Emily Waits for the Mail

It was like clockwork that come 11 a.m. unless the weather was really bad, the little elderly lady at the far end of the cul-de-sac would be outside puttering around by the mailbox waiting for the mailman or woman. It had been that way for four years since her husband had passed that Emily Foster would go out and greet the mail person, often armed with a homemade cookie or a bottle of water if it was hot.

When she first started going out there the delivery person had mentioned that she must be expecting an important letter, and Emily had shrugged and said "you never know" but she did know. The urgent correspondences were few and far between and the only reason to be out there was for human contact, the simple interaction with a virtual stranger that might only be a moment's chat about the weather but meant a whole lot to the petite lady now that she was alone.

Oh, there was the occasional bingo game at the VFW hall and there were a couple of friends still alive that were mobile enough to visit, but except when her only child visited from the left coast every year or so, Emily Foster was alone. She regretted not ever learning to drive, and in her younger days she had even taken lessons from professional schools but she was too jumpy to handle it. As her late husband said, she was no prize as a passenger because she was always grabbing the dashboard, but as he was always quick to say, nobody made fried chicken and baked goods like Emily Foster so everybody has their skills and he was happy to drive her anywhere she wanted. Now with Roy gone, she was dependent on a fellow from church who would take a few seniors to the store every couple weeks.

So that explained why she waited by the window for the little mail truck to pull off at the entrance of the cul-de-sac, since most of them walked around the little semi-circle instead of stopping and starting, and the current mailman was her favorite. Andy Barnes was a strapping young man with dirty blonde hair and a warm smile, and the widow was glad that he seemed to like her as much as she did him because he always chatted for a little longer than the others had. Andy even said that he wished he wasn't on a rigid schedule because he would love to take Emily up on her offers to have him stop in for lunch.

If she was pressed the petite senior might have admitted to having a crush on Andy, his smile and blue eyes warming her heart, and she often found herself staring at the neck of his blue uniform top where some of his blonde chest hair sprouted out. So much like her husband when he was in his 20's. TOO much like him she suspected, and that point was driven home one day a few weeks earlier when Andy had handed her the mail which included the weekly Pennysaver, an ad filled freebie that she seldom read.

"You might want to read the story on Page 5," Andy had said with a grin. "Big local news."

Emily had smiled and taken it in with the rest of the mail, but later that day she had flipped in open instead of setting it with the recyclables and there staring at her with his toothy smile was Andy Barnes. The lad had been named Carrier Of the Year for this district and he was there smiling with the district manager. The picture was in color but of pretty lousy quality. No matter. Emily carefully cut it out and put it on the refrigerator, and seeing his face would be sure to make her smile, especially on Saturdays and Sundays when he was off.

The picture would come off the refrigerator that evening when Emily took it down and tucked it in the Danielle Steel book she was reading, and as she read while in bed Emily was having trouble keeping up with the story because she would keep flipping back to where the photo was. As her eyes began to get a little weary she stopped bothering to read and kept looking at the picture in between her flights of fantasy when she closed her eyes and imagined silly things. Emily snapped out of one of those 'senior moments' and looked down to see her nightie pulled up to her waist and her hand between her legs.

Emily got up and went to the bathroom, shaking her head at her silliness, but when she returned she decided to shed the nightie and sleep in the nude. It made sense because it was warm so she slipped into the bed and turned the light off, but then turned it on low and removed Andy's picture from the book.

For the next ten minutes Emily savored the picture while her free hand did what she had only done a few times since she became a widow, It ended with the picture sitting on the sheets while Emily knelt above it grabbing her breast with the left hand while fingering herself with the right, and after she had an rather amazing orgasm she knelt there and caught her breath before picking the picture up carefully, too late noticing that her hand was dripping wet.

"Who needs Vagisil?" she muttered to herself, the conversations with herself one of her recently acquired habits, and then addressed the picture. "You didn't see any of that Andy."

The senior went out to the kitchen and put the newspaper clipping back on the refrigerator, and she frowned at the damage she had done to the beautiful picture. Making a metal note to ask a few neighbors around her whether she could have their Pennysaver's when they were done with them, she went back to bed and before she dropped off wondered whether the company that printed the paper would send her a few copies of that issue, or better yet whether she could buy a copy of the actual photo which would be worth the price because it would be a much sharper image of that beautiful boy.

***

"There he is, the mailman of the year!" Emily crowed as Andy made his way to her mailbox, and he gave her that sheepish grin that made her tingle inside as she handed him a little bag. "A little something for the celebrity."

"Oh, Mrs. Foster, you shouldn't - hmm... do I smell your famous chocolate chip cookies?" he asked, and when the little lady nodded he grinned wider and declared, "and they are still warm. Oh my expanding waistline! You realize that these will be gone before lunch?"

"Your waistline is perfectly fine, and you shouldn't ruin your lunch. Save them for dessert sweetie."

"The cab of that truck is small. You expect me to sit in there and smell these cookies and not eat them? Not possible because you make amazing cookies. Nothing fancy just simple cookies baked to perfection."

"That's me. Keep it simple."

"You know, the district manager said that the reason I got picked was that they got a lot of positive comments about me, including a couple of actual letters. I guess they count more than e-mails because they take more effort to write. The one letter he said was so complimentary he thought it must be from a girlfriend or something."

"Oh?"

"Yes, and while he wouldn't reveal the name of the person he did say that the person lived on Terrapin Court," Andy grinned and looked around. "Let's see, there's 8 houses. I wonder..."

"It's once of those mysteries of life I suppose," Emily said with a mischievous grin.

"Well I'm no detective but I have a suspect in mind," Andy replied. "And let's just say I'm very appreciative."

Emily wasn't expecting Andy to lean down and give her a kiss on the cheek, and from his expression it looked like it was a spur of the moment thing. Andy's cheeks flushed and he quickly offered an apology as he pawed at the ground.

"Apology not accepted," Emily said with as stern an expression as she could muster before grinning. "And apology not necessary. You just made my day so don't go ruining it for me."

"Oh. Okay," Andy responded. "Guess I'll be on my way, but I do thank you for the cookies and for your taking the time to help get me some recognition. You should let me take you out to dinner some night."

"Oh Andy, there's no need," Emily said, and the moment the words came out she wished she could kick herself in the butt.

"You hesitated for a minute there Mrs. Foster,' Andy said.

"It was sweet to offer but why would you want to take an old lady out to dinner?"

"I don't. I wanted to take you, unless you..."

"Hold on Andy. Why don't you let me make dinner for you instead?"

"I want to thank you for being so sweet and for that you get to slave over a hot stove?"

'It's not work if you like doing it. Why don't you pick an evening that's good for you. I don't want to interfere with any plans you have."

"Plans? No. Any Friday or Saturday is good."

"Saturday it is then. What do you like? Besides chocolate chips that is."

"Just about anything - except beets. What time should I be here?"

"Six okay?" Emily suggested, and when he nodded she added, "then it's a date."

"No, a date would be taking you out and letting other people wait on you," he quipped..

"We'll see. If dinner turns out bad we might have to go out."

As Andy turned to finish delivering in the cul-de-sac Emily tried to get her heart to stop racing. She knew she had screwed up by not accepting his offer to go out, because goodness knows she hadn't been at a restaurant in what seemed like forever. It wouldn't have been all that strange because most people would just think the lad was out with his mother.

"Or grandmother," Emily muttered to herself as she went back inside, and she knew that as a result of Andy's kiss, his newspaper clipping would make another trip into the bedroom that night.

***

"Mrs. Foster, I haven't had fried chicken, REAL fried chicken, since back home when Mom made it," Andy said to his hostess and the woman who made it. "To be honest, yours is better because I didn't have to catch it first."

"Your family raised chickens?"

"Oh yes, just about everything we ate we grew or raised,' Andy explained. "I wasn't too fond of picking out the chickens that were going to dinner. They were like pets in a way."

"Did you have to - you know?" Emily said as she made a gesture.

"No, thank goodness. That was Dad's job.

"Well it must have been interesting to live off the land like that," Emily said through the pretty floral centerpiece Andy had delivered.

"I must have really loved it because here I am far away delivering mail in Ballston Spa," the lad chuckled. "A lot of it was good though, and I learned to appreciate natural things. My mother's make-up kit consisted of a brown plastic thing that held rouge. She would put that on if we went to church on Christmas Eve or if somebody died."

"Simpler times. Better in many ways but others? I don't know," Emily mused. "How about another piece of chicken?"

"Mrs. Foster, I ate half the bird as it is," Andy said with his hands raised in surrender. "Not only that, but I think I ate 5 pounds of potatoes. Real buttery mashed potatoes. This whole meal was heaven, believe me."

"It was so much fun to make a real meal Andy, and to see a big strapping fellow sitting across the table enjoying it..." Emily declared and then stopped and dabbed her eyes. "Sorry."

"Don't be Mrs. Foster," Andy insisted. " I didn't know your husband but I know two things for sure. He had incredible taste in women and he was a lucky guy to have you."

"I don't know about that, but you're sweet."

"Now when are you going to let me take you out to dinner Mrs. Foster?" Andy said as he leaned back from the table. "It wouldn't be as good as this, but still."

"If you wouldn't mind - if anybody asks you could say I'm your mother," Emily suggested.

"Why would anybody ask for starters, and why would I say that if they did?" Andy replied.

"I don't know - I mean - never mind."

"You must know that I like you," Andy said as he rose with her to clear the table.

"Sure, and I like you too Andy," Emily responded. "I so look forward to seeing you coming around the bend."

"That isn't what I meant. You aren't just the resident of 9 Terrapin Court to me Mrs. Foster, and I hope that if not yet, then someday I would become more than just the mailman to you," Andy said, and when Emily lost her grip on some cutlery he added, "Sorry. Didn't mean to scare you."

"You didn't," Emily managed to say. "You mean that going out to dinner with you would be..."

"A date," Andy finished. "Just say the word Mrs. Foster."

"On one condition. To a fella I go out a date with, my name is Emily."

"I was hoping you would say that. Such a beautiful name, and a perfect fit on a beautiful woman,' Andy said as he put his hand on her shoulder.

"Do you have to leave?" Emily asked.

"Don't want to overstay my welcome but I would like to stick around."

"We could watch TV. Don't know what's on," Emily admitted.

"Or we could just talk," Andy suggested.

"Yes. I'd like that."

***

Emily and the mailman sat on the love seat and after the senior gave the young man a tour of the photos on the wall, explained where they were taken and the circumstances involved, and after a time Emily said that she was sorry to dominate the conversation. Andy told her that he was enjoying himself so much and found the explanations of the various mountains she had hiked with her late husband fascinating.

"I'm afraid my hiking days are over, and least as far as the mountains go," Emily noted. "Time has a way of changing things."

"You certainly look like you're fit enough to climb Mt. Everest, at least compared to me," Andy declared. "I'm getting a little chunky, and a certain lovely lady happens to bake the most amazing cookies imaginable."

"Nonsense, you look wonderful," Emily assured him. "I've always been partial to men who were - manly I guess?"

"Still and all, I think I might start jogging my route instead of walking," Andy suggested.

"Now that would be interesting, my award winning delivery person coming around every day all sweaty," Emily kissed as she spun to face the lad, putting her arm up on the back of the old love seat and leaning back while imagining how dreamy the boy would look dripping with sweat and his shirt clinging to his skin.

"That would probably not go over well with the customers," Andy grinned while mimicking his host's position on the couch.

"It would with me," Emily blurted out and then blushed while she chided herself. "Oops. No more wine for you Emily."

"No, that was cute, just like you are," he smiled with that farm boy grin gleaming and then said, "you have wonderful taste in clothing. That blouse for example. it's so smart looking."

"If you knew how little it cost."

"The price doesn't matter and you seem to pick out clothing that shows off your best features," Andy observed. "I love the way those tiny sleeves that just come over your shoulders look, and they showcase your arms which I confess to being obsessed with. They're so shapely and trim, and I'm in love with the light scattering of freckles up here."

"Gee. I'm sorry. That was rude of me," he mumbled when he realized he had his hand on her bicep.

"It was not rude!" Emily said with a smile. "That's the first time a man has touched me in years, and I think you're wonderful for coming here and putting up with me."

"I thought I made it clear over dinner why I came," Andy reminded her.

"Yes but..."

"Do you think that's weird? That I'm weird?" Andy asked. "Does it scare you that I find you very attractive, and even more so the more I see of you?"

"No, I'm just..."

Emily's next words were blocked by the young man's lips upon hers, and while it started out to be just a brief meeting of the lips, soon it became much more. Emily, who had been caught off-guard at first, recovered to a point to when the kiss finally ended the widow had practically gotten onto the husky boy's lap. Her facial expression showed that she had surprised herself with her reaction.

"My," Emily mumbled. "I didn't know I still knew how to kiss."

"You do." Andy said, and soon the two of them were carrying on like school kids after the prom.

Andy nibbled around Emily's ear and down her neck, making the senior shiver because that was always something that made her weak in the knees. Down and around her collarbone he nibbled as she put her arms around his neck and did the same to his ear before he straightened up and put his beefy hands around her biceps.

"You're perfect - perfect in every way," Andy said as their lips met again, and when

the boy let his thumbs slide up the inside of her arms the widow thought she would faint as she shivered, but then her eyes bolted open when those thumbs moved into her armpits.

Andy had his eyes closed and was either not aware of where his thumbs were or the gentle stroking he was doing was intentional. This wasn't the first time the widow was struck by a similarity between Roy and Andy, and it didn't sound incredibly stupid to her that it was almost as if her late husband was coaching the lad from the great beyond into saying and doing the things she always adored.

They necked for a bit longer and Emily wasn't sure if she would be able to resist if Andy started to get really serious. Furthermore, she wasn't sure if she would want to do anything at all to stop him because she realized that she was equaling Andy in enthusiasm. The idea that she was silly making out with a boy less than half her age and left her a few minutes ago, and when they finally separated Emily was disappointed.

"I think this might be a good time to say good night," he suggested. "This is going way faster than I expected."

"I'm glad you said that because I wanted to, but couldn't."

"We're on for our dinner date?" Andy asked at the door.

"Absolutely," Emily answered and then Andy leaned down and they kissed in the doorway, and the senior found herself leaning into the lad as they said good night.

Emily watched him back out of the driveway and waved at Andy as he pulled off, and then she went into the bedroom and took her earrings off in front of the mirror. Her heart was just beginning to beat at a normal rate, and she made a mental note to tell her cardiologist that she was doing just fine without that medication he had discontinued.

"What would you have done if Andy didn't stop, Emily Foster?" she asked the reflection in the mirror, and she didn't know.

As she lifted the blouse off and stepped out of her slacks, she surveyed herself and tried to see her like Andy saw her. Emily knew she looked pretty good for 62 and even her usual self deprecating nature would admit that she could pass for somewhere in the mid 50's, but still and all that still left her twice Andy's age. The bra she was wearing, she noted sadly as she reached back to unhook the ancient harness, might be as old as Andy. Better to keep herself as real as she could.

Maybe that would be something she could do before they went out, Emily pondered. Order a bra from Victoria's Secret or one of those fancy places, something that make her breasts stick out like they once did, but as she pulled the bra away and her small breasts dropped down she could almost picture the look on poor Andy's face if he undressed her and saw this.

Posing a little for the mirror and chuckling at how silly she looked, her eyes went to the little sprays of hair nestled in the deep recesses under her arms. She had become so used to seeing herself like this that Emily hadn't even thought about it until adventurous Andy went exploring. She panicked at that, and was prepared to mumble something, an explanation? an apology? Andy however didn't blink and just kept gently massaging the moist wisps of hair.

This got Emily thinking about some concert that her then boyfriend Roy Foster took her to at a rarely used race track in Vermont back in the late 70's. New Riders of the Purple Sage were the headliners and Emily remembered how as they walked around the crowd Roy casually mentioned how many girls didn't bother to shave and suggested that if Emily didn't want to bother shaving it was fine with him. She had coaxed Roy into admitting that he wasn't as disinterested in the subject as he put on, so she said she was fine with it. That essentially was the end of razors for Emily except for some rare occasions, and Roy had loved it.