The UPS Guy Read online

  NOTE:

  The following story is a woman’s sex “fantasy” and is a complete work of fiction. In no way does it accurately depict the work habits of UPS delivery men or any protocol of the UPS postal system. All characters and situations are made up by the author and bare no actual relevance to persons living or dead. The story is a sex FANTASY.

  The U.P.S.

  GUY

  Jackie Christian

  THE UPS GUY

  Copyright © 2009 Jackie Christian

  ~~

  The UPS man has no mercy

  once a woman submits/

  The door of her house is a marked door.

  Out front—

  he has parked a big brown truck.

  His masterful legs/muscle deep in

  Chippendale Shorts

  Boast quickly of the College Stud’s

  Confident Wink

  He is the knock against the wall that

  Lonely Mothers erect/claiming resistance.

  His briefs bear the package

  His fruits of aggressive ecstasy

  Pent-up/Her package unwrapped

  --his naked buttocks to bang away all loneliness

  As he lays the pipe;

  Lay the pipe

  Lay the pipe

  He is the UPS man

  And he drives a big brown truck

  He is the college boy in brown Chippendale shorts

  He is familiar to you

  Each day/you see him pull up

  He sees you smile

  --He waves

  He is the one with no mercy

  And once you submit

  The door of your house…is marked.

  .

  ~~

  1

  •

  Kate stood in the shower frazzled by the fact that her twenty-one year old son Michael’s twenty-one year old best friend from college was seriously trying to fuck her.

  At first, like any modest forty-something year old woman, she’d been in denial about it. But after the last incident—an incident in which the very athletic Vincent Bonn had pressed up against her while they passed in the hallway on thanksgiving and kissed her on the mouth, whispering in her ear, “I want you so bad,”…there was now no mistaking his lingering glances or the strange way he smiled at her whenever Michael wasn’t watching.

  “How fucking embarrassing,” Kate told herself as the jets from the shower head beat down massaging her temples, face, shoulders and breasts. And yet even though she thought it was a ridiculous notion on Vincent’s part—the idea she would sleep with one of her son’s college friends—there was also a part of her that wondered why she wasn’t physically turned on by the fact that such a young good looking guy wanted to be with her.

  To begin with, Vincent was on the swim team and had the lithe, sinewy build that Olympic swimmers have. He was tall, dark haired, blue eyed—very deep voiced, masculine and assertive. But also very gentle and intelligent; there was a maturity about Vincent that her son Michael didn’t have. And as well as that—there was that animal thing about him.

  Briefly, pressing against her in the hallway on thanksgiving, she had felt the rock of his crotch.

  “I want you so bad, I can’t help it, Mrs. Nixon,” he had panted with a lump in his throat. But no matter how manly the voice; no matter how intense the determination in his arresting blue eyes—all Kate could do was transpose Michael’s boyish face over Vincent’s boyish face.

  These are kids, she thought to herself. I’d feel like a child molester.

  And, indeed, as a single mother raising Michael on her own all those years, she’d been very sensitive about his feelings of protectiveness and his father not being in the home. The ego and male-imaging development of young boys is extra fragile when the son left behind in divorce feels that the father has been displaced by the mother’s over-bearing strength or her unwillingness to be a team player, so Kate had gone to great lengths to make sure that Michael never saw her with other men. She never brought strange men to the house, men didn’t call on the phone, nobody bossed her kids around and she definitely never had sex with one at the house.

  In Michael’s eyes, while growing up, his mom simply didn’t have anything to do with men until it was damned near time for the wedding—and then she’d take the children out to a restaurant and introduce them to her new “buddy helper”—and then after about a month when the children liked and approved of the guy (as in their stepfather, Hank, Kate’s third husband and eventual third divorce)…she’d get married and that would be that. They’d have a stepfather in the house.

  But never had she allowed her son to think of her as a “sexual being”—as a woman in the natural sense. It had always been important to her that Michael see her as a “safety zone,” a nurturer, as rational; his rock—virtuous. Yes, virtuous.

  Of all three children, Michael, the only boy, was her favorite—but she’d never admit that.

  It was through Michael’s eyes and the respect that he had for her as a mother that she based her scale of self-value on. Like so many divorced single mothers, her son’s validation pardoned her from whatever she’d contributed in causing the three failed marriages.

  “My mom is the coolest person I know,” Michael often told people. “She’s one of the smartest, most generous and decent people I know. I’ve never seen her do something stupid.”

  AND NOW THIS: his best friend at school was trying to fuck her.

  Wearily, Kate slicked her hair back in the shower and got a chill so strong that no matter how hot the water was, it just wouldn’t stop shaking her.

  She thought: “I’d better have lunch with Vincent Bonn. I’d better make it clear that I don’t want him and that I don’t like him disrespecting me or disrespecting Michael one bit. We’re not those kind of people.”

  .

  UPS DELIVERY

  A big brown truck drove up.

  Jewel and Olivia were on the back porch of their mother’s house giving Kate’s golden retriever, Zodiac, a sudsy flea bath.

  They didn’t see him coming at first—but once he had the package tucked under one arm and opened the back gate and got half way up the yard’s long walk way, Olivia, the youngest daughter, noticed him.

  Damn, he’s hot! When did he become our UPS man?

  Her mouth hung open and all she could do was stare.

  Then Jewel, Kate’s oldest child, looked up—and she came right out and said, “My goodness—are you sure you’re a mailman? You look like one of those male supermodels—or a Chippendale dancer.”

  “Ah…thanks,” the gorgeous UPS Guy replied with a blush and a shy smile. He knew that he was fine as hell, but he wasn’t used to girls his age saying it so straight out. But then Jewel was like that—a very frank and straight to the point person.

  “I need one of you kind young ladies to give me a signature. It’s a package for Dr. Kate Nixon.”

  “That’s our mother,” Jewel told him as she signed.

  “Cool—what kind of doctor is she?”

  “She’s a Psychiatrist.”

  “Scary,” he said as Olivia looked at his name tag.

  It said DEX.

  “We’ve never seen you before—are you a new UPS guy?”

  “Yeah, that’s me—DEX KELLOGG.”

  “Hi Dex…I’m Jewel and this is my baby sister, Olivia.”

  “Nice to meet you girls.”

  “We’ve got some warm apple Danish in the kitchen that we always give the UPS guy. You mind if I run and get it for you?”

  “Oh, sorry—but I don’t eat stuff like Danish. I have to keep my body in shape.”

  And in that moment, Jewel realized where she’d seen him before. He was a stripper—a male exotic dancer at “CANDY MAN” in Venice
Beach.

  OH…MY…GOD.

  Just as Dex noticed the wedding ring on Jewel’s finger, Jewel asked with a wicked smile, “Is this your only job?”

  “I go to school. Look—you ladies take care, alright?”

  •

  Holding his erect penis firmly in both hands, the swimmer Vincent Bonn threw his head back in the shower and moaned out loud like a wild animal. In the daydream that flashed behind the lids of his closed eyes like a movie, he could see his friend’s mom fully naked and standing over him. Her hair, usually worn upswept, was long and loose around her shoulders, and she was slightly squatting.

  Softly, she was saying: “You’ve been a bad boy—chasing an older woman like me.”

  Vincent wanted what all swimmers want—to get wet. Her pink tender pussy smelled like blossoms and he wanted to reach his face up and lick it. But then Kate had other plans.

  Golden hot—she released a stream of urine that poured down his face and through his hair like expensive beer spilling. But because he was in the shower, he fantasized that the hot beading water was Kate’s golden gift of sacred pussy piss running through his hair and down his back. She was pissing on him and he couldn’t get enough.

  Then, as he sponged his Pecs in ecstasy, he imagined they were on a moonlit tropical beach—Kate resting against his chest.

  “Age is nothing but a number, Mrs. Nixon,” he imagined telling Kate beneath a night sky of black lavender velvet and stars. “I might have the body and the cock of a twenty-one year old, but in my mind and my heart—I’m much older and much wiser than that. I’ve always been mature for my age, Mrs. Nixon. I’ve always been attracted to women—real women; not little girls and their games and their insecurities and their inexperience. It’s older women like you Kate that I’ve always been fascinated by. It’s just that you older women act so embarrassed and guilty when a younger guy wants to pursue you.”

  I’m not some little boy…I’m a man, Kate; a fully grown man. And I want you.

  Deliriously, Vincent jacked himself off in the shower as Kate’s hot piss spilled down his body like a fall of yellow sunshine. He remembered back to the time he’d been a sixteen year old standing behind his Geometry teacher’s desk to watch as she marked his home work assignment with a red pencil, grading it.

  The teacher hadn’t said anything—but they both knew that she could feel Vincent’s sixteen year old dick, hard as a rock, pressing against her shoulder as he watched her hand grade his paper.

  And then when he’d been seventeen—he’d actually fucked the living shit out of one of his mother’s best friends; a woman named Cynthia who wasn’t frightened or intimidated by the way he looked at older women, flirtatiously. Cynthia, in fact, had been as horny as he was and she’d offered to do his mom a favor and drive him up to Santa Barbara for a swim meet one Wednesday night. But after the meet—they’d gone to a motel and Cynthia had let him knock himself out—fucking her in the snatch; then from behind doggy style; then between her tits and in her mouth.

  “You learned how to eat pussy yet?” she’d asked, and Vincent had been more than glad to have his first lesson.

  Obediently listening to Cynthia’s instructions, he’d learned in one night how to lick his tongue in the right direction; how to teeth-tease the CLIT without hurting or biting it; how to stimulate the G-spot and lick down the lips; suck and kiss the heart of it—then dive his tongue and nose up inside it for tickling, kissing and slurping.

  Three whole hours of nothing but “pussy-eating lessons,” but once his mom’s friend Cynthia was done with him—he was on his way at just seventeen to being a pro.

  And then there was the tall, slender Black lady over in Redondo Beach who’d hired his “one-man pool cleaning service” for the whole summer that he was eighteen.

  She’d been around fifty-four, but she looked thirty. And she had this best friend, another black woman, who was around the same age, but not as slim and always depressed that she hadn’t attracted as many men as the slender one did during their lifetimes—and they were both so horny and friendly to Vincent that summer. He hadn’t been able to resist using them as “practice targets” that summer. But practice turned into lessons. The slim pretty dark skinned one had told him, “You white boys don’t know how to lay pipe the way women like it. But when I get done teaching you dick control and stamina training—you’ll be fucking like a true brother.”

  Vincent had happily submitted to the education; fucking the sexy older black women in pool lounge-chairs and up against the wall in the hall way, the top of the dryer in the laundry room or in the kitchen, on the sink—literally all summer long.

  By age twenty, he’d moved on to an affair with a very well preserved fifty-four year old blond French woman, one of his Professors, who gave him lessons in the art of romance and how to appeal to women’s intellect and emotions.

  “There’s so much more to lovemaking than just the physical, animal parts,” Professor Ormond had taught him. “Once you can penetrate a woman’s mind and shape her dreams—once you can think deep enough to hold hands with the God inside her; the spiritual—that’s when your lovemaking will transcend age, race and all else. It will become like spirit food; a kind of sexual nutrition for the heart and mind. And when a man can do that—that is when he is truly powerful and can attain any woman he wants.”

  “Yes, my beautiful Kate,” Vincent now said as he moaned in the shower thinking of all the fun he’d had with older women. “I’ve got some very strong feelings for you. And I’m not taking ‘no’ for an answer—I don’t give a fuck who your son will think.”

  •

  Kate stepped out of the shower.

  Her telephone was ringing outrageously and the girls were outside in the back—washing the dog.

  Not only did she feel fresh and clean—but she was ready to set up a lunch appointment with Mr. College Swim Champ, Vincent Bonn, so that she could blast him and firmly dismiss him. She said to herself as she passed through her walk-in closet and into her bedroom, “I’ve always stayed nice and clean for Michael—I’m a mother he admires and respects. This dirty little Vincent can forget it-- I’ve always stayed clean for my son.”

  Ring/Ring!

  The damned phone—why were they calling back?

  In annoyance, she looked at the Caller ID.

  It said London, UK.

  “Hello?”

  “Dr. Kate Nixon?”

  “Yes.”

  “This is the Student Exchange Dean at KettridgeUniversity in London; I’m calling about your son, Michael.”

  “Oh, yes. He’s there in London now—he flew over last night.”

  “Mrs. Nixon…are you sitting down? There’s been a terrible accident.”

  “An accident?”

  “…an airplane crash.”

  …Oh!...

  In horror, in shock…Kate sank to the bed.

  Her hand went to her mouth and her eyes popped with the strangled scream that erupted from her throat.

  “Your son Michael is dead.”

  •

  •

  ~`~

  ~

  ~~

  ~

  •

  PART TWO:

  The UPS Guy

  2

  *Two Years Later

  Psychiatrist Kate Nixon realized that her fucking days were pretty much over. She was young—only forty seven. And she was definitely still beautiful; men smiled, looked her over and winked in the supermarket aisles regularly. But after three failed marriages and the horrible loss of her favorite child, her wonderful son Michael; something in Kate’s nervous system had quietly petered out and suppressed itself over the last two and a half years—and for that whole two and a half years, she’d gone without sex or even the desire to have sex. She was frigid, but didn’t know it.

  Standing in the shower and taking a deep breath, she closed her eyes and held her head back so that the water could rain down across her face and body in warm therapeutic sheets
. But amazingly, once she got out of the shower—she still felt dirty.

  Of course, it was all in her mind and being a Psychiatrist she knew that. But still, there was no comfort for Kate when it came to her skin, her scalp or the spaces between her toes and buttocks. And especially between the lips of her vagina. She just didn’t feel fresh and clean after a shower or a bath the way she used to.

  With long, hard strokes, she brushed her hair and quickly dressed herself for a day at the office.

  “Somehow,” she kept telling herself, “I’m going to get through this.”

  And, of course, recognizing that there was a problem was the first step.

  Her youngest daughter, nineteen year old Olivia had recently told her, “You need a sex life, mom.”

  And then her oldest girl, the very married Jewel, who was now a mother herself, had told her, “Don’t let Michael’s death kill your spirit, mom. You would never admit it, but I know Michael was your favorite child. He was the one who pumped up your ego and made you feel like you were the best mom in the whole world. It was for him that you kept your hair and makeup done and tried to stay in shape—all because you knew Michael would talk about your ass if you didn’t. But now he’s gone mom—your precious boy child is gone. And you can’t just walk around with your shoulders hunched over and your face in mourning. You’re still young, mom! And Michael would want you to have a life—he would want you to have a man, mother.”

  That was probably true, but would he want that man in her life to be his now twenty-three year old best friend, Vincent?

  After the funeral, Vincent Bonn had done everything to be there for Kate. The very first thing they discussed and dismissed was him having the hots for her.