Storiesonline.net ------- Mail Lady by Old Fart Copyright© 2008 by Old Fart ------- Description: A short story about the Postal Service, written especially for authors and editors. The rest of you, read at your own risk. Codes: tg cd humor ------- Mr. Harris retired about a month ago. He delivered mail to my house for almost thirty years. He saw my kids grow up; he saw my wife and I grow apart. Throughout it all, he delivered our mail. Bills, a few checks, some personal letters and junk mail, the amount of which seemed to double each year. There may have been a screwup or two during the first year, but since then, everyone on the block has gotten their own mail, on time. You always knew when it was close to 10:30 because Mr. Harris was coming up our walk. On his last day, he had to call his son and have him bring his pickup. Every house in the neighborhood had a package for him near the mailbox. I don't know what the problem was but we went through a couple of weeks where we'd have the same person for one to three days, then somebody else would take over. I got mail at 8:30 one morning and 5:45 the next afternoon. Four weeks ago we got a permanent mail carrier. Naomi is close to six feet tall, has red hair that had to come out of a bottle and wears high heeled shoes to deliver the mail in her Post Office Blue skirt that comes down to mid-thigh. On the fourth day in a row, I figured she was probably our permanent carrier. I was in the front yard and she reached out to hand my mail to me. "Thanks, Naomi." She pulled back the pile of letters, looked at the one on top, handed them back and said, "You're welcome, Mr. Fart." "So, is this going to be your permanent route?" "I think so." "Good. I think you'll like most of the people." "Well, I do so far." For the first week, she was at my place about 11:00 each day. Then it started to vary. Noon one day, 2:00, even 3:30 on a couple of days. I assumed she was trying out different routes, working out the easiest way to deliver the mail. Naomi quickly became the talk of the older set. The women seemed to be scandalized by her and would shake their heads and whisper whenever her name came up. What surprised me was the men. They acted like teenage boys in a high school locker room, talking about her tits and her ass and what they'd like to do with her. There was a lot of nudging of elbows and winking whenever two or more of them got together. It got so I'd avoid them when I went to the park and the grocery store because I didn't want to hear it. Her fourth week was coming near an end when Naomi showed up with my mail at 4:30 in the afternoon. I was outside watering my lawn when she handed it to me. "Thanks Naomi. Still trying to figure out the best route to take?" "Oh, no Mr. Fart. I talked to Mr. Harris as soon as I knew I'd have this route and he told me how he did it." "I don't understand. If you take the same route each day, how come the mail gets here at different times?" She leaned closer to me and, after checking around to make sure there wasn't anybody who could hear us, she said, "Because I put out." "Excuse me?" "Oh, come on, Mr. Fart, you've been around. You know what I'm talking about." "I know what the words mean. I guess I just can't believe it." "Well, you know, there are a lot of older men on this route. And many of them are lonely. I just feel good helping out where I can." I didn't quite know what to say so I went back to watering my lawn and she continued on to my neighbor's. The next day was Friday. I opened the front door when she came up with the mail, just past 1:00. "Hi, Naomi. It's awful hot out today. Would you like to come in for a glass of lemonade?" "Thank you Mr. Fart, that would be wonderful." She followed me into the kitchen and waited patiently while I got a glass out of the cupboard, filled it with ice from the dispenser in the freezer door and then covered the ice from a pitcher I had in the refrigerator. She took a sip, licked her lips and put the glass down on the counter. "Come now, Mr. Fart, you didn't really invite me in here for lemonade, did you?" "No, I suppose not." "Where's the bedroom?" I didn't say anything. I took her hand and led her down the hall to my room. Once we were inside, she was all business. "Drop the shorts," she ordered. I did as she told me. As soon as they were down around my ankles, she grabbed my shoulders, spun me around and pushed me on the bed, face down. I felt my briefs being pulled down. A second later I felt something penetrate my asshole. Male Lady, not Mail Lady. Damned homonyms. You'd think a guy who writes and edits would know better. ------- The End ------- Posted: 2008-09-19 ------- http://storiesonline.net/ -------