A delivery man stops you before you leave

Just as you lean over to pick up the bag you hear a knock at the door.

"Who is it?" you cautiously ask, having learned by now that your neighbors are an unsavory bunch. There's the letch next door that you're certain is a peeping tom, a bull-like woman across the way who constantly gives you an evil - but hungry - eye and who's covered with what you believe to be prison tattoos. Then of course there's the guy you think is a **** dealer, another who's probably a pimp, one who makes you think of a sex offender, and a few others.

"Delivery," a voice says, making you breath out in relief. You quickly open the cheap lock and push open the seemingly cardboard-like door that is all that keeps you safe from outsiders. As it opens you spot the owner of the voice, relaxing since his clothes make it quite clear that he is a deliveryman.

"Jenny Rainwood?" he asks, consulting his clipboard.

"That's me," you say as you eye him. He looks up and freezes, his detached manner turning suddenly interesting as he takes in the incredible amount of skin you're showing.

"Uh... package," he finally manages, thrusting forward a box, never taking his eyes off you. "Cash on delivery."

"What? I didn't order anything. I'm not paying you for something I didn't order."

Tearing his eyes from your body the man consults his clipboard again. "Maybe it's from your boyfriend," he says with a shrug.

"Oh!" you breath, snatching the package, furiously tearing off the paper.

"Hey!" he exclaims. "You have to pay for...."

He goes silent, staring at the contents of the package. Not that you can blame him as you stare at it too.

'Dumbo Dick! Inflatable to 14" long and 4" wide!' a box exclaims in bold letters, beneath which clear plastic displays a long, thick dildo. Another rests beside it, with who knows what underneath that.

"Wh... what....?" you stammer, blood rushing to your face.

"Guess it's a present," the guy says huskily. "By the way, you opening it means you've accepted the charges."

"Charges?" you ask, glancing up at him quickly before looking away in embarrassment.

"Twenty-three dollars and sixty-four cents," he says, glancing from sex toy to sex toy to you.

"Twenty...." you groan. "Uh, I think there's been some mistake. Jacob would've paid for it."

Shrugging he looks at his board. "No mistake. Very definitely COD. You'll have to take it up with customer service. In the meantime, you owe twenty-three dollars and..."

"Sixty-four cents," you grumble, finishing his words. "I know, but I don't have any money."

His eyes go past you for a moment and you half-turn to see what he's looking at.

"You have enough money for laundry, it seems," he points out.

"I can't pay you with that, I don't have anything else to wear. These are the only clean clothes I have left!" you tell him, and immediately regret bringing his attention to your miniscule clothes. His eyes fasten onto your body again, making you squirm under the scrutiny. Not that you've ever really minded being ogled, but a little discretion would be nice instead of treating you like - you glance down at the package - a sex toy.

"Well," he says huskily, "One way or another you're gonna have to pay."