Alicia's Last Deliverybygossog©
Alicia Vicario backed her Reliable Xpress truck into the loading area, a maneuver she could do in her sleep, and hopped out. Lenny was there, pushing a hand cart; he always seemed to be just finishing up one task, on the way to another. He gave her body a quick sweeping glance from head to toe, also a habit; then smiled and stood the cart up. "Hey, Leash. How's the outside world?"
"Hot." The morning had been tolerable; the afternoon probably wouldn't, even with the truck door slid open to let in a breeze.
"Any weirdoes today?"
"Nah, kinda boring." Encountering new people, even for a few moments while delivering a package, was her favorite part of the job. Some of the things she saw in the more eccentric customers, or a quick peek through the front doorway, made some great stories for the guys back at the warehouse. She much preferred being on the road to staying inside all day.
"Truck 14's loaded, if you wanna take her out," Lenny said.
"I'll take lunch first." She walked toward the break room, and he followed.
Mitch caught up to them, sipping from his can of off-brand cola. Alicia had tried it once, though it probably had several household uses, she told him, drinking wasn't one of them. Mitch had some news: "You hear Johnston's doing another backyard bash? Sometime in September."
Alicia said, "You're kidding. We just had one!" This was the company owner's annual employee barbecue, held at his house. Barely six weeks had passed since the last one.
"You wanna know why?" Lenny said.
She laughed. "I think I already know."
Reliable Xpress employed twenty-six men and two women: a driver -- Alicia -- and the receptionist, a pretty young thing, all skinny and leggy with long hair like spun gold, a toothpaste-commercial face, and a pair of tits that just commanded a man's attention. Her behind-the-back nickname, "Barbie", was so ingrained that it took a conscious effort, when speaking to her, to use her real name. Barbie favored short skirts and tight tops with low necklines, with a few wispy sundresses mixed in. She might have worn a bra fifty percent of the time, and the outcome of that decision was always apparent.
Barbie did a good job, but sometimes that was almost beside the point. Johnston had hired her (discovered her in a Hollywood diner, Alicia liked to think), the customers loved her, and the guys at work adored her. They didn't even seem to resent the fact that she was very much taken, and spread framed photos of her boyfriend around her desk like a farmer would use scarecrows. Even Alicia liked her; Barbie would ask for advice time to time, and offer some juicy tidbits about her own personal life, after a pledge not to tell the guys.
Barbie had started in January, so Johnston's July party was her first. The guys had no illusions about hooking up with her, but figured they'd get to meet the lucky bastard who got to share her bed. Instead, she showed up alone, in tiny white shorts and a candy apple red bikini top. As she walked into the back yard, all conversation just trickled to a stop. Her outfit was certainly deliberate; she wasn't as naive as she pretended to be. If her goal was to be the center of attention, then mission accomplished.
What really made the party memorable was Barbie's decision, after a couple of tropical drinks mixed at Johnston's bar, that it would be a fine afternoon to take off her top, lie back, and soak up some rays. She uncovered a pair of lovely, round breasts with cute pink nipples. Even the skimpy pair of shorts apparently covered too much, and she slipped her long legs out of those, revealing, like a magic trick, the matching bikini bottom to that discarded top.
She was never touched -- the guys knew better than to mess with company property -- but had no shortage of flirting, drink service and outright staring. The prospect of a repeat, of a nearly nude Barbie sunbathing again, was the reason Johnston's next annual backyard bash was going to be held a mere six weeks after the last.
Mitch wore a disturbing smile. "Man, I hope she takes everything off this time."
Alicia scoffed, and Lenny said, "Son, you always say one thing too many."
"Don't tell me you ain't all thinking that," he said. "Except you, Leash."
"You wouldn't be able to handle it," Alicia said. "Your head would explode."
"Which head?" Lenny laughed.
"I'd be cool," Mitch insisted.
"Remember when she wore that sundress?" Alicia said. "You walked around in a daze, like you had seen the face of God or something."
"You weren't there," Mitch said, now serious, already reliving the scene. "It was early morning, sun coming up over the hill, and she went around to the front window, reaching up to take down the shades. That sun shone right through the dress like it wasn't even there."
Alicia scowled. "Hope you washed your hands afterward." Lenny laughed.
"How about you, Leash. You wanna join her this time?"
"Only in your dreams." She figured she co-starred with Barbie in several of these dreams, and not just Mitch's either. It was better never to know the details. "And you know... if we could hire one good-looking guy, even just one, instead of you scrubs -"
Lenny scowled. "Aw, Leash, you're killing us," he chuckled.
"- then maybe I might consider it."
Lenny placed his hand over his chest. "Our beauty is on the inside."
"Yeah, you just have to get to know us," Mitch said.
"I already do, that's the problem," Alicia said. "See ya later."
In the break room, Barry, her boss, was pouring himself a coffee. He looked her up and down, a quick motion that was probably unconscious habit by now. "You oughta undo another button," he said, glancing at her chest. "It's a hot day. Let 'em breathe."
She grinned. "The day I see you guys in boxers, boss."
He walked out, and she had the room to herself. Being the first and only female driver meant there was no uniform, and management (probably Barry himself) had to put one together right after she was hired. Her colors and insignia matched the men's uniforms, but otherwise her outfit was distinctive. Where a guy's shorts extended nearly to the knee, hers ended just about where her legs (and decency) began. Her shirt had shorter sleeves and a more curvy fit than the men's, and the top button was missing; there was a buttonhole, but the button itself had been surgically removed. That second button Barry always suggested undoing was right at chest level. Her breasts were a little larger than Barbie's, and she showed plenty enough cleavage as it was. Barry had made a rough guess at her size, and maybe deliberately tucked it in a smidgen; she'd had to lose exactly six pounds before the uniform was really comfortable to wear, and it still fit snugly.
She often wondered what her job would be like as the only woman, without Barbie to divert the men's attention. She was certainly plainer looking by comparison. Still, during one happy hour get-together (she didn't go to many of those), Steve had confided that he found her just as sexy as Barbie, that there was nothing wrong with a woman a little shorter with a little more meat on her bones. She'd accused him of wearing beer googles with an old prescription, and snuck away to another table. Was Alicia better off under Barbie's cover... or were Barbie's suggestive, teasing outfits just getting the guys more worked up? Sometimes it reminded her of growing up with Gloria, her prettier sister, back in Arkansas. Gloria was still there, delivering for the postal service.
Life at Reliable Xpress wasn't bad at all, though. As long as the guys didn't cross the line too often; as long as she could tease back as much as they teased her; as long as she had their fundamental respect, this job was fine. Some of what she put up with would be unacceptable to others, but she wasn't out to set an example for the rest of womankind. Though she rarely attended social functions outside of work -- she liked to keep those lives separate -- she considered the guys her friends.
She climbed into truck 14, switched the radio from that talk station Gordy got all his news from, and drove back out into the real world. She was looking forward to a cross-section of humanity, a variety of people, and those rare houses where she could feel the strangeness waft out the open door as people signed for their packages. After each stop, though, she got the feeling the afternoon would probably be a bust. Nothing but the prosaic: moms with babies in arms, and toddlers clinging to legs; husbands surprised their wives had spent something; skinny 20-year-olds in gym shorts and the scent of marijuana. The weirdest one she met was an old guy in '80s style UCLA gym shorts and black socks.
Nothing so far had even come close to her all-time strangest stops: a nude college-age girl, red-haired with a little baby fat and a shaved pussy, answering the door on a dare from some guys laughing in the other room; an otherwise normal lady who appeared to be running a chinchilla kennel in the living room; a guy wearing only a T-shirt kissing another guy who was naked (they were both in excellent shape, nice hard cocks, and quite good-looking overall; that was probably her favorite stop of all). And there were the solo naked guys, the practical jokers. Eight of them so far, all thinking it would be pretty funny to answer the door in the buff. Alicia wondered how they would have known the only lady at Reliable Xpress would be the one showing up. Or if that mattered at all.
Her last stop of the day was in "Rancho Blanco" -- the rich part of the city, up in the hills beyond the 305 freeway. She found the place, among a colony of identical-looking perfectly-groomed house. Belonged to a woman named Deborah Proll. The package was in a plain brown box, but Alicia recognized the return address: the distributor for Daphne's Daydreams, the lingerie place. Oh well. At least she'd find out if Debbie was as cute as Barbie or not. Maybe she'd want to try it on. Even in the toniest sections of town, stranger things had happened. She parked the truck and walked up.
* * *
Lewis Proll cursed as the doorbell rang, interrupting him. His wife? Probably not; even though it was nearly two in the afternoon. Deborah had left last night's party with another man, and was likely still enjoying herself. Mental images of what she might be doing both agonized and aroused him.
The party was for her office, and few spouses had come along; it seemed Lewis knew no one there, and Deborah knew everyone. He'd hung back to watch as she flirted and cavorted with young men in expensive suits. Had his wife not been obviously welcoming their attention and teasing, she might have looked vulnerable in her miniskirt and sleeveless top, surrounded by eager men. As the night progressed, she wore even less; her top taken off, bra gone, panties lost, and even the skirt. The low point might have been when she climbed naked out of a hot tub and sucked the dick of a too-handsome cad named Nick; or maybe it was when she announced he was taking her home. Nick was fondling her breasts and fingering her pussy as she tried to speak; she was tipsy, giggling, horny, and naked.
He drove home alone, carrying her discarded clothes collected by the apologetic hostess.
The chime of the doorbell faded. Lewis figured Deborah at this moment was still naked. Funny thing, so was he. Since last night, his anger, despondency, shame and arousal had bubbled into a full-blown erotic obsession. He couldn't count how many times he had already jerked off to the vivid scenes of his wife's debauchery, and what he luridly imagined she might be doing now.
The first time was in his car as he drove home; the next, shortly after he had entered the empty bedroom, after stripping his clothes and tossing them with hers in a corner. In bed, he masturbated once more before going to sleep. The next morning he jerked off in the shower; and as he toweled off, he recalled how Deborah had looked, pulling Nick's cock out of his trunks and kneeling down, pursing her lips around its shaft. Lewis's cock started to stiffen again as he stroked it. He didn't bother getting dressed.
He spent the day inside, alone. After climaxing, his mind would clear momentarily, and he would think of the mess he'd need to clean up, and how he should get dressed, and break out of this fugue state. But soon his excitement, always simmering, would again gradually build to a boil.
The doorbell rang again, insistent, registering dimly in his mind. His cock was rock hard; he kept stroking as he walked toward the door. As he let go to reach for the handle, he started to climax, and was still spurting when he pulled the door open.
Alicia gave a little shriek of distaste and stepped back. This was naked guy number 9, and he was a doozy. He wasn't even the first to answer the door with his dick hard. But to have come still shooting out, that was new.
She shook her head, as if clearing an Etch-a-Sketch drawing, and took a quick step sideways. "Do you need to go back inside, sir?"
Lewis looked down, bewildered, as if sure he had been wearing a three-piece suit just a moment ago. He covered up with his cupped left hand, forcing his softening member down. "I'm sorry," he said. "What do you want?"
"I have a package. For Deborah Proll. Is she in?"
Lewis gave a gloomy smile. "No, my wife is not in. Most definitely not in. She is... um, otherwise occupied."
His answer seemed to be the tip of an iceberg, and Alicia's curiosity was stoked. All was not right in the Proll household.
For safety, she was supposed to report behavior like his, and let the office (or the cops) handle things from there. Most times, she preferred to make a judgment call. This man didn't seem psychotic or high or aggressive. He was of average size and physical condition. She might even be stronger than him. Her outfit could have been a little tempting to him, but fundamentally she still felt in no significant danger. In fact, she was captivated, not by the man's average looks, but by his situation. She was ready to take back what she had said about the day being a dud.
"The party," he said. "She left with another man. Not home yet."
"My god, you're kidding me!" she said. Ditched by his own wife at a party? This was juicy stuff. "You're home by yourself?"
"Yeah." He seemed increasingly restless, as if he realized standing out here naked was not that smart. "Can I sign for it? The package?"
"Oh, sure. Sorry. Fill this out and sign." She handed him a small clipboard with carbon-paper forms and a pen. Low tech, compared to the electronic handhelds UPS and FedEx used. Johnston ran some things the old way.
He took the board in his right hand, but the left was still occupied covering his dick. "Is there a--?" he said, looking around.
"Yeah, yeah," she said, understanding. He needed a stable surface to support the clipboard, since his other hand was occupied. She didn't see one nearby. "I don't know." She feared he would get impatient and head back inside, that this story, whatever it might be, would slip through her fingers. She wanted to find out more about what had happened to the man, what had brought him to this. She'd only get one chance.
There was a raised concrete stair against a stucco wall, about six inches high and twelve deep, supporting two large potted plants. "Here," she said, stepping up between the pots, back to the wall. She braced the clipboard against her chest. "Try this way."
This movement brought his focus to her, and Lewis got a good look for the first time. At first glance, she really wasn't to his taste; hair tied in a plain ponytail, gruff personality (and a little nosy); oval face, sturdy figure. Little of the beauty, refinement and femininity Deborah enjoyed. Still, he found himself appreciating her more. Her warm clothes bared well-toned legs and arms, probably from walking and lifting, and her partly unbuttoned shirt had hinted at what looked like a nice pair of breasts. Now, the clipboard was in the way, covering her chest like a small billboard.
He stepped up very close to her, just inches away. Well within her idea of personal space, even if he wasn't naked. She instinctively tried to step back, but she was already against the wall. Why had this idea occurred to her, to brace the form with her own body as he signed? She was having second thoughts now.
Pen in one hand, he helped steady the clipboard with the other. His fingertips brushed against her chest. She realized his dick was hanging free. He shifted his weight and she flinched, as if stung, when the tip of it tapped her bare thigh. It was still sticky with his come.
Conflicting feelings collided in her as Lewis read the form. She realized she had set this up because she wanted him to come closer. Not out of any particular attraction; no, she was just curious. Maybe. He was a decent-looking guy; he had just made a horrible first impression.
"It's wrong," he said.
"Huh?" His dick tapped her again. It was quite distracting.
"Wrong invoice," he said, leafing through the pages. "Not this name or address."
She flipped the board around and checked. "Shit. You're right. They screwed it up."
She unclipped her cell phone and called. Dispatch needed some time to fetch the file; they would call back. She reholstered the phone and apologized to Lewis.
"No problem," he said; "I'll wait." He didn't move. A car drove by, the sun glinting off dark windows. Had anyone seen them? The neighborhood seemed pretty quiet except for the occasional driver.
"So your wife taking off did this to you?" Alicia said. "Hope you don't mind if I ask. You look like you took it kind of hard."
"Yeah," he said, "yes, I did. I mean, I never even suspected. She was so busy at work..."
She put her hands on his shoulders, before she realized that she would actually be touching this guy. His dick was still brushing against her, but she no longer flinched when that happened. "Sucks when you trust somebody and they do stuff like that."
"I couldn't believe it."
"But why... how do I put this... why hang around your house undressed and spank your monkey? I mean, what does that solve?"
"The things I saw; I can't help thinking about it. Sometimes your body decides for you what's sexually exciting. Even seeing her with another man... that's kind of fucked up, I know."
"You saw her fooling around at the party? In front of you?" Alicia's tabloid fascination was triggered again. "What did she do?"
He shook his head, and his dick swung and tapped her in the leg again. This time it seemed a little higher up. A little stiffer. "You don't want to know."
"It's OK. We're waiting here anyway."
"Actually, I don't want to tell you."
"Come on," she pleaded, and did grab his shoulders this time. "I won't tell anyone else." She wouldn't know until later whether or not she could manage to honor that promise.
"There was a hot tub," he started. "Many of us didn't know there would be one, so we had our semi-formal wear and that was it. But Fiona, the lady whose house it is, said there were some spare swimsuits, help yourselves and climb in.
"I had lost track of Deborah, my wife, and didn't feel like going in alone. So I kept wandering around, refreshing my drink, and trying to keep an eye on her.
"I get back to where the hot tub is and I notice her in there, with two other guys. Between them. They're right next to her, and one has his arm around her. They're laughing and joking and having a good time. One guy, I can't tell where either of his hands are.
"It looks like she went in topless. Her shoulders are above the water, and there's no straps. Right away I wonder if the guys are feeling her breasts underwater. Sometimes she gives a little squeal like they've pinched her. She sits sideways, facing one guy, and I can't see exactly what she's doing, but her arm is moving a bit and her hand is between his legs. His trunks are already off."