The autumn sunlight was dancing on the boughs of the trees with their multi-colored burden of leaves, some dead, some still clinging to their dwindling existence. A blackbird was declaring his prowess to the world in general and although the first hint of winter could be seen in the gathering flocks of birds wheeling in the sky, the autumn air was still gentle on his face. As he walked his route there was lightness in his step born of this beautiful day and his thoughts which lingered playfully and kept him company on his round.
Sam was 28, an athletic type with a good body, if a little short, but with attractive features and eyes that seemed to melt most hearts. Six months ago he had married a girl who had completely bowled him over. They had met on a yacht cruise round the Greek islands as part of a singles holiday. It was the sort of thing he thought he would never need to do but the previous five years had been spent in conducting several rather unsuccessful relationships. Each one of them he had met in his local area, Chilford.
He had pondered long and hard as to why they had all failed so completely. It would begin very well and he had always been very attentive to his partner’s needs. In fact, each one had always indicated that they were satisfied with the state of affairs. No, it was he who had always brought the affair to an end, he knew that now.
There had always been something missing. That vital spark, that certain something was just not there. As a result, he would become less attentive and begin to withdraw into himself. He had never had problems with relationships in his younger days because, although they never lasted longer than a few months, they were never meant to. He had matured, however, in recent years and wanted to settle down but until now, his attempts had all come to nothing. Now it was different. She was not a local girl and had a sense of adventure which appealed to him greatly. Yes, the yoke was firmly around his neck and he didn’t resent it one bit.
His job as a postman was always a solitary one, but Sam didn’t mind that. In fact, for much of the time he relished it. There was no-one to watch him or criticize him and for much of his working shift, he could believe he was his own boss, free to discharge his burden how he saw fit. He could deliver the letters slowly and deliberately with an air of efficiency or he could be the hard pressed worker with so much to do and so little time to do it in. In any case, like now, he could let his mind wander at will, free from domestic worries and yet not oppressed by his duties.
Just at that moment however, his mind turned to Mrs Jennings as he approached her letterbox. Christine Jennings, whose beautifully manicured portico was now only a few doors away, was good-looking and shapely and he would often see her at the edge of the net curtains looking along the street. Sometimes her gaze would fall on him and when it did, those dark green, strong eyes would start the butterflies in his stomach fluttering gently. It was always exciting, wondering whether or not she would notice him and those times when she did, that excitement took on a more earthy rhythm, taking his thoughts in quite a different direction and ruining his composure for the rest of his shift. He recalled with pleasure that, not just on one occasion, the door had opened to accept the mail from his hands. On each occasion, those fine lightly tanned fingers would brush against his own and he felt those dark eyes watching him as carried on down the road. Over a period of several months, it had become something to look forward to, and was always an exciting distraction in his daily routine.
With each delivery, his anticipation was growing, causing that inevitable tightness in his chest and an increase in his heartbeat. There was just one door to go now before hers and yes, he saw the curtains move. As he walked down next door’s path, it was all he could manage not to turn round and look at her window. Today seemed worse than usual, with the dryness in his throat, his heart starting to pound quite rapidly and the anticipation growing with each second. As he lifted the latch on her gate, his impulse was to hurry to the door, but he knew he should be calm. The consequence of this inner battle was a pronounced stiffness in his step.
As he approached the front door, what he had secretly hoped for happened and the door began to open. As she was revealed by the slowly opening door, his laboured breathing was arrested completely. She was still wearing her nightdress. It was made of a fine material, sleek and glossy in a soft shade of old ivory. Thin straps stayed miraculously on her slender shoulders and the soft tones of her skin seemed to blend with the colour of the material. Taking this in within a split second, he also noticed that the length of her garment was such that it finished seductively but not cheaply several inches above her knees. Propriety was attended to by the thin dressing gown which framed her figure nicely and if anything, added to her allure.
Sam got to the open door and began instinctively to stretch out his hand. Only when it was nearly touching hers did he realize that in his ferment, he had not taken out her mail from the bag, which now swung awkwardly from his shoulder. He went to search for the forgotten post but was arrested by the pose she now adopted, one knee slightly bent and her hand supporting her against the door jamb. This had the effect of loosening his hold on the small bundle of letters, causing him to spill them on the doorstep.
Unable to speak, he bent down hastily to retrieve them, only to find that his eyes were now within inches of those beautifully positioned limbs. Automatically, his eyes began to wander as the blood beat in his temples and his lungs began to breathe shallow and fast. Suddenly she was down with him, helping him, a half smile on her lips and her eyes still holding his. She spoke now.
“Are you feeling OK, Mr Postman ?” she asked playfully.
“Mm” he replied, searching for a better line.
“Perhaps you need a cup of tea or coffee….or something”. Her smile was now more pronounced and suggestion lurked dangerously within her voice.
“Oh… well … er.. yes …that would be nice.” His composure gone, the words just fell from his mouth. He was not being very articulate.
She moved aside and said, “Well, you’d better come in, unless you want to drink it here on the step.”
“Right, yes, of course. Wel,l just for a few minutes then.” All the time, his excitement was growing within him.
She led him down the passageway to the kitchen where she gestured to a chair. As he sat down, his bag caught the edge of the table and rucked up awkwardly in front of him. He tried quickly to remove it from the table before she saw him making a complete idiot of himself. Too late.
“Let me help you with that,” she said kindly, but still with that playfulness in her voice. He was still caught fast as she gently lifted the strap over his head. Her skin smelt clean and fresh with a hint of some kind of fragrant oil. Lavender perhaps? Noticing his discomfort, she laid her hand on his shoulder.
“It’s such a small kitchen,” she said to cover his embarrassment, “but I like it.”
Her touch was light, but in his super-sensitive state, it seemed to burn like a fire. It was almost too much to bear but when she removed it, he immediately craved its return.
It took her several minutes to prepare the drinks, during which time he was able to get himself together. The kitchen was indeed small, but then so was the house. It was a first-time buyer’s house but in a reasonably good neighbourhood. Although small, the kitchen was nicely equipped and well decorated. Obviously done by somebody who knew what they were doing, he mused.
Mrs Jennings finally put the two steaming mugs of coffee and a saucer of biscuits on the table and sat across from him, her eyes once again making firm contact with his. Her stare was so intense that it became almost uncomfortable to look at her, but still he could not divert his gaze. She was more lovely than she had ever been. That playful smile constantly moved around her lips and a wisp of her chestnut hair lay perfectly across the top of her eye.
For several minutes, they talked about inconsequential things and his discomfort began to leave him, being replaced with equal amounts of confidence. He warmed to her chatter and wallowed in the honey tones of her voice. The mood gradually changed, and inconsequential subjects moved on to more dangerous topics. All too soon, they were exchanging intimacies of quite a personal nature and he could feel the fire burning bright now, making him shift position frequently. His blood was up now and the autumn day was suddenly like a summer’s day in Greece. Several times he had to adjust his collar.
He knew his control was shot and found himself staring moronically at the perfect features and the slightly impudent suggestive look on her face. He was past the point where he could dictate his moves and as she leaned her face towards his, every fibre of his being screamed for that blessed release. Their lips met, his trembling, hers firm but yielding and almost without his knowing, they were sharing the most intimate embraces in her soft and scented bed.
Thirty blissful minutes later, Sam was putting his uniform back on while staring adoringly at the object of his affections. She accompanied him to the door and pecked him on the cheek while he looked around bashfully.
Pulling him to her, she whispered gently. “It’s shepherd’s pie tonight honey, don’t be late home.”
Sam was 28, an athletic type with a good body, if a little short, but with attractive features and eyes that seemed to melt most hearts. Six months ago he had married a girl who had completely bowled him over. They had met on a yacht cruise round the Greek islands as part of a singles holiday. It was the sort of thing he thought he would never need to do but the previous five years had been spent in conducting several rather unsuccessful relationships. Each one of them he had met in his local area, Chilford.
He had pondered long and hard as to why they had all failed so completely. It would begin very well and he had always been very attentive to his partner’s needs. In fact, each one had always indicated that they were satisfied with the state of affairs. No, it was he who had always brought the affair to an end, he knew that now.
There had always been something missing. That vital spark, that certain something was just not there. As a result, he would become less attentive and begin to withdraw into himself. He had never had problems with relationships in his younger days because, although they never lasted longer than a few months, they were never meant to. He had matured, however, in recent years and wanted to settle down but until now, his attempts had all come to nothing. Now it was different. She was not a local girl and had a sense of adventure which appealed to him greatly. Yes, the yoke was firmly around his neck and he didn’t resent it one bit.
His job as a postman was always a solitary one, but Sam didn’t mind that. In fact, for much of the time he relished it. There was no-one to watch him or criticize him and for much of his working shift, he could believe he was his own boss, free to discharge his burden how he saw fit. He could deliver the letters slowly and deliberately with an air of efficiency or he could be the hard pressed worker with so much to do and so little time to do it in. In any case, like now, he could let his mind wander at will, free from domestic worries and yet not oppressed by his duties.
Just at that moment however, his mind turned to Mrs Jennings as he approached her letterbox. Christine Jennings, whose beautifully manicured portico was now only a few doors away, was good-looking and shapely and he would often see her at the edge of the net curtains looking along the street. Sometimes her gaze would fall on him and when it did, those dark green, strong eyes would start the butterflies in his stomach fluttering gently. It was always exciting, wondering whether or not she would notice him and those times when she did, that excitement took on a more earthy rhythm, taking his thoughts in quite a different direction and ruining his composure for the rest of his shift. He recalled with pleasure that, not just on one occasion, the door had opened to accept the mail from his hands. On each occasion, those fine lightly tanned fingers would brush against his own and he felt those dark eyes watching him as carried on down the road. Over a period of several months, it had become something to look forward to, and was always an exciting distraction in his daily routine.
With each delivery, his anticipation was growing, causing that inevitable tightness in his chest and an increase in his heartbeat. There was just one door to go now before hers and yes, he saw the curtains move. As he walked down next door’s path, it was all he could manage not to turn round and look at her window. Today seemed worse than usual, with the dryness in his throat, his heart starting to pound quite rapidly and the anticipation growing with each second. As he lifted the latch on her gate, his impulse was to hurry to the door, but he knew he should be calm. The consequence of this inner battle was a pronounced stiffness in his step.
As he approached the front door, what he had secretly hoped for happened and the door began to open. As she was revealed by the slowly opening door, his laboured breathing was arrested completely. She was still wearing her nightdress. It was made of a fine material, sleek and glossy in a soft shade of old ivory. Thin straps stayed miraculously on her slender shoulders and the soft tones of her skin seemed to blend with the colour of the material. Taking this in within a split second, he also noticed that the length of her garment was such that it finished seductively but not cheaply several inches above her knees. Propriety was attended to by the thin dressing gown which framed her figure nicely and if anything, added to her allure.
Sam got to the open door and began instinctively to stretch out his hand. Only when it was nearly touching hers did he realize that in his ferment, he had not taken out her mail from the bag, which now swung awkwardly from his shoulder. He went to search for the forgotten post but was arrested by the pose she now adopted, one knee slightly bent and her hand supporting her against the door jamb. This had the effect of loosening his hold on the small bundle of letters, causing him to spill them on the doorstep.
Unable to speak, he bent down hastily to retrieve them, only to find that his eyes were now within inches of those beautifully positioned limbs. Automatically, his eyes began to wander as the blood beat in his temples and his lungs began to breathe shallow and fast. Suddenly she was down with him, helping him, a half smile on her lips and her eyes still holding his. She spoke now.
“Are you feeling OK, Mr Postman ?” she asked playfully.
“Mm” he replied, searching for a better line.
“Perhaps you need a cup of tea or coffee….or something”. Her smile was now more pronounced and suggestion lurked dangerously within her voice.
“Oh… well … er.. yes …that would be nice.” His composure gone, the words just fell from his mouth. He was not being very articulate.
She moved aside and said, “Well, you’d better come in, unless you want to drink it here on the step.”
“Right, yes, of course. Wel,l just for a few minutes then.” All the time, his excitement was growing within him.
She led him down the passageway to the kitchen where she gestured to a chair. As he sat down, his bag caught the edge of the table and rucked up awkwardly in front of him. He tried quickly to remove it from the table before she saw him making a complete idiot of himself. Too late.
“Let me help you with that,” she said kindly, but still with that playfulness in her voice. He was still caught fast as she gently lifted the strap over his head. Her skin smelt clean and fresh with a hint of some kind of fragrant oil. Lavender perhaps? Noticing his discomfort, she laid her hand on his shoulder.
“It’s such a small kitchen,” she said to cover his embarrassment, “but I like it.”
Her touch was light, but in his super-sensitive state, it seemed to burn like a fire. It was almost too much to bear but when she removed it, he immediately craved its return.
It took her several minutes to prepare the drinks, during which time he was able to get himself together. The kitchen was indeed small, but then so was the house. It was a first-time buyer’s house but in a reasonably good neighbourhood. Although small, the kitchen was nicely equipped and well decorated. Obviously done by somebody who knew what they were doing, he mused.
Mrs Jennings finally put the two steaming mugs of coffee and a saucer of biscuits on the table and sat across from him, her eyes once again making firm contact with his. Her stare was so intense that it became almost uncomfortable to look at her, but still he could not divert his gaze. She was more lovely than she had ever been. That playful smile constantly moved around her lips and a wisp of her chestnut hair lay perfectly across the top of her eye.
For several minutes, they talked about inconsequential things and his discomfort began to leave him, being replaced with equal amounts of confidence. He warmed to her chatter and wallowed in the honey tones of her voice. The mood gradually changed, and inconsequential subjects moved on to more dangerous topics. All too soon, they were exchanging intimacies of quite a personal nature and he could feel the fire burning bright now, making him shift position frequently. His blood was up now and the autumn day was suddenly like a summer’s day in Greece. Several times he had to adjust his collar.
He knew his control was shot and found himself staring moronically at the perfect features and the slightly impudent suggestive look on her face. He was past the point where he could dictate his moves and as she leaned her face towards his, every fibre of his being screamed for that blessed release. Their lips met, his trembling, hers firm but yielding and almost without his knowing, they were sharing the most intimate embraces in her soft and scented bed.
Thirty blissful minutes later, Sam was putting his uniform back on while staring adoringly at the object of his affections. She accompanied him to the door and pecked him on the cheek while he looked around bashfully.
Pulling him to her, she whispered gently. “It’s shepherd’s pie tonight honey, don’t be late home.”