(i)
In the morning, a package was delivered. There was no name and address of the person who paid the sender. The label says clothing, worth two hundred dollars. Casually opened the box, but it was a set of white through flower inner bra panties.
The card was unmarked, with a few lines that read.
“This is a gift that isn’t really a gift, and I hope you’ll like my taste enough to wear it. When you replace it, put it in a postage-paid official envelope and send it back to me. Another small token of my appreciation, please accept it.”
The card comes with a five hundred dollar gift certificate. The return address is a P.O. Box number.
Who made that joke?
Unimpressed, he dropped the box on his bed and went to work.
In the evening, Kazu Jun came back after dinner. He has a meeting in LA early tomorrow morning and won’t be coming up for the night.
While changing, I remembered the box sitting on the bed. Picked up the chest testicles, than a comparison, just the right size. Put it on and try it on, the material is superior, the cut is first-class, the feeling is quite smooth, like a pair of gently holding hands, supporting the breasts. Proportionate Binijian panties, snug and comfortable. The curves of the lower circumference are outlined. I looked in front of the full-length mirror, and it had been a long time since I had been so self-indulgent.
At her age, her body is not bad, but there’s nothing to admire about herself. Ever since she and Jun started dating, she’s had a lot of appointments, so she’s been neglecting her training.
The next day after work, I did half an hour of Kenmei exercises before picking up the plane.
It’s a little late and Joon is boating. Had pancake takeout and went to bed.
Joon said I was charming.
He couldn’t wait and came up without unhooking my bra.
Come home early in the morning, take a shower, change clothes, wake up that box.
After dropping the envelope into the mailbox, I kind of regretted it. It’s as if I didn’t think it through, and I was at the mercy of someone.
A week later, another package arrived. It was also a set of intimate apparel, with a slightly different cut and pattern, a $500 gift certificate, and a self-addressed envelope.
Surprisingly, I put it on right away and paraded it in front of the mirror. Then followed the instructions. Send the package back the next day.
Even I don’t understand why I’m waiting for a package every day. Is the package delivery person a secret admirer or a fetishist?
Every day, I went to Kenmei Exercise, and if I didn’t go, it was as if I was letting someone down. The days when I don’t get my packages, even Toshi has no energy.
Received a package every week, different styles each time. After three months, the packages stopped coming, with no explanation. Traced around and couldn’t find where they came from.
(ii)
The package did not come for three months, finally could not help but be curious, opened his mouth and asked Jun if the person who sent the package to him.
He was inexplicable and I was too embarrassed to tell him about someone sending me profane clothes.
What magic drove me to track it down, I don’t know. I finally relied on my memory and punched out the mailbox number of a mail company, which was not far from home. The mailman, of course, refused to disclose the customer’s personal information, but he forbade me to tell him that it was a man who usually came to pick up the mail on Saturday mornings.
I waited there for two weeks and the man showed up. It was a middle-aged man, conservatively dressed and slightly obese. I followed him to the door of his house. Suddenly, he turned around, waved to me and said:
“Miss, you did come. Yes, I’m the one who sent you the package.”
I was so scared that I didn’t know what to do and tried to pull my feet up and run away, but my legs wouldn’t work and I couldn’t move from where I was standing.
“Miss, if you want to know the truth, please take a seat inside.”
My soul almost followed him into the house as if he had taken it.
“Scared of me? No wonder. Don’t force it. However, I have an unforced request. I want to take twelve pictures of you in your underwear. Ten thousand dollars each, giving you a total of twelve thousand dollars.”
“I’m sorry, I…”
“Miss, think carefully before you reject me. I promise to only take pictures and not towel you. The photos are for my personal collection only, never for public consumption. If you think the money is too little, how about 20,000 dollars a photo? As long as you’re willing, I’ll do whatever you want.”
“I’m not short of money.”
“No need to decide now. Think it through. Find me anytime if you want.”
He entered and closed the door behind him before I reverted to myself.
After that, I thought about it every day – being photographed in front of a stranger, dressed in blasphemy, and letting him pose.
Three days later, my legs couldn’t help but run to the middle-aged man’s door… (iii)
I stood in front of the door, my palms sweating, my heart racing, my mind wandering, how could I not come?
Yeah, I came to tell him that he won’t be allowed to take pictures.
As the door was being prepped for one of the dialogues, the door suddenly opened.
“Miss, you’re here. I was waiting for you.” He invited me into the house with a smile on his face.
The living room was elegantly decorated and a bit bookish. The sunlight poured through the trees in the backyard and spilled onto the dining table.
“Have a seat, would you like something to drink?”
My head went blank and the intended dialog ran off into the ether.
Before he could reply, he brought out two cups of coffee.
“Irish coffee? Right?”
How does he know?
“Taking the first one today. No questions?”
My mouth couldn’t say no.
“Let’s start with my collection.”
I followed him to a room where a floor-to-ceiling closet opened and twelve sets of underwear hung inside.
“These are all yours, do you recognize them?” He took one of the sets down and gave the panties a sniff: “Every time I put them on, I go have sex with my boyfriend. Your scent mixes with his body odor.”
What kind of a man is he? Was I wrong to come?
He owes me a farewell and leaves me me to undress in my room and put on the set of underwear he picked up. I followed his example and took a sniff of the underwear. Yes, it’s my scent, it’s all I’ve ever worn.
I was so happy to see that I was able to get out of the hotel. I was only wearing underwear, but I felt as naked as I was, like there were ants crawling on my body, and I was in a kind of marooned position.
He held the camera and smiled at me. I didn’t think he was lewd or dirty, but standing in front of a stranger like that made me blush with embarrassment. I didn’t know where to put my hands, but they hung down gently, covering the triangle that was hidden inside my panties.
“Where to shoot?” I was finally brave enough to speak up.
“Right here?” I thought he would have a STUDIO or something.
He didn’t ask me to do any sexy poses. He looked at it like a work of art for a while, captured the inspiration, and with a click, he pressed the shutter.
“That’s it?” I was a little disbelieving.
He nodded and pulled an envelope out of his inside jacket pocket and gave it to me.
When I was changing clothes, I opened the envelope and there was 20,000 dollars in cash! That’s enough for a month’s salary.
“Come back next week.” He said to me as I put my clothes back on and came out.
I left in a hurry before I remembered that I hadn’t even asked what his last name was.
(iv. end)
Every weekend after that, I came to have his picture taken. Each time he made me Irish coffee and each time I left without drinking it.
He didn’t ask me to pose during the photo shoot, but rather made me feel that I owed him something. So I posed like the models in the underwear ads in the magazines, trying to show the beauty of a woman’s body as much as possible. His reaction was surprisingly strong; his hands trembled, he held the camera unsteadily while taking the picture, and asked me to allow him to take one more insurance shot.
On this day, it was as if the distance between him and me had shortened, and instead of leaving right away, I sat down and finished my coffee.
“I’ll get you a hot cup.”
“Thanks, it’s still hot, no. Don’t you have to work?”
“I’m a WAH I and work from home.”
“Oh! How did you pick me?”
“Saw you in the lingerie department of a department store one day and took a liking to you.”
“How do you know my size and address?”
“I was able to see through your clothes and see your body. How many cups and bras, I can tell at a glance. And you don’t even know it when you give a peg.”
“There are tons of people in better shape than me.”
“But your aura drew me in.”
“You can really see through?”
“I use my imagination.” He said, pointing a finger at his head.
“How many times have I been your date?”
“Believe it or not, the first one.”
After that, I looked in the mirror every time and prepped for some titillating poses. It’s so easy to find extra money, so I can put in a little bit of effort. It’s just a favor! The stronger his reaction, the more I got into the act. But every time, he just takes a picture.
I’m kind of sad to be done with the last shoot. Sit down and have a cup of coffee and don’t go home right away. He held his coffee cup in his hand, pondering, and after a moment of silence, he came with a stony invitation.
“What? What did you say you wanted me to do?”
He initially gave me to see the calm, confident demeanor, has been greatly changed. I asked, he no longer talk freely, speak a little stuttering.
“I want you to be in my collection.”
“What?”
“Collector’s item.”
(End of “Sticky Gifts”. Watch for the sequel, “The Collection.”)