The UPS Guy Page 5

  I’m not in his league, Kate told herself. I’m not good enough to get a taste of that.

  And then, without noticing that her screaming, whistling daughter Olivia was a few tables over—Kate turned and quickly departed from CANDY MAN.

  If ever she were to get free, she told herself, it would be with someone sensitive and loving like Vincent Bonn. Not a walking, throbbing sex fantasy like Dex Kellogg.

  Psycho Pussy

  With her hair tied back in a bun and her glasses resting on her nose, Dr. Kate Nixon prescribed a very high dosage of Doxylamine Succinate for Psycho Patricia. It wasn’t Kate’s favorite sedative, she preferred giving Melatonin or Aconite—but at the rate faded soap star Patricia Jean Carol was going—Kate had to calm her down for a while.

  “I’m so depressed since I lost Jenny,” the actress wept dramatically. “It’s all my fault that my daughter was molested and ended up dead. I should have never brought my actor friends to the house, and I should have never raised my kids in Hollywood.”

  Cola Monroe padded into the room carrying the Scotch on the Rocks Psycho Patricia requested—but as Cola strolled across the carpet, there was a new feline panther-like swerve in her switch. Cola smiled handing Patricia the drink and Kate and Patricia both noticed that Cola’s already ample “booty” was now particularly high, round and firm; more shapely and flexible than before, as though someone had been using it for exercise.

  “I see those tennis lessons are agreeing with you,” Psycho Patricia teased with a sudden smile. “You tell that big hunk of Latin bullfighter, Mario Xavier, that I said thanks.”

  Cola ignored the pun. And after she was gone, Patricia went back to her grand theatrics. Done crying over her murdered daughter, a girl who had dubbed herself “Jenny Wet-mouth” and frequented the local club scene like a female sex shark, Psycho Patricia launched into a diatribe about the recent SOAP STARS ON PARADE festival and how shabbily she’d been treated by virtually everyone in the industry.

  “Do I ever make comments about Kristian Alfonso’s anorexia and how those fucking face lifts have made her look like a man? No, she’s Hope Williams Brady and I would never tell the bitch she could use a ham sandwich with extra mayo—I give the bitch her props. Did you ever hear it from me that Anthony Geary has hygiene problems and smelly crotch syndrome? Did I say anything about why old fat ass Queen Lice-head on B&B has no other choice but to keep her head shaved while she’s showboating in a part that should have gone to me? No—I’m as nice as doped up Marlena’s unemployed possessed—yeah, possessed of no talent doped up ass. And I’ve got more talent in my little pinkie than Kim Zimmer and Jeanne Cooper have in their whole dried up twats! I’m one of the greats and I deserve to be up there with them! I made my show into a number once success story—long before I built my house in Hawaii and got fucked over trying to get past the Hawaii zoning laws!”

  “Patricia—do feelings of not being acknowledged and respected by your peers make you feel as though you have to exploit younger men as sexual conquests? Is it revenge you’re getting on men by using and discarding them? Is it rebellion or is it just pleasure? ”

  “I hate men!”

  “Then why do you sleep with so many of them?”

  “Why are you afraid to sleep with any of them, Ms. Frigid ass? You think just because I’m almost fifty that I don’t still have what Reinholt used to call Psycho Pussy—the good shit? You’ve got it, too, Dr. Kate—Psycho Pussy. All women over forty develop it; especially the ones of us who aren’t afraid to get the pleasure we deserve. But you’re afraid of yours, Dr. Kate. You’d rather be respectable than go out with a bang. But I’m going to tell you just like I told those suits at the network—age is nothing but a number! Demographics and rating be damned; I’m still the hottest chick on the planet! Now why are you so frigid?”

  “Patricia—you’re the patient here; not me.”

  “Yeah, but you’re the sick one, Doc—I just need a friend.”

  Kate Nixon crossed her legs and fixed her glasses on her nose. I’m really the sick one and she just needs a friend. Kate jotted down notes, but her mind was on Vincent Bonn.

  “I want to make love to you so bad,” he’d said to her the other night at the bowling alley.

  “We can never do that. We have to go back to the way we were Vincent—back to friendship; Aunt and nephew.”

  “But how can I go back after I’ve kissed your sweet breasts and massaged your body? I want you, Kate—I want you to be my woman.”

  Why couldn’t he be a male whore like the UPS guy, Kate had wondered? Why all the emotions and ties?

  “Please tell me that I still have a chance with you.”

  “I can’t,” Kate had cried. “And since you feel this way—then I think it’s time we say goodbye. We have to break off our friendship; we have to stop seeing each other.”

  Vincent got a lump in his throat. Desperately in love, he said, “But even when I don’t see you—you’re all I see.”

  TWO DICKS

  It never rains in Southern California, but by the time Kate got home and took a moment to play with her dog Zodiac out in the back yard, the skies were gray as wool.

  Vincent called; Dex Kellogg called.

  Black clouds moved in and from far away she heard thunder. Then the droplets began to fall.

  Hard, gray and pelting—Kate Nixon let it bead across her face. And like typical California rain; it was hot; it was wet and it was sugarless.

  Zodiac jumped up, clutching his master, affectionately, and Dr. Kate Nixon braced herself as she tried to push away the thoughts of Vincent and Dex.

  Inside her, there was a need…and it was ticking.

  WETTNESS

  The pelting water of the shower head rained down on blond pretty Olivia’s toned young body with such warm hypnotic power that she couldn’t help but to fantasize about her one latest desire; the UPS guy, Dex, the stripper on stage at CANDY MAN unleashed—his hot urine pouring across her blond lonely beauty in waves of rejection, superiority and the bleakest humiliation.

  Never would she have a chance with Dex Kellogg—she knew that. But to stop wanting and getting hot over him was something she found impossible.

  “Yes,” she cooed in the shower as she imagined Dex standing over her—the stripper’s heavy hanging dick suspended between massive legs that were like those of a soccer player’s—his cruel rejecting stare as the long pretty penis drenched her blondness with the yellowing rays of his golden shower. Pissing on her; rejecting her; drenching and humiliating her.

  “Yes,” Olivia cried in ecstasy. “Oh, yes, Dex, please—I’d take any amount of bad treatment to be with you.”

  Drying off with a towel but still enraptured by the heat of her fantasies about the naked God-dancer strewn across the white bed prop at CANDY MAN, Olivia laid down on her bed and decided to give in to the one pleasure that every human can guide her control—the sweet, perfect fulfillment known as masturbation.

  Tenderly, she touched herself. Her slender fingers pressed against the tight blond peach fuzz that was sprinkled over her fresh young lonely untouched vagina. And like a boy festooned in the twilight of wet dreams—she waded in, unafraid.

  Calm and serene; her heartbeat steady as butterflies fluttering—she touched herself until everything was as wet and slippery as passion frying on the belly of a mid-day sun.

  In and out, white fingers stirring the softly melting pink, she tossed and turned her head on the pillows with moans of delight.

  “Fuck me, Dex. My hot pussy wants you.”

  Like sugar and rain, the dewy rose got redder and redder until Olivia Nixon was so high, all she could do was close her eyes and drift away, deeper and deeper; warmer and warmer; faster and faster—to heaven.

  COLA

  Brown sugar skin, thick wedge lips and the soulful mysteries of starry dark twinkling eyed splendor were attractions that Mario Xavier had never expected to be so enraptured by.

  He liked black women, but this one
intoxicated him.

  Of course, he’d only taken the job of giving “tennis lessons” so that in the long run, Psycho Patricia could get what she wanted. And in fact, unbeknownst to Cola, the gorgeous mini-mansion they were making love in was the home of none other than soap legend Patricia Jean Carol. But now, quite unexpectedly, Mario was tangled in his own web of trap and seduce. And Cola Monroe was the one who possessed the abdomen spinning the silk.

  Draped in a hooded black robe, Psycho Patricia watched the whole thing from her secret closet.

  Hot like lava, their tongues had met in a pull—Mario pulling Cola into his chest and crotch—and with equal heat, the rocky hardness of Mario’s dick pressing against the black girl’s naked thigh, causing her to wince and moan; her lashes fluttering as she raised her neck and unexpectedly found that he devoured it with his mouth, sucking and gently biting, caressing and strumming the contours of what he considered to be a prized African gazelle, as move by erotic move, their dance had become a dance of submission and desire; loneliness and fire.

  “Be my poem, lavender princess,” Mario called feverishly, and that’s when Patricia knew that none of it was acting.

  Passionately, he kissed and hugged Cola down onto the bed.

  And then atop her, with his powerful arms stretching hers out above her head and the weight of his muscular body pinning her cocoa-smooth body of softness gently against the mattress, he grinded her masterfully. Each rub and caress of his hairy might subduing, teasing and relieving the pent up frustrations of his classy black beauty.

  Sweetly, Cola gave in.

  Her silky dark legs opened and Mario teased the front door of her chocolate palace with the hard, beige mushroom head of his big hungry one-eyed snake. As wet as their kisses were; soon Cola’s pussy was that wet and Mario squeezed himself in.

  He devoured her neck as though it was a beam of taffy, and in between her legs, he stirred the deep pink taffy that was hidden beneath the velvety chocolate doors.

  “Fuck me!” Cola cried, and Mario Xavier was doing that…and so much more. He was making love to her and hadn’t even realized it yet.

  Already, Psycho Patricia was becoming impatient behind the door of the secret closet—because this was not the plan that she and the tennis instructor had agreed on. The plan had been that Mario would dress himself up in the black hooded robe that was lying on the chair—that he’d get Cola subdued and unhinged by deliriously eating her pussy on the bed. Then Mario would leave the room for a moment and then come back—only, of course, it would be Psycho Patricia, who was already in a black hooded robe that would actually come back. And then Psycho Patricia would get to finish eating Cola’s twat—her fantasy fulfilled.

  But none of that was happening on schedule, and it didn’t appear that Mario Xavier would be keeping to the schedule at all.

  He had already eaten Cola’s pussy on several occasions at her apartment, and now, for the first time, he was deep inside her with his dick. Stroking, sticking and fucking until the sounds bouncing off the walls were like those of a soul singer reaching new highs.

  “Oh god!” Cola screamed as Mario hit it.

  It felt so good, and with deep jealousy Psycho Patricia could see that. It felt so good being a woman and having a man like Mario all up in it.

  “Be my princess,” Mario called without meaning to. “Say you love me!”

  Full of rage, Psycho Patricia had a good mind to burst into the room and make a big scene—fully expose her swarthy slick Latin lover for the deceptive asshole he was. After all, he’d taken Patricia’s payments and agreed to go along with her plans. But the more she stared at the two making love and the more she realized that Mario really was falling in love—the more she couldn’t do it.

  She couldn’t ruin Cola’s chance at happiness.

  “Say it!” Mario demanded as his penis jammed irrevocably between Cola’s smacking, slippery pussy lips. “Say you feel my heart, Cola—say you feel it!”

  And she did feel his heart. Beating between them.

  In tears of joy and ecstasy, the beautiful black woman screamed out, “I see it! I feel it! I am it!”

  It was love—strong, hot and all consuming—and as their bodies dipped and twined burning the bed with a ferocious passion that not even Patricia’s jealousy could stamp out—the wetness and the feelings between them welded them together as though they were a newly formed rock cliff; a sculpture.

  Mario’s yoke erupted; his agonized CUM ripping and burning inside Cola like the beating of his heart itself. And Cola’s body shook like a seizure—she herself melting inside, her own powerful explosions ripping and running as though the sun had fell beneath the ocean and boiled up all that was on the bottom.

  “Oh my god,” Cola cooed after Mario Xavier was collapsed on top of her, the two of them covered in sweat. “No man has ever made me cum just by using his penis alone.”

  With a deep breath, Mario Xavier slid down from Cola’s face, neck and torso. He planted his face into the puddle of Hershey sweet pudding and delved his tongue into the deeply hidden pink taffy; eating and kissing; sucking and slurping as though he’d never tasted such delicious pussy before.

  “Oh yes!” Cola moaned as she plunged her head backwards into the bed’s cushy pillows.

  First he’d made her cum with his dick—and now he was determined to drive her insane with his tongue. Cola Monroe screamed…and she screamed…and she screamed and screamed!

  JEWEL

  “You see—I was never anybody’s favorite. My mother’s favorite child, though she would never admit it—was Michael. And my dad’s favorite—was always Olivia. But me, I was the loyal, pouting, mouthy oldest child. The one just wanted to be first…one time; the one who never got the attention. And that’s why things are going to be different for you. I’m never going to let you feel unsure of yourself. I’m never going to let you feel…empty.”

  Though she whispered all of this in the dark; her baby was already fast asleep—in his crib, Baby Jared looked like an angel—and that one small thing, the look of content on his face, made Jewel feel that everything might be alright.

  Then suddenly…she could hear Big Jared entering the house; his voice calling out for her. “Honey—I’m home.”

  With a deep sigh and a glance at the wedding ring that in some ways seemed to symbolize jail bars. She wouldn’t so bored with Big Jared if he could just fuck her good, she thought. But then—perhaps that was too much for a wife to ask out of marriage. Silently, she asked herself—“Do you know how many women would kill to have a good husband with a good job and a beautiful home like you have?” Forget about orgasms and excitement, she told herself with exasperation. Jewel Nixon Harper got to her feet, wiped away her tears and went off to greet her husband.

  Startled on the staircase…she stopped!

  Jared wasn’t alone on the stairs as he usually was—he was coming up the stairs with another man. A tall, very good looking Latino guy who was also dressed White Collar. Jewel knew a stallion when she saw one, and this guy was hot.

  “Hey honey—I want you to meet a buddy of mines from the accounting firm. His name is Sergio and he’s my supervisor.”

  “Hello,” the Latin guy nodded to Jewel with deep brown eyes. Next to her husband’s pale skin he looked positively caramel.

  Immediately, she wondered, why her husband was bringing this guy upstairs. Her blue eyes fell across Jared’s green eyes and together they began exchanging thoughts.

  SEX, said Jared’s green eyes to Jewel’s shock. The words floating in his stare were “animal” and “desperation.” And then he began talking, “Babe—you’ve got to help me out. I made this bet with Sergio at work. And I lost the bet.”

  Animal, sex, desperation…

  Men could be like animals.

  He lost the bet.

  And now he either had to pay Sergio ten thousand dollars—or let Sergio fuck his wife.

  “Your husband keeps your picture on his desk at work,” Sergio
told Jewel, lustfully. “You’re very beautiful—and it’s as though this whole last year, he’s been teasing me with that beauty.”

  To Sergio, Jewel looked like a bowl of pure white as snow vanilla ice cream sprinkled with strawberries. White, sweet and so frothy delicious that he was like a ballsy bob cat that couldn’t resist getting a lick of the cream.

  Big Jared asked Sergio to wait in the hall. Then he took Jewel into their bedroom and began whispering to her.

  “Do it for me,” Jared whispered in Jewel’s ear. “Let us both fuck you so things can go smoothly for me at work.”

  Men could be like animals…but then so could bored, frustrated housewives. Jewel’s pussy was already tingling from the depravity and perversity of it all—her husband wanted to have a threesome with Jewel sandwiched between him and his gorgeous, sexy Latino stallion of a boss.

  Erotically, she leaned up and kissed Jared on the mouth. Her eyes were hot as she said, “Yes—I would do anything to make your life at work easier, honey.”

  And thus it began, Jared nodding to Sergio that it was okay for him to walk those last few feet down the hall and into their bedroom.

  Jewel went and took a quick shower while Jared rolled a big fat weed stick for the men to smoke.

  When Jewel came out of the bathroom dressed in a sexy teddy and six inch high heels, the men were already high, lost in economic talk and the room was full of marijuana smoke.

  “Wow,” Sergio said as Jewel sauntered over, sexily. And then Jared nodded to Sergio, “Go ahead man—fuck my wife.”