The UPS Guy Read online

  “Yeah…take dat dick…take dat dick.”

  “Oh god,” Kate moaned in a whisper as she finally remembered she was a doctor eavesdropping on a patient. Deeply ashamed of herself, she hung up the phone. But in ecstasy, she continued to drag several of her fingers through her pussy’s hot juicy wetness until the blistering tremors caused her to orgasm.

  “Oooh shit—I’m back.”

  7

  Kate took a long hot jet bath in the morning.

  To her amazement, she didn’t feel dirty.

  She drenched her hair in hot water, sponged her dewy nakedness until she was absolutely tingling all over—and then squeezed the fragrant bath water into her face, closing her eyes and rejoicing over and over at the wondrous vitality that seemed to be swelling inside her.

  When Vincent Bonn called on her cell phone to ask about their bowling arrangements for that week—she finally stopped fighting the tingly sensation in her nipples whenever he called and told him that she hoped he could come over that afternoon for lunch.

  Of course, the short notice caught Vincent off guard, but once he said that he would rearrange his schedule and drop by—Kate really lowered the boom on him. She said with a sexy voice, “It’s not just to have lunch Vincent…it’s because I need a massage.”

  “A massage?”

  “Yes. I need you to touch my body.”

  Kate tried to clean it up. She said, “I mean...uh…being that you’re a professional swimmer and you know so much about muscle cramps—I don’t think anybody else can loosen me up and get this stiffness out of my joints as well as you could.”

  Vincent, she could tell, was scared. He took a long pause before telling her, “Kate—considering some of the feelings that I’ve suppressed about you; I’m not sure I can…”

  There was a long pause.

  Then Vincent said, “What if you get mad at me for getting a hard on? I mean, I’m just being honest. There’s no way I could touch your body without my prick getting hard as a fucking rock.”

  “That’s none of my business, Vincent, and I’m sure I won’t notice. What I need is your hands on me—loosening and setting me free—and that’s why I’ll be waiting for you at one o’clock.”

  Click. She hung up before he could say anything else.

  But all throughout her voice had been a tawdry sensuous drawl that she’d never spoken to Vincent with before. He couldn’t wait to come for lunch—and Kate couldn’t wait to experience him.

  Her vagina was hotter than a furnace and twice as wet as her mouth. She wanted cock smoldering in both and she didn’t feel guilty about wanting it anymore.

  “Vincent’s coming,” she sang as she brushed and teased her long, full-bodied hair in the mirror. “After all these years, he’s finally coming.”

  Dried off and draping herself in a formal satin house robe, she floated down to the kitchen and put on some coffee.

  The housekeeper, Marcella, said, “What’s gotten into you? You’re downstairs an hour early, not dressed for work, smiling and making your own coffee?”

  Kate laughed. She said, “You know what, Marcella—I want you to take the rest of the day off with pay.”

  “Oh my. I don’t know what you’re smoking, Dr. Kate, but whatever it is—I’m going to politely ask you to put in an order for me and I’m also taking you up on that day off with pay shit. I’ll be at the Sherman Oaks Mall if you need me.”

  “Have fun.”

  It wasn’t thirty minutes that Marcella was gone and Kate’s secretary Cola Monroe was calling from the office with a dilemma.

  “What’s wrong Cola?”

  “It’s your star patient, Psycho Patricia—she’s gotten me a little gift—a rather extravagant gift, supposedly for always being so kind and understanding towards her.”

  “Well what is it?”

  “Uh—he’s standing right here. I’d better put him on,” Cola said.

  Him!

  Kate started giggling.

  Suddenly, the sexy voice of a Latino male came on the line. “Hello, Dr. Nixon—this is Mario Xavier, the tennis instructor at the Fox Country Club at Beverly HillsForest.”

  Over the phone, Kate couldn’t see how incredibly handsome he was. Tall, orange-skinned, mid-thirties, wavy dark hair, brown eyes and built like an Adonis. She could, however, tell by the sound in Cola’s voice that he was damned hot. Cola, who was quite the chocolate beauty herself, had sounded torn between her usual polite professionalism and her secret lonely anguish at being yet another drop dead gorgeous young black woman in a rich, fast-paced glamour metropolis that wasn’t all that kind to black women darker than a brown paper bag.

  Mario Xavier was saying to Kate, “Your intoxicatingly beautiful young secretary refuses to accept me as her tennis instructor—her special gift from the Emmy nominated queen of the soaps, Patricia Jean Carol. She says that it’s against office policies…”

  “I have a work ethic and I am a professional,” Kate could hear Cola saying in the background.

  But also in Cola’s voice, deeply hidden, was pure bitch-in-heat lust. Kate laughed her ass off, because black girls always seemed to think that nobody could tell; nobody knew.

  “We don’t have any policies regarding gifts to the receptionists or secretaries,” Kate told Mario.

  Immediately, he shoved the phone under Cola’s ear so that she could hear it. Cola’s eyes flashed huge as Kate was saying, “Tell my darling Cola to stop acting like she’s Diahann Carroll and Michelle Obama rolled into one. She’s got the whole day off, and since she’s always talking about Venus and Serena Williams and how she wants to learn tennis—this is the perfect time for her to start taking those tennis lessons at the Country Club. It’s up to her, but since Patricia already paid you for it, I honestly don’t have a problem with it. Put her on the phone…”

  “I’m already on,” Cola said. “Kate—what is with you?”

  Vincent Bonn, college boy. Kate licked her lips just picturing him in his Speedos. She said to Cola, “Nothing’s with me—I just want you to let your hair down and have some fun. Go play tennis.”

  The indecently gorgeous Latino tennis racket thigh-master was staring down at Cola and smiling as though he were about to break out with a Julio Iglesias love ballad or something.

  Wires crossed, Cola said, “Well—I just can’t!”

  For some strange reason the black girl became flustered and started crying. She told Kate, “I have files to do; things I could be typing and invoices for the bank.”

  Mario’s stare bore down on slender but shapely young Cola; her square yoke of cleavage; the tension in her hands and neck.

  Mario Xavier was not just a premiere tennis teacher—he was also a connoisseur of women. He could detect in Cola Monroe a deeply controlled anger; great frustration and feelings of isolation. Her body had not been receiving the proper pampering that women deserve, Mario could tell—and more than that—she seemed to be without real familial and community ties. It was as though her job image and her professionalism were all she had in life.

  “OK, Kate—I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  Cola hung up. “I’m sure you’re such a nice guy, but I am like so busy, I have papers…”

  “Why are you so angry, beautiful princess? You’re too lovely a flower to be so troubled. You’re like a poem—a wisp of lavender waving on the wind.”

  Intensely, his eyes burned her.

  Authority, masculinity, power—no matter how stern Cola thought herself to be; Mario Xavier was determined to show her that not only was he the dominant force—but that deep down inside, she wanted to be swept up and carried away by his dominance.

  He had romanced many of the so called strong black women before and he knew that what they really wanted were fathers; acceptance from male authority figures; adoration and compliments—acknowledgement and love. In Mario’s opinion, they sometimes appeared to be “mean”—mostly because they were in so much pain, many of them unloved and largely invisible to the gene
ral normal society.

  Mario understood. He smiled at her. He said, “I beg you one small thing, my angry little lavender princess. Come with me, on your lunch break, to a small café I know of. We will have cappuccino and we won’t say a word to each other. We’ll just sit together and take deep breaths and watch people go by.”

  “That sounds weird.”

  “It’s not weird. It’s a form of hypnosis.”

  “Why would you want to hypnotize me?”

  “To get you to be my friend—to get you to play tennis.”

  Cola smiled and a blush or rose crept into the cinnamon brown skin of her tender young bosom.

  She said, “OK—today I’ll have lunch with you. And this weekend when I’m off, I’ll play tennis.”

  Mario took her hand and kissed it. He said, “Finally, your answers are pleasing me.”

  Then after he was out in the building’s hallway, he got on his cell phone and informed Psycho Patricia that he’d finally persuaded Cola Monroe to accept her extravagant gift of free tennis lessons.

  Dragging hard on a cigarette, Patricia said, “Good work, Papi. Do you know how bad I want to eat that girl’s pussy? I’ve never licked a black one before. Tasted Chinese, but never soul.”

  Mario ignored Patricia.

  Tenderly, he said, “Though she doesn’t show it, Cola is very delicate.”

  His eyes were deep in reflection, because he had instantly liked the winsome brown girl much more than he had expected to or was being paid to. He said, “I’m going to enjoy teaching her….so many things.”

  8

  Kate was pouring her coffee as the UPS truck pulled up.

  Out hopped the college jock with the huge soccer legs and the sexy Chippendales arms, chest and butt—the impossibly young and handsome Dex Kellogg. For the life of her, she couldn’t understand why this boy wasn’t a calendar model or something like that.

  Dressed in his brown UPS shorts, he marched up to her back porch carrying three huge packages, and Kate surprised him by opening the door before he had to knock.

  “Come in and set those on the washing machine,” she said after she noticed that his ink pen and the delivery sheet were in his mouth because of how full his hands were.

  “Thanks,” he exhaled as she set the packages down and handed Kate the ink pen and signee’s slip. She jotted her signature.

  “There you are—and what are you staring at?”

  “Just a little surprised that you answered the door yourself. You’re usually nowhere to be seen—and the Mexican lady, Marcella, always gives me a bag of free fruit; oranges, grapes.”

  He wasn’t about to talk about the blow job Marcella had once given him. The plus-sized Mexican angel face had begged him for weeks and Dex had let her do it super quick in the tiny bathroom adjacent to the back porch across from the washing machine. Most memorable was the way she’d clutched her rosary and mumbled stuff in Spanish the whole time she was sucking his thick white dick. “Mother Mary forgive me,” had been about all Dex was able to make of her cries, but the shame mixed with blatant feverishness that had propelled the squat motherly maid’s dick-sucking had made him CUM really quick. Just as he erupted in her face, he’d noticed the fatness of her fist as she squeezed her Catholic rosary tighter. And knowing her shame at being a devout Catholic woman sucking a UPS man’s dick had really turned Dex on and intensified his orgasm. Nervously, he was hoping that Dr. Nixon didn’t know about it, because Kate had always been the one in this house that he actually wanted to have an encounter with—nobody else.

  “Please forgive me for not remembering your name, it’s…”

  “Dex—Dex Kellogg.”

  “Well, Dex, I gave Marcella the day off and I’m sorry I don’t know where the fruit is she keeps for you.”

  Smiling flirtatiously, he said, “That’s Ok.”

  Then it lingered—the two of them looking at each other.

  Obviously, because Kate had signed for her packages and they’d been delivered, the moment seemed awkward. Why didn’t he just leave now?

  But Kate didn’t want him to leave. Vincent wouldn’t be dropping by until one o’clock which meant there was nearly three whole hours in which the UPS guy could ravage and fuck the shit out of her. She wanted that, but she didn’t know how to say it.

  Dex finally said something.

  He said, “I hope you don’t report me for saying this—but you’re kind of hot for an older woman.”

  “I don’t mind you saying it. And let’s face it—a boy looking as perfect and magazine-ready as you are is either gay or he’s a gigolo or he has a fetish for older women.”

  She’d hit it right on the head. Dex Kellogg was both gigolo and fetish boy for older women. The less attractive older women whose bodies were out of shape usually hired him to strip at house parties and gave him gifts and cash in exchange for fucking their brains out. And then the prettier older women like Kate who had kept their bodies in shape and were sexy to Dex—he pursued them romantically, for dates, and scored whenever they’d let it happen.

  Right now, he told Kate, “I wouldn’t mind taking you out sometime—for a movie and dinner.”

  Kate blushed. “I can’t believe I’m old enough to be your mother and you’re asking me on a date.”

  “Stop thinking in terms of age,” Dex told her with annoyance. “You’re a woman and I’m a man—that’s all that matters.”

  He handed her his ink pen once again. Along with it was a small piece of white paper.

  “What’s this for?”

  “Your digits.”

  “Digits?”

  “Your telephone number—cell phone, work phone or whatever number I can track you down with.”

  Kate’s nipples got so hard and thumb-sized he could see them through her robe. She smiled nervously as she jotted down her cell number. She handed him the paper back with a huge grin on her face.

  “You gave me a fake number.”

  “No, I didn’t!”

  “Then why the big grin on your face?”

  “I could ask you the same question, Dex. You have a big grin on your face, too.”

  “Mine is because I’ve been watching you for over two years and now you’re letting me take you out.”

  “You’ve been watching me all that?”

  “I would have made a move on you, but you know how you older women are—unpredictable. You might have took it as sexual harassment or something and gotten me fired from my job.”

  “And just how many women on your mail route are you dating, Mr. UPS man?”

  Dex laughed and his cheeks went red with guilt.

  He had fucked at least fifty women since donning the brown shorts and turned down at least a hundred.

  The good thing about Kate was that she wasn’t looking for anything serious or binding. With Vincent Bonn—yes, she could see it being a serious relationship. But with Chippendale-looking fine ass calendar guy Dex, she just wanted a taste. Or maybe a few tastes. He was a master at laying pipe and she could sense it.

  “I think I’d better be going, but I’ll call you tonight and set up that date?”

  “Yeah, tonight is fine,” Kate replied softly.

  Oh so hunky and masculine, Dex Kellogg was walking back to his big brown truck. Kate couldn’t shake the sparks that were shooting through her body in anticipation of seeing him naked. She also couldn’t believe her luck—that such a gorgeous young stud wanted her so bad. And on top of that, the University swim champ was on the way over after class to give her a massage.

  “I’m such a whore and it feels so good,” Kate giggled in astonishment that she was actually going to have a thing going on with both young men. Surprisingly, she didn’t feel the least bit dirty about her thoughts. She wanted a double whammy…and she was going to get it.

  Fresh new sun filled the kitchen. Kate Nixon took off her robe and stood there butt naked in the middle of her kitchen floor, hugging and caressing her supple baby soft body.

  Wi
th her eyes closed and her face to heaven, she said, “I’m finally free again.”

  9

  Jewel Nixon Harper had a scowl on her face as she put Baby Jared, who was fast asleep in her arms, down in his bassinette. She propped a bottle of half-apple juice, half-water next to his little body and tried to remember that her greatest joy in this world was seeing his wavy brown hair and his rosy little cheeks. He was such a beautiful kid, and if nothing else about being married was giving her joy these days, having Jared Jr. was the one thing she didn’t and could never regret.

  But other stuff—like the constant drone from the television got her nerves endlessly.

  First there was the single mother who gave birth to octuplets bringing her total number of children to fourteen (“fucking irresponsible cow-ass bitch!” Jewel hissed at the screen)…then there was R&B singer Chris Brown giving one of Jewel and Olivia’s favorite superstars, Rihanna, a beat down over in Hancock Park before the Grammy awards (“I thought he was a nice guy—wish I could have been there”)…then there was President Obama getting on her nerves by trying to peddle a stimulus plan that Jewel’s husband, Big Jared, claimed was only going to fuck up the national recession worse than it already was…then there was Daniel and Chloe fucking like rabbits on “Days of Our Lives” (Jewel had sat on the edge of her bed touching her pussy during a rather erotic scene they did in a bathtub)…then there was Kelly Clark and Jessica Simpson packing on the pounds and starting to look like real women (“If I wanted to look at fat bitches all day,” Big Jared yelled at the screen, “I wouldn’t be checking out music videos!”)…and finally…there was Jewel’s increasing boredom and the feeling all around her that while others led exciting lives, she was stuck in a gorgeous house behind a white picket fence watching daytime soaps, talk shows and fiddling on the internet all day.