Author's Note: Postal Pleasures is an unusual Romance. It is about a divorced man, Michael, who was wronged by his ex-wife. He has moved on, or so he thought, and he was trying to get back to his center. It is about a beautiful, widow, Mary, living in the past, and denying herself all that life has to offer. Mary doesn't like Michael at the beginning of the story, or so it seems. The sex may be minimal for some and slow at arriving. Some might not have like it for its lack of vicarious luridness.
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After twenty years of marriage, my wife left me for a man she met while attending nursing college. I was the breadwinner for all twenty, and she was the "bored," her words, stay at home wife for sixteen. That's ironic, because she quit her job, shortly after we were married. She was a college student for the last four. My married life ended like a damn soap opera! The day the heartless harlot received her diploma, as a registered nurse, at fifty years of age, was the day she served me with divorce papers at her college graduation party in front of friends and family.
The trollop moved out the next day to be with her Registered Nurse stud, in their upscale lovebird townhouse. He is handsome to a fault; like a petulant male model. Lance has a full head of hair, perfect teeth and he is twenty-five years younger than the adulteress. He showed up the day after I was served to help her get her clothes and other personal things.
My sister, Sarah, and my brother-in-law had to restrain me physically, so I didn't knock Lance's perfect teeth down his throat. Sarah and I are two years apart, and we are very close. I always looked out for her, and I taught her dirty and lethal tricks to defend herself. Heaven-help any man who messes with my sister, because they will deal with me, assuming there is something left to deal with after my brother-in-law finishes with him.
I was brought up to treat women with respect. My mother and grandmother were strong women, who married strong men and raised strong sons and daughters. I thought we had a stable and comfortable marriage. I tried to be considerate husband and open to her opinions and needs. I let the woman decorate our house the way she wanted it in flowery pastels and fashionable uncomfortable furniture, except for my wood-paneled den with my overstuffed chair and ottoman.
I paid for everything when she went to college. I paid for her plastic surgery and dental implants before she went to college. What a pile of dung! Look where being a considerate husband got me; it made me a cuckold and a chump. I didn't see it coming, as my focus was elsewhere. Those last four years of my marriage were blockbuster business years for me; our sexual relations-lovemaking was tepid at best. In retrospect, I should have seen it coming. The adulteress played me for a fool, while I was true to my marriage vows.
Granted, I'm not a handsome man in any sense of the word. I have a receding hairline, and I keep my graying hair clipped short and neat. My hands are rough and callused from heavy construction work. However, I'm in great shape for a man of fifty. At six-two, I weigh one hundred seventy, the same as when I graduated High School. I'm a direct man, and often brutally candid, circumstances allowing, but I'm honest, and I always keep my word. I gave the fornicatress certified Grade-A South Sea Island pearls, estate jewelry, from Metzenbaum Jewelers, on our third wedding anniversary. David Metzenbaum is one of the most honest men I know. She never wore them because they were "old and used." Her idea of jewelry is anything new made of gold and diamonds, ostentatious flash and garish bling. I discovered her further contempt for me when I found the necklace deliberately broken, and loose pearls scattered on our bedroom floor, on the day she moved out. There was also a note describing her sexual escapades with Lance in our marriage bed, plus a fresh urine stain, not smart, although my divorce attorney was delighted. I had the pearls cleaned and restrung, intending to sell them for a nice profit. I never got around to it though.
It was an acrimonious divorce. I hired an aggressive and ruthless woman attorney. My lawyer eviscerated the adulteress's attorney, the boyfriend's cousin. The harlot got half of the proceeds from the sale of our house and contents, except for the Bechstein Grand Piano. That was not negotiable, and she kept her jewelry.
In consideration of the fact that I paid for her education; in consideration for the income and pension she would have received from her job had we stayed married, the slattern signed off my retirement annuities and my business.
Do I sound bitter about my ex-wife? Hell yes, I was bitter! It would have been less painful had my ex-wife cut my healthy-beating heart from my chest with an Aztec sacrificial obsidian knife, and then to toss my body into an active volcano.
Two years after my divorce, I purchased a piece of property for taxes at the outskirts of town, One hundred acres with stands of hardwoods that included a modest two-story stone house and a stone barn. There is a spring fed pond on the property, emptying into a small creek, and an artesian well with sweet and cold water. I later discovered overgrown and potholed seasonal gravel road that ended at an abandoned gravel pit.
The structure and the foundations of both buildings were solid, and the most costly renovation was to the slate roof of the house. This required specialists in the building trade. I then brought the wiring and plumbing up to code. I painted the rooms in neutral, colors and purchased comfortable furniture. In time, I intended to put a concrete floor in the barn and a concrete driveway.
To celebrate being a single man again, I bought a motorcycle. It was a like new but used Red Harley Heritage Classic, and I visited some old haunts still open from my drinking and brawling days. The Black North, at Point Breeze, Lake Ontario was still open and was always my favorite.
I was wild for three years after high school, drinking, and partying in some rough bars and taverns. I worked for cash under the table at one as a bouncer-slash bartender. I eventually smartened up and joined the Army, where I put in my time and went to college on their dime. I'm not bragging, but let's say I can more than hold my own, and there are no rules in a street fight.
Having a gravel pit on the property provided me with a source of crushed stone for the driveway and barn floor. In late October, I drove down to the gravel pit on my iron horse to check things out. It was my last ride before I stored my Harley away for the winter. It rained the day before, and I noticed a series of tire tracks leading to a narrow overgrown gully on the north side.
I walked in and discovered six heavy-duty plastic trash bags full of canceled junk mail. I used my cell phone and photographed the contents of two random bags I pulled from the pile. There are serious consequences, for Postal Carriers who don't deliver all their mail.
The next day, I set up a surveillance of the road and gully with time elapse trail cameras to catch the person dumping the mail. I hoped it was my postal carrier because if it was, I had a proposition for her.
In mid-November, the cameras recorded her leaving another bag. I loaded the pictures to my laptop as evidence when I confronted her with my proposal. Before I confronted her, I called the security service I use when hiring potential employees. They provide credit histories, criminal records, and the like. Inquiries through the grapevine provided me with more information for her profile.
Mary Jones, my Postal Carrier was 42 years old, and a widow. She has outstanding credit, no debt, and her modest ranch house is mortgage free. Mary lived alone and didn't have a boyfriend. According to my grapevine sources, Mary is polite and reserved. She is a woman who will broach no nonsense. I can attest to polite and reserved from the brief conversations I had with her on my front porch.
Mary is five-seven with a willowy and curvy womanly figure. As near as I could tell through her loose uniform, she had beautifully formed round breasts and a tight, round, compact ass. Mary has red auburn hair that she hid underneath her uniform cap. It appeared to be braided, although I didn't know how long her braid was because of her ballcap. She has green eyes; a turned up nose and full, generous full lips, and a clear complexion many women would kill to have. She is a beautiful woman who plays down her natural good looks.
