Two days had passed since John had jerked off in front of his older, sexy mail carrier. Like any sexually frustrated 18 year-old, he had been obsessing about the event, and the woman, ever since. But he had just missed her the day after it happened, and now John was anxiously waiting for Molly to show up walking across his lawn.
John--enjoying a week alone after his parents and sisters left for a trip--had been carelessly masturbating in the front room of his house to a porn mag when Molly the mail carrier had walked by, saw him, and stayed until he finished. It was a brutally-hot turn on for John, a shy nobody in high school who'd never had so much as a girlfriend. He was able to display his generous endowment without the fear of having to actually perform with it, and all to Molly's enjoyment.
Molly had left without a word or a signal that something even remotely that fascinating would ever happen again, but John couldn't see how she could just pretend everything was normal. He certainly couldn't. Still, at this point John wasn't concerned so much with what Molly might do on her next route, but whether she would do anything interesting at all. Besides that, time was precious. John had the house to himself while his family was away for a week. But they would return in four days, and then John wouldn't have the place to himself when Molly came with the mail. He needed this urgently. Whatever "this" would turn out to be.
John had a body perfectly designed to avoid being noticed. He was neither tall not short, a little on the thin side, and not ugly but not particularly handsome. Just a normal guy. Too normal. He led a boring life, and depended on porn to get him through the long nights.
Molly, on the other hand, was a knockout. She wouldn't be offered any Victoria's Secret modeling jobs, but John doubted a man could look at her and not wonder how great she would look naked, and how fun she would be in bed. John guessed her to be 35, 40, and she carried the extra wear and pounds typically associated with that age. But she wore the weight exceptionally well, having used it to develop a terrific form with slender and muscular legs, a full but not too full ass, and a chest that always seemed to stretch her uniform to its limits. She had blonde hair framed around dark sunglasses, of which John had never seen her without.
He had also rarely seen her without shorts on, even on cold days like today, which is why his heart sank when he saw a figure in a postal uniform across the street wearing pants, a puffy winter coat, and even a cap. It was hard to see details at this distance, especially as the figure walked through a shadow, but they definitely didn't have long hair. It actually looked like man.
John turned red at the thought that Molly had called out sick or maybe even changed her whole route because of him. Sure, it could have been her day off, but was he lucky enough for such a coincidence? Whatever the reason, it was definitely not her across the street. If she was afraid, revolted, or offended by him, John worried about whether the replacement knew why Molly was avoiding the route. Would all his neighborhood's succeeding mail carriers suspiciously eye his house for years to come? Would the government send him a letter accusing him of sexual harassment or public indecency?
He was frozen in fear, just waiting for the new carrier to walk by and hopefully give some indication about what was going on. He didn't expect to exchange words with them, but maybe something would give it away—like if the carrier's eyes lingered on the front window where John had cum, thinking "so THAT'S the spot".
It was a long four or five minutes before the carrier's footsteps could be heard on the pavement outside the front door, where the mailbox was. John had decided to hide here, up against the door, because there would be no way for someone to look in the front windows and see him there. Plus, he would know precisely when it was okay to come from hiding.
He heard the mailbox open, but to his alarm, he then heard the screen door open! The doorbell rang, seemingly as loud and ominous as any lone church bell in a quiet town. He didn't move or even breathe. There was some shuffling on the other side of the door. He could actually feel someone as they moved or leaned or brushed up against the other side of it, and then came three hard, sharp knocks just two feet above his head.
John tried to think rationally. If the cops were after him for what he'd done—and what, really, had he done? It was an accident, and she didn't have to stay and watch—they wouldn't send the mailman. They'd send other cops. Still, it could be a friend of Molly's, a coworker who she'd shared her story with and now wanted to put John in his place, wherever that was. He decided that no matter how long or hard this person knocked, he wasn't opening the door or moving from that spot.
"I know you're home," came the whispered voice. It was the soft, melodious voice of a woman. It was Molly's voice, John knew, though he couldn't remember if he'd ever heard her talk before, or figure out why he was so one hundred percent sure it was her.
He stood up, opened the door, still nervous as hell, but figuring Molly meant little to no harm. It was still hard facing her, what with the nature of their sudden relationship, but he was so relieved it wasn't her coworker delivering a threat.
"Hi," he spoke so softly there was no way she could've heard him, but she returned the greeting as if she had.
"Hey, how are you doing today?"
John eyed her carefully, trying to pick up from her expression anything she might have been leaving. She looked different, but that was because of the cold, which John had barely had time to notice. There was actually light flakes of snow falling, which accounted for Molly wearing pants instead of shorts, and the puffy winter postal jacket, which did well to conceal her chest. The hat she wore didn't do much for the cold, so he found it odd she wore it, since she never had before, but it did explain the assumed disappearance of her hair, which was tucked up beneath.
She was still beautiful, though, and still wore those dark sunglasses. Her lips were especially bright today, coated with a deep red, glossy lipstick. He remembered them when they kissed the glass where he'd cum the other day, and felt his dick twitch.
"I'm okay," John responded, hoping his lingering eyes weren't too obvious.
She held up a plain box with an address label but no return address or other identifying marks. It was roughly one foot square, and from the way Molly held it, not particularly heavy. The cardboard looked old, as if the box had been mailed a few times before. His name was listed as the recipient, though he wasn't expecting anything. Maybe his parents had sent him something.
"This wouldn't fit in the mailbox," Molly explained, smiling big. "It doesn't say 'fragile', but it's pretty lightweight, and I didn't want to leave it out in this cold if it was something delicate."
"Oh. Ok." John felt like such an idiot, but it was all he could stammer. At least she wasn't trying to talk to him about the other day, tell him it was something only adults should do, and that he should seek counseling...
He reached out to take the box, but she held it firmly in her hands.
"Um, actually," she said in that sweet, friendly voice, "could you just take a look at the address and make sure it's really yours?"
