Secret Valentine

I do also see the tiredness, the frustration, all the stress that you have in life. You're a single mother, making do and raising her on an obviously limited income.

You must get zero help from Amy's father.

But in all that tough living, you are always kind and loving to Amy. Obviously, SAD means I don't have my own child, but I can imagine how exhausting raising one can be. But Amy proves, by her behavior, she has a loving home created by the strength and perseverance of her mother.

I cannot tell you how much this attracts me. My own youth was, well, it was difficult. It's part of the reason I can't talk to people in general, and grown women in particular.

Much as I want to, I can't show myself to you yet. Please remember the red marker, the Sharpie.

Everything STOPS if you put a red "X" on the door of your mailbox, Melanie. I promise, if you mark the "X" then you will never hear from or see me again.

But I hope, desperately, that you do NOT use the Sharpie. *I mean you no harm.* I am struggling, trying to think of a way I can show you that I am no risk to you.

This is not going well. I don't he has an understanding of how I want to be thought of by a man. Not as some kind of noble saint of motherhood.

But I have one more risk I need to take with you. For both you and your daughter. And my peace of mind. Coming after the fee payment, this *next* is going to be a real problem, I'm sure.

Your Honda Civic scares me. I know you have Amy in a safety seat, and installing it behind you is the safest place for her, of course.

Oh, shit.

But your tires are at the very edge of blowing out. The front tires! I'm actually terrified for you and for Amy. And, by the way, the reason why your front left tire is worn down to the cords—visible on the inside edge? Your suspension parts and alignment are bad, that is the reason. You have to fix those parts, too, or any replacement tires will fail early, the same way.

Fix it all, before anything else, I beg you. Even if you "X" your mailbox and we never contact or see each other, please fix your Honda, immediately.

Shit. Shit. Shit. MY BABY!

Putting aside the letter, Melanie folded her arms on the table, put down her head. And cried. Cried hard. Ugly cried. Sobbed! It was thirty minutes before she could even slow down to sniffles.

I am a terrible mother. I could have KILLED my baby! How did I miss this? I know nothing about cars. Put in key, put in gas. Maybe remember to change the oil, since they send me postcard reminders.

Oh, Amy!

Where is your FUCKING father, baby? Wait, no, not him, he is EVIL. And NEVER wanted or cared about you.

But I need SOMEBODY to help me, just a little bit. Not just practical support, it's those things other adults seem to know about, like managing money, taxes, and cars.

I'm just a little girl's mother, that's it. And I am NOT good at it. I'm FAILING her.

I feel so goddamned ALONE. And unloved. Even, unlovable. What a terrible example I am for her.

And now this mystery man shows up. No phone. No email. Not even a fucking NAME! He's just making me feel MORE inadequate and incompetent. Are parking lot guy and mystery man connected? I might as well finish his stupid letter.

In the mail that you have not yet opened, look for a regular-sized white business envelope from a bank. Inside, you will find two MasterCard Gift Cards loaded with $500 each. They are a not a credit card or a loan. Because they are gift cards, you won't see any bills or hits on your credit file. You simply spend on them until they're empty.

Use those cards to pay for your tires and repairs. They are fully activated and ready for your use.

I know we haven't yet met in person, but I do care about your safety, and also Amy's safety.

You think I don't? FUCK!

I scheduled an appointment for you at 9:00 tomorrow morning (Saturday) at the Honda dealer.

Melanie, I am very sorry for abruptly surprising you this way. I had wanted to introduce myself to you gradually, in a way (I hoped) where I could overcome some of my terrible shyness. I hoped we could become friends, and maybe more.

But your daughter's safety, and yours, has rushed in and overcome me. Please, fix your car. I will sleep better at night when you do.

— 25 — Thinking of You.

For the sake of my daughter, I will use Mystery Man's money, I have no choice.

But, God damn it, instead of money, and little white cards, and chocolates, couldn't I at least get a HUG?

I've been crying so hard tonight. My eyes hurt, my nose is running, my chest feels tight. It's a real genuine feeling with a name: HEART ACHE.

Chapter 4: I Am Woman, Hear Me Blog!

Further inspecting her mail, Melanie found the envelope with the MasterCard Gift Cards. Taking out a blank 3×5-inch card from her recipe box, Melanie used the red marker to draw a large red "X", followed by an equally large question mark. Beneath the symbols, she added "amy001g.blogspot.com" in ballpoint ink, and folded the card so that address was not obvious.

Melanie pulled out and plugged in her old laptop and waited for Windows and the Notepad text editor to arouse themselves.

Friday, January 20, 2023

Mystery Man,

I won't use "Dear," because you are not dear to me, at least not yet. And that's kind of the problem. You have me at a huge disadvantage, because you know a lot about me, and I know almost _nothing_ about you. And, nice as you are being to us, I cannot help but resent it.

To start with, I created this space on BlogSpot with help from a friend of mine, in case sperm donor or his family might want to see some images of my baby. Evidently, they did not, according to the access logs. My friend helped me make this space as private as possible, and it gets no visitors, as I said.

But if you don't want to respond here, you can write to me at

fourscars@beltwest.net

— including your name and an address that I can reply to.

If you won't do that, I WON'T communicate with you further.

I mean it.

So, write to me immediately, and I will respond to you immediately. Think of it as two-factor authentication.

Otherwise, to be clear, it's the big red "X" for you.

But I need to acknowledge your kindness, and willingness to overcome your shyness enough to make contact. And I won't pretend to you that I don't need the money. Or won't use it.

When I heard from you (and some other stranger!?) about the tires on my old Civic, I was wracked with guilt. I cried, to be honest. I would rather die than see my Amy in danger or hurt.

So all I can say is thank you, no exaggeration, from the bottom of my heart. I will take my car in to Honda for that service appointment you arranged. Again, _thank you._

And, before I forget to say so, thank you also for the movie tickets. Amy will be so thrilled.

This is so frustrating, to "communicate" this way. You've earned a hug, you nice man. But nothing more, don't you see? I'm giving you a huge benefit of the doubt, that you are sincerely interested in our welfare.

You have to understand my fear, that you are creating a dependency. An imbalance of power. In effect, buying my affection.

If you aren't sincere, if this is manipulation, then God help you. I will track you down somehow and kick you into next week.

But your shyness, your SAD (I thought SAD was Seasonal Affect Disorder, that is, winter gloom), whatever, has bought you a small temporary measure of grace with me.

If you use that opportunity so we can have a TWO-WAY "conversation," then maybe we can become more to each other than e-pen pals.

I am, truly, thinking of you too, Mystery Man.

But the next fucking words I see from you had better be your name and your email.

Your NAME and your EMAIL.

Or it's the big red "X" for you.

-- Melanie Geary

Closing and saving the new text document, Melanie posted the content on her blog site and turned in for the night. She was truly wrung out and emotionally exhausted from this night.

Chapter 5: The Customer Lounge Lizard.

Saturday, January 21, 2023, 9:00 a.m.

Approaching the podium at the Honda dealer's service department, Melanie steeled herself for an unpleasant encounter. Usually, auto mechanics talked down to her, or tried to upsell her for extra services.

However, this guy was older, and smiled warmly when she stepped forward while holding Amy's little hand.

"Melanie Geary: I have a 9:00 appointment."

"Yes, we have your booking. My name is Earl Astin, and I will be your contact here. You are down for four new tires, and we will inspect your car and come back with an estimate for the suspension work.

"I can tell you some good news, we have tires in stock that will fit your Civic, and you have two good choices. I've got Michelins for $140 each, and Kumho tires for $68 each. I'm surprised, these are actually very low sale prices on both of these brands.

"Seeing your daughter here with you, I'm going to suggest the Kumhos. The Michelins will last a lot longer, but, frankly, that's a waste because of the age of your Civic. I promise, the cheaper tires are just as safe. Kumhos are on my car that I use for my granddaughter. Let me get your details and keys, and we will get started."

Directed to the lounge, Melanie was pleased to find some crayons and coloring books, and some battered but still readable books for older children, including Dr. Seuss. Another girl (maybe 4 years old?) was happily coloring, and Amy joined her. There was another man nearby reading the newspaper.

He has to be that girl's father. Jeez, that guy is huge, I'd guess he's at least a foot taller than I am.

Earl found her in the lounge and went through the necessary and the recommended repairs with Melanie. After her approval, spending all of the funds from Mystery Man, Earl reassured her that her car would be back in a safe and reliable condition for her daughter. "We will be done and have you out of here by 11 or 11:30, I think. Also, I put a little head space in these estimates, so you won't be surprised at the cashier by taxes and so on."

Melanie favored Earl with a warm smile and thanked him for his consideration as he gave her copies of the estimates and returned to the Service Department.

I would be a better person, I think, if I had extended family like Earl when I was growing up. I'm not used to guys being, well, friendly, like that. And that warm little tone in his voice, when he mentioned his granddaughter. Sure, he could be just acting, but I feel better after our conversation.

Another man came in and sat near Melanie. Although there was plenty of empty seating, he chose the same sofa as Melanie, and sat unusually close, almost arm's reach. He almost immediately introduced himself as Eddie and started a conversation.

He was asking a lot of questions, getting more and more aggressive and personal. It was obvious that he was trying to pick her up. Melanie's responses were increasingly irritated and finally, explicit. But he was clearly ignoring her words and trying to steamroller her.

Fuck! Get lost, you asshole.

Reaching for her bag, Melanie was about to go for help.

Suddenly, a shadow fell over Eddie, and he looked up. The best word for what was happening was "looming." That other girl's father had a soft voice, but he spoke with a clear edge in his tone.

"You're going to stop talking now and get away from her. Aren't you?"

"Why? I'm not doing nothin'."

"You misunderstand. This is not a discussion. Now go away. I will NOT ask you again."

It was subtle, but the father altered his stance, as if to prepare for a physical, rather than verbal, interaction.

Eddie glared stubbornly, but then he folded, and found somewhere else to be.

"Thank you, sir. I'm Melanie, and my daughter Amy is over there with yours. Have a seat. Please!"

She watched him gracefully settle his big body into the sofa next to her.

"Sure. Actually, I'm also named Edward, but don't hold it against me. That's Cassie over there coloring next to Amy. So you're OK?"

"Oh, I'm fine. It's unusual for idiots to hit on me like that. Unless that dumbass couldn't figure out that I had a child here. I'm getting old enough to be invisible to harassing men, on the rare occasion I am out by myself."

"Not invisible. Oops. Excuse me, I'm not also trying to pick you up. Not every man is scared away by children. The ones that are, you are better off without. But, good grief, you are very visible to the non-gay men of the world, I promise."

What?

"I assume, there's no Mr. Melanie around to help you with Amy."

"That's right. I'm making do without any help."

"What a jerk. I'd use a better word, but young ears are around. He's not only an... a jerk, but either blind or gay or stupid. Maybe all three, I mean, look at you. And Amy is almost as cute as my Cassie. Look at them getting along together."

Just then, an employee appeared carrying a clipboard.

"Edward Olson? Your Accord is ready."

"Please have a nice day, Melanie, on behalf of the good Eddies out there."

While he collected Cassie, he looked over to Melanie showing a wide happy smile. Then they were gone.

Oh, God, what a great guy. "Not Invisible" was such a compliment. And the way he chased away that asshole, on his own initiative. A big, beautiful, bear of a man. I wanted to prone him out on this sofa and get his clothes off. At the least, offer him a blow job.

You're one horny bitch, Melanie Geary.

Nasty Eddie did not return. When the Civic was ready, Amy had fallen asleep, burrowed into her mother's side. The car looked great with the new tires, a car wash, and a freshly vacuumed interior. As they drove out, Melanie decided to give her daughter a treat. They pulled into a McDonald's and along with her "Happy Meal," Amy got a chance to run wild in the interior "Play Place" playground equipment that this restaurant featured for children.

That night, after she read to her daughter and watched her drift away to sleep, Melanie wanted some of her own playground time.

Edward Olson said the perfect thing: "not invisible." I wish it was true. I haven't been out on a date in forever. I haven't been undressed with a man since before Amy was born. But still, I think about sex, like, all the time, lately. I wonder why?

My daughter is with me whenever I'm out in public, and that seems to discourage interest by men. Well, most of them. I am horny all the time, but I have to be my own sexual outlet. I am so hard up, I would accept attention from a woman, even. To be honest with myself, anybody who comes along and kisses me seriously would be getting into my pants, with no effort at all.

I think I've been wet this entire day, just from having a few words with Edward Olson. Yummy, huge, sweet (but strong) Edward. I wanted to climb up on him until we were face-to-face, and lip-lock him for an hour.

And while we were kissing, I would feel his big, no, his huge cock, pushing up against my ass.

I think I need some alone

time in the bathtub.

Apartment life isn't as nice as living in your own detached house, but there are a few advantages. One being unlimited hot water.

She adjusted the water flow from the spout to the perfect flow and temperature, then slipped her naked body into the tub. On her back, she slid down with her feet high, so the stream was massaging her pussy and clit, deliciously. One hand fondled her breast, while her fingertips diddled her clit and lips along with the water flow.

Actually, now she was thinking about Mystery Man. Who, in her mind's fantasy looked just like Edward Olson. And was holding his big hard cock in just the right position so that the warm splashing on her pussy was an unending stream of his pee. And then, he shifted, and pulsing splatters of his hot white come painted her tits and face.

Melinda cried out as she climaxed, then scooting back a little so her badgered and throbbing clit could cool off and calm down a little.

Oh, that was a good one. Ah. Now I need to wash my hair and body.

Just then, the bathroom door swung open. Amy said, "Are you OK, Mama? I heard you cry."

Shit!

"I'm fine, Amy. Don't worry. I'm just going to wash my hair."

"How do you wash your hair when your feet are up there on the wall?"

Oops!

"Um, I was first going to wash my feet, silly. Go on back to bed, please. Good night, baby."

Thank God I didn't have my dildo in here.

Sunday, January 22, 2023, 4:00 p.m.

The Puss in Boots movie was a complete success. Amy's enjoyment was enough, but there was also enough humor pitched to the adults in the audience to entertain them as well.

On their return, Melanie confirmed that her "X?" card (with her blog address) was taped to the front of her mailbox for the Mystery Man to find.

Chapter 6: Her Longest Day.

Monday, January 23, 2023.

Another painfully busy Monday for Melanie at work. She was intentionally avoiding any distracting thoughts of Mystery Man. She only took a few minutes break for "lunch," as usual, and didn't eat. Her daily schedule required that she leave work right on time every day to pick up her daughter without delay. (The daycare charged a stiff fee for late pickups.)

Finally, she was in the parking lot with Amy belted into her car seat. With a deep breath, she pulled out her phone and opened her personal email account.

To: fourscars@beltwest.net

From: chary974@proton.me

Subject: Hello from Jacob, Your Mystery Man

Monday, January 23, 2023

Jacob is my name.

I was so pleased to find your blog posting for me. This is a quick message to acknowledge that I have seen it.

I'd like to re-read carefully what you posted—a few times—so I can give you my best response.

Because, now more than ever, I am: Thinking of You. — 22 —

Jacob

"Just one minute, Amy." She mashed the "reply" button on her email app.

Thank you, Jacob. I'm looking forward to reading it! --Melanie.

At 8 p.m., Amy went down for bed. At 8:20, Melanie's phone chimed with the "new mail" signal. Instead of peering at the phone's small screen, she booted up her laptop.

After the usual delay, as Windows took forever to rouse itself, she opened her email, and settled in to read comfortably.

To: fourscars@beltwest.net

From: chary974@proton.me

Subject: Hello again from Jacob

Monday, January 23, 2023

Dear Melanie,

Here we are for our second Monday. At least, I'd like to think of it that way. I would like to imagine there will be many many more Mondays (and weekdays, and weekends) for us to come.

So, I need to introduce myself to you, I understand that. As I have said, I am age 28. I was born and raised here in California. I believe some parts of my family background might be Jewish, French, and Spanish, although I know almost nothing about my ancestry.

And I have no current relatives, that I know of.

I am probably going to disappoint you, at least for a while. Because I'm not ready to share everything, yet. Or anything, really, that you can use to find and/or identify me. Yet.

I will. I will. I promise!

I was pacing the floor for two hours before I could get myself together enough to start this letter.

From the beginning, then.