tagFirst TimePostcard

Postcard

byjthserra©

Postcard

Kenny knew of the pain, of the lonely. He knew of the lonely that grabbed your heart and squeezed it, like two hands squeezin' the life out of chickens. He knew of Mary's lonely, how the tears ran muddy down her face. Kenny knew, somehow he knew.

Mary was a virgin, she never touched a soul, and not a soul touched her. Not homely, she was pitiful sad, so pitiful sad that no one wanted to touch her. Even her brothers left her alone, not like the other girls whose brothers, or uncles, or fathers taught them of touch.

If not for the tears and the look in her eyes, she might be called pretty, but everyone could see something was wrong. Nobody talked to her, and after her daddy left and her mama died, she was alone, all alone and on the dole, slowly dying, slowly, slowly.

Kenny had found her once, got to touch her face, and in the silent darkness he moved his lips to her, kissing her soft, so soft. In the kiss he tasted her sadness, he felt her gloom in the salty sparkling tears that tumbled down her face.

Slowly he dried her tears, coaxed a small smile on her face, his kisses rolled down her neck and as she unbuttoned her blouse, Kenny kissed her breast. He whispered words of comfort as he gently squeezed her, mumblin’ as he took her nipples and suckled.

He felt her breathin’ get faster and he knew she wanted more, but he felt her tremblin’ as his hands moved down her body. He stared into her eyes and saw the tears had gone. He whispered, “Is this what you want?”

She nodded and opened his shirt, pullin’ him against her. Kenny felt her breasts press against him and moved his hands into her pants, grabbin’ her soft ass. They rocked for a moment and then Mary reached down to take off her pants.

Kenny tried to be gentle, slidin’ a finger in, moving his thumb on her clit and when her hips began to move he new she was almost ready. Climbin’ over her he asked her one more time, “”Are you sure?”

She nodded, opening her legs wide for him and reachin’ her hands to his chest. Kenny took her hands and guided them downward and whispered, “Help me get it in.”

Her hand touched his cock and fumblin’ a bit, finally guided him into her wet. He held his breath and pushed himself slowly inside, grittin’ his teeth as she winced. Gentle as he was it hurt her, so when he came and pulled out of her, he just held her, wishin’ he could scoop the pain away.

He held her tight and kissed her when it was time to go. She told him she was happy, that she would wait for him to come back. She even smiled when she said it, but Kenny saw the tears as he stepped outside her door. He told her he would write to her every day until he came back again.

The postman knew of Mary, the strange girl in 1B who peeked out her door while he filled the mail slots. She waited, sometimes hummin', sometimes singin':

"Look into the river
the muddy, ruddy stream
the waves knows my lonely
the water knows my dream."


Most times she got a postcard, but sometimes she got nothin'. As he stepped out of the building each day, he noticed her shadow as she quickly peeked in her box and then disappeared back into 1 B.

"Take me in the river
you muddy, ruddy stream
take me deep inside you
till no one hears me scream."


Kenny knew her heartbreak; Kenny knew her pain. He needed to go to her, to somehow ease the lonely, but it was so far away. When she hurt, he hurt, a terrible pain deep in his gut. So, one day, he became a postcard and he mailed himself away. He had to get to Mary, he knew he had to go right away.

Mary walked along the river on a gray, cloudy day. She wrapped herself up in her ragged jacket and dirty scarf; you could barely see her face. And no one noticed her; no one seemed to care as she walked.

"Sweet, sweet friendly river
you drink up all the rain
muddy, ruddy water
please take away my pain."


When the postman saw Kenny standin' in front of 1 B he sadly shook his head. He took him down to the river and showed him where she drowned. Then, lookin' hard into his eyes, the postman saw Kenny was a postcard and knew what he had to do.

"Muddy, ruddy river
take away this postcard
don't need no postage stamp
to go where life ain't hard."


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byjthserra© 4 comments/ 32049 views/ 1 favorites

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