Postal Pleasures

Mary wore her hair up again in a braided bun. It was a classic and sophisticated hairstyle for her conservative attire. It was a quiet repast at Delmonico's. I made sure there were two dozen fresh red roses on the table as the centerpiece. We didn't talk at all, and she was obviously still upset. On the plus side, my medium-rare prime rib with broiled sea scallops was fabulous, and the Caesar Salad as good. Mary ordered prime rib with twin Maine lobster tails but picked at her meal. I offered a few of my scallops for a piece of lobster, and she ignored me. Most of her meal went home in a take-out container.

After our late lunch, she played more Classical Sheet Music, and then I let her go her home early for the Christmas Holiday. There was time enough for the erotic delights I had in mind for us. She was to return on December 31st. She also left with written instructions.

Mary returned for our next tryst in the evening around four in the afternoon. She was wearing a short strapless black dress that accentuated her figure and long legs. For the next six months, stockings and a garter belt were mandatory. Mary was also wearing her thick, silky hair loose and free down her back.

It was blunt cut all one length and about twelve inches shorter. It was now delightfully waist length, and I was also pleased to see that Mary had long bangs that set off her green eyes. She looked mysterious and sexy with bangs, and she was the first to speak.

"Let's get something straight, Mr. Stone, I don't like you at all, and I'll never like you, but I've decided to make the best of this situation. I'll follow it to the letter, and to the bitter, bitter end, or until you tell me otherwise. I'll be gracious and polite. I won't try and hit you again; what's the point. We will talk things out. You're so predictable, and I know what you want." Why don't you sit down? I sat in my leather chair and Mary slowly undressed in front of me.

When she was completely naked, I said, "I made reservations for us at the Grand Manor. It will be my privilege to have a beautiful woman on my arm, you. We will celebrate with dinner and dancing to ring in the New Year. Believe it or not, I do know how to dance."

I got up from my chair with the glass of Champagne, and said, "You are a beautiful, talented woman, Mary Elizabeth Jones." I held up the glass to her lips, and we shared a glass of Champagne. "You asked me if you are here to calm the agitation of my vitriolic divorce. The answer is yes, in part, and then I heard you play, and I stand by the quote. You slapped me, twice, and I had it coming, but not for kissing you. Your generous lips are meant to be kissed and kissed often.

It was a burden lifted from my soul when I confessed to you about my marriage and divorce. I've never told anyone how I've felt. I've kept the rage and angst it bottled up inside of me. I never intended to tell you at all. You called me a bastard, and maybe it's true in your eyes, but I'm an honest bastard.

I dropped the glass to the floor, and I lightly kissed her lips. Getting behind her, I kissed her neck and shoulders while I gently caressed her perfect firm and round breasts, rubbing her silky tresses on them. I felt her nipples harden at my touch. I commented on the fact of her arousal and watching her blush, with pleasure, I hoped. I lightly stroked her plump shaved pussy, a nice surprise, and nothing I asked her to do. I whispered my plans for her, oral and otherwise, enjoying the sweet musky wetness of her arousal, and then I abruptly stopped.

I reached up and put my hands on her shoulders, gently turning her to face me and said, "There is no time for that now. I adore your haircut, and you look incredible with bangs. They set off your emerald green eyes. They were on fire when you slapped me. Do you know what I say about women with green eyes, I say, "She beautiful, and therefore to be wooed; She is a woman, therefore to be won."

"Composing herself, Mary said, "You didn't say that first. Give Shakespeare his due."

"William Shakespeare is not here now. I'm doing the wooing in his place, and I want to arrive early and pick out a good table. I'm going upstairs to my bedroom; you may join me, or you can get dressed down here."

We arrived early enough to get a great table that gave us a good view of the room, close to the dance floor, but away from the speakers. As we watched the people arrive, a married couple recognized Mary and waved. "I heard Mary mutter under her breath, "Oh, just great."

They walked over to our table, I stood up, and then Mary.

"I didn't know you are dating, Mary," the woman said smiling and hugging her, "That explains your haircut and wearing your hair down. You're keeping secrets from me, but good for you. It's about time you moved on. I'm glad you've finally taken my advice. Are you going to introduce us to your gentleman?"

"Michael Stone, this is Ann Bennett, and her husband, Joe. Ann is a front desk clerk at the Post Office, Michael, and Joe is a retired postman. I took over his route a year ago." I shook Ann's hand.

"This tough lady sure did," Joe said proudly, shaking my hand with a firm, friendly grip. "It is the hardest route in the City, and it ends at the old Miller place. When I was a boy, old man Miller let me and my pals swim in his pond, and shoot our twenty-two rifles in the gravel pit. Isaac was a gruff old codger with a heart of gold."

"Will you please join us," I offered, "we have plenty of room."

"Thank you, we'd be happy to join you," Joe said, smiling broadly, "Would you mind another couple, my brother Steve and his wife Laura are coming. It was a last minute thing for us. You know how hard it is to get tickets here on New Year's Eve, and how expensive because of the renown buffet. We came here early for a good table, and this is perfect."

As Joe said, "perfect," and as if on cue, a young man from the florist I contacted earlier, delivered four dozen red roses in a vase, with a Hallmark Card addressed to Mary, from me to our table. I took him aside quietly slipped him a fifty.

The surprised look on Mary's face was priceless, and the approving look Ann gave me after Mary read the card, and thanked me, scored me a point with her.

We chatted for half an hour while people claimed their tables. I learned Joe is a serious fisherman, and we are the same age, as are Mary and Ann. I also learned Joe fell off a ladder and sprained his back while he was painting at his cottage on Conesus Lake. At the time, he had six months to retire with a full pension.

When Joe returned to work, he was in constant pain. He said, "Let me tell you, Michael, towards the end; the job was almost tolerable except for all that damn junk mail."Before he could say anything else, Ann interrupted and said, "He doesn't want to hear about your aches and pains, Sweetheart," and the look she gave him said, 'Shut up, stupid.' "Yes, of course, sorry about that, Michael. You ever fish the St. Lawrence?"

A few minutes into that discussion, Joes' cell phone vibrated. He excused himself and took the call. When he returned to the table, he said, "I'm sorry Mary, Michael, my sister-in-law had a family emergency, and they can't make it. They're on their way to Michigan. They didn't want to waste the tickets and gave them to Tom, and my nephew is bringing a date." "Of course he is welcome, Joe," Mary assured him, and Ann didn't look happy at all, "Tom finally got the message. I haven't seen or heard from him in over a year. Michael, Honey," Mary said sweetly, "I need to talk to you in private please."

We walked to the middle of the dance floor, and she said, "This is a disaster. Why did you invite them to sit with us?"

"What was I supposed to do, Mary, they're your friends?"

"I'm upset, and I suppose you're right. Tonight could have been a tolerable evening. Ann and Joe are my dear friends, and it's not them. Joe always looks out for me, and especially after my husband died. Its Joe's nephew, Tom, I'm concerned about."

"Does Tom work for the Post Office?"

"No, Tom's a vain, obnoxious, jerk. He plays guitar in a Rock and Roll Band and imagines himself an actor and singer. He does Elvis impersonations. He also thinks he's God's gift to women."

"Is this Tom guy a bigger jerk than me, Honey?"

"Will you please be serious and stop calling me Honey?"

"I take it Tom's asked you out more than once."

"Yes, I told him, many, many times I'm a have no interest in dating or having another serious relationship."

"Is he handsome? Or does he have a mug like mine?"

"Will you please be serious, Mr. Stone?"

"Fine, what do you want me to do?"

"I want you to keep him away from me."

"Ah, the devil you barely know, as opposed to a worse devil."

"You said you could dance. We'll pretend we're dating, and are an item. I promise you all of my dances, just don't let Tom cut it."

"I'm a lover, not a fighter, Mary."

"I know otherwise, you were an Army Ranger, and you're not afraid of anything or anybody."

Mary had Tom well pegged. Not to disparage Elvis, but Tom looked and dressed like a young Elvis Presley; long slicked back jet black hair and all. However, he lacked the King's quiet manner, charm, and likability.

The New Year Party included an open bar with gourmet appetizers until the Grand Manor's renown New Year's Eve buffet was ready. Then it became a cash bar only. Tom and his groupie date, Sharon, drank like it was their job. They had a stash of drinks lined up in front of them. Although she was pretty, I didn't think much of Sharon, and we'll leave it at that. From the time he first arrived, Tom's eyes lingered on Mary. He would leer, at her and smile, and then look at me, smirking as if to say, "What are you going to do about it."

As the DJ was setting up, I went to the Men's Room. The jerk followed me in and leaned against the door to block me from leaving. He said, "Hey, Grandpa, how did you get that stuck-up cunt to go out with you? She wouldn't give me the time of day. A bitch like her should be grateful for a charity fuck. Nothing personal, but you're what, at least sixty-five? What's your secret?"

"The secret is," And I pointed to the ceiling with my index finger, and the stupid looked up.

I forcefully drove the heel of my hand into Tom's solar plexus. There's a cluster of nerves there near the diaphragm that help you breathe. When struck or punched, the diaphragm spasms, the person has difficulty breathing. They are in intense pain, and they sometimes wet themselves. It is a quick and efficient way to end a fight or to begin a conversation with an obnoxious punk. Call it an attitude adjustment.

"I'm glad we can have this private talk," I said menacingly, locking the door, and keeping my voice low to make him strain to hear. "That was nothing compared to what I will do to you if I ever hear you refer to Mary, as a stuck-up cunt or a bitch in front of me. Mary is a gentle and refined, Lady. She is my Lady exclusively. Do you want me to hit you again?" He shook his head for no."

"I repeat, Mary, is a gentle and refined, Lady. She wants nothing to do with you, ever. Do you understand," and I grabbed his black silk shirt, and slammed him hard against the door. "Do you understand?"

"Yes," he gasped, with an embarrassed, mortified look added to his pain."

"Good, and by the way, you wet yourself." I let go of his shirt and relieved myself in the urinal. As I was washing my hands, I added, "Don't talk to Mary and don't look at her. Stay completely away from her. Don't go near her again in your lifetime." I threatened as I wiped my hands with paper towels. I pushed the wet paper towels into Tom's face twisting them and said, "Get your date and clear out."

Tom left soon after he came out of the Men's Room, no explanation or goodbyes. His clueless girlfriend shoved three bottles of wine coolers in her purse before he pulled her away from the table.

When the music began to play, Mary and I were the first on the dance floor, her idea, and it was a slow dance to Nat King Cole's "Unforgettable," Mary wanted to know what I said to the jerk. I held her close, but not as close as I wanted.

"What did you say to Tom?" she asked, "And why was the front of his pants wet?"

"Does it matter, Joe and Ann, are not upset Tom's gone, and you asked me to keep him away from you. Gone is unarguably far away. I deserve a kiss for going above and beyond our agreement. Please kiss me?"

"You will take a kiss regardless," she replied, whether I'm willing or not."

"We've been out twice, together. Have I treated you other than a Lady in public? You asked me to keep Tom away from you, and I did. Did I cause a scene tonight and embarrass you now in front of your friends? As I said, friends, another song began playing, "A kiss to build a dream on" by Louie Armstrong.

"I don't like you, "but at least you're not groping me while we dance or when we're sitting at the table. I'll concede your mother taught you to be a gentleman, and you have nice manners, and can be charming, and that doesn't change a thing."

"You do like me, Mary, you don't know it yet. May I hold you a little bit closer, and will you put your head on my shoulder while we dance?" I teased. She didn't answer. "You are beautiful, and therefore to be wooed. You are a woman, and therefore to be won."

"Good luck with that, Mr. Stone, because in less than six months, I won't give you the time of day."

I pulled Mary a bit closer and said, "That will be my regrettable loss, but until then, it will be my privilege to take you dancing often. I will have all your dances this evening, as you promised, and nobody is cutting in. Joe and Ann are watching, so remember, we are pretending to be an item, and we like each other. I'm not pretending. Smile darling." I held Mary close, while we danced, my only liberty was playing with her beautiful hair, and she didn't put her head on my shoulder.

Between dances, and during dinner, we talked and laughed with Ann and Joe, and if Mary wasn't having a good time, she hid it well. They eventually joined us on the dance floor. At midnight, Mary put her hands on my shoulders and lightly kissed my lips, but it was for show. Before we left, I shook hands with Joe, and Ann hugged me whispering, "Her favorite flowers are yellow roses."

Afterward, Mary and I returned to my house. We didn't make love. I woke the next morning to find her sound asleep and pressed up against me, and I liked it. I didn't wake her and let her sleep, enjoying being close to her. I lay there for quite awhile watching her sleep, and my mind was racing. I made us breakfast, scrambled eggs, homefries, rye toast, bacon, and coffee.

Mary played her favorite pieces of music from memory. We then sat together on the bench and played several duets, fun songs we learned as children, such as "Heart and Soul" by Hoagy Carmichael. We played the "West Side Story Melody" by Leonard Bernstein, "The Hungarian Dance" No 2. by Franz Liszt, and "Let it be" by the Beatles. I sang along to "Let it be," with great enthusiasm. Mary didn't sing with me, but was a good sport and humored me. She left with more written instructions to keep two appointments that I made for her.

It was in the middle of the next week, on Wednesday, and the roads were plowed and open for travel after a lake-effect snowstorm from Lake Ontario. I was in line paying for my groceries when Mary approached me and touched my shoulder. I turned to look at her and noticed she was wearing makeup, and her hair was swept up in a French twist. Gone were the baggy jeans, and in their place form-fitting ones, and the same for her green cashmere sweater. I also noticed she was wearing pearl earrings. Pearl earrings are classy and refined in my book, a single perfect white pearl on a post. Mary looked lovely and desirable, and I wanted to kiss her.

"Mr. Stone we need to talk. Things are getting complicated and out of control. May we have coffee together across the street?"

"Is, everything all right, Mary? Why aren't you working?"

"They're as well as things can be. I'm trying to sort things out, so I took a two-week vacation."

"Do you like the yellow roses I sent? I understand they're your favorite. If I'd know beforehand yellow roses are your favorite, they would have been on the table at Delmonico's and the Grand Manor. I'm partial to red carnations myself."

"Yes, thank you. May we talk, please?"

"Kiss me, Mary? I'm still waiting for my kiss."

"Will you please be serious, this is important!"

"I am serious, and yes, I'll meet you in ten minutes."

There was a hot cup of black coffee waiting for me when I arrived. "What do we need to talk to me about?" I asked, sitting across from her in the booth.

"The first thing is the two-dozen red roses at Delmonico's. Then four dozen red roses delivered to me on New Year's Eve. You sent eight dozen yellow roses to the Post Office with a musical card addressed to me that played, "Some Enchanted Evening," We are the talk of the place. Now my co-workers have a misconception about us.

Ann brought the yellow roses to my house and thought it was very sweet and Romantic. She said I was very lucky to find a man like you. If she only knew. Joe and Ann want us to meet them at the Black North this Friday for a fish-fry, and then go to the Community Theatre to see, "Kiss me, Kate." Go figure; they like you, and I don't! I don't ever intend to like you, so don't get your hopes up. I didn't believe you when you said you could play, and then we sat together, and you did. You are holding back. I know you can play better than that, and we need to talk about Tom."

"Is he bothering you? Tell me where he is, I'll..." and Mary interrupted, "You're right about what you said about me. I didn't want to hear it. Life goes on. If nothing else, you've got me thinking about things. Please tell me what happened between you and Tom."

"I will, but first, I like your hair up like that, Mary, you look especially lovely today. The best news is life goes on, just look at us." and I sincerely meant that. I wanted the best for her. "You can now look for a man who will cherish, respect, and protect you. There is nothing to hold you back." I wanted to be that man. "Are those South Sea pearl earrings you're wearing?"

"Yes, please tell me about Tom?"

"Tom followed me into the Men's Room looking for trouble. He was trying to bait me and get a rise out of me. He resents the fact you turned him down, and you were out with me. He made some vulgar comments about you that I won't repeat. I know his type well. He's a braggart with soft hands and a weak mind."

"Let me understand. Were you defending my honor?"

"You were my date for the evening, Mary. You were my responsibility. That's what men do. After the vulgar comments, Tom said, "Nothing personal, Grandpa, but you're what, at least sixty-five? What's your secret?"

"What did you do then?"

"I said, "The secret is," and reached past him and locked the door so nobody could walk in on us." I took a sip of coffee.

"What did you mean by secret?"

"There was no secret; it was a distraction. Next, I said, "The secret is there on the ceiling." And I pointed to the ceiling with my index finger, and twenty plus years of hand-rubbed stupid looked up." She put her hand on her mouth to suppress a smile, and I took another sip of coffee, enjoying being with her. It was excellent coffee.

"I hit him with the palm of my hand," and I showed Mary by putting my fingers on my chest and said, "When struck or punched, here, the diaphragm spasms, the person has difficulty breathing and is in intense pain."

"Is that when he wet himself?" Mary asked, trying to suppress another smile.

"Yes, I told him you were my Lady, and I slammed Tom hard against the door to annunciate the point and told him to get his date and clear out."