was close to my office. So, about a month after our little game started, I headed to that facility to scope out the situation. My SUV had tinted windows and I didn't think that if I found him, he could identify me.

It was only the second night when I saw him. He was walking out of a rear door with three other guys who were dressed just like him. Well, their properly fitted shirts were securely tucked into their little brown shorts, but other than that, they were the same. The four of them said their goodbyes and split off in different directions. My Belly Button Boy went to an old blue Honda Civic that had seen better days, but now I knew his car.

A plan was beginning to take shape in my mind. That Friday afternoon, I would only work a half day. I needed time to make some preparations. Working only a half day meant I would have no lunch break. No lunch break would mean that for the first time in a month, I would forfeit spending an hour gawking at that beautiful young man. That was disappointing. But my reward for making such a sacrifice would be so much greater.

I dug through my closet and found a black ski mask and a pair of black leather gloves. I stopped at the hardware store and purchased a supply of nylon zip ties. This was going to be the weekend of my life. And of Belly Button Boy's too. The Heist was on!

Bryson:

It's Friday at the end of my shift and I'm feeling a little down. My hot hunky stalker friend was not in the alley this afternoon. There could be a million logical reasons why he couldn't make it. A conflicting meeting, he was home sick with a cold, he pulled a muscle at the gym, he was taking a vacation day, etc. With so many reasonable explanations, why am I so fixated on the unreasonable possibilities? I've been so busy enjoying our little game that maybe I missed my chance to meet the guy. Maybe he quit his job. Maybe he transferred across the country. Maybe he got hit by a bus. There are just as many scenarios where today wasn't a fluke. He could very well never be back on those steps in that alley again.

I know he hadn't tired of me. I could tell. And that wasn't just my ego. I was shown physical proof every day when he stood up at the end of his break and his steel rod was pointing at me. No, he hadn't found a new, better muse. I'll fret over it all weekend and hope that he returns on Monday. I will be double devastated if our little game is in fact permanently over and if I missed my chance to meet him.

I promise myself that if he does come back, I will be brave. I will simply walk up to his perch and introduce myself. I'll have no script or plan beyond that. The ball will be in his court and we will see what happens next. Undoubtedly, being so close to those shapely abs (his shirts are painted on) and his rock hard erection, I would develop a protrusion of my own. And my stupid light brown shorts would do little to conceal it.

Having returned my truck and signed out for the day at the sorting center, I am heading out to my car in the employee parking area, walking with three other drivers whose shifts had just ended as well. As I approach my car, I discover that the rear passenger tire has been slashed. Who would do that to me? Do I have an enemy and not know it? My car is a worthless dated heap of scrap metal containing nothing of value. And no windows appear to be broken. What was the purpose? Was this some kind of revenge? Was someone mad at me? What could I have done?