I've often acknowledged by gratitude to Seahawk76 for providing many pleasurable hours of erotic reading. By his own statement, he has a subtle approach and shuns balls-to-the-walls fucking and sucking. He has an intelligent approach to erotica which personally I find quite enjoyable. His Reluctant Exhibitionist and Allison's Inheritance inspired me to write my first submission, The Reunion, which mainly featured a naked-in-public story line. Then he came back with my first introduction to the Mailgirl genre. This inspired me to write my own mailgirl story. In tribute to Seahawk76, and with his permission, the company that is implementing the mailgirl program is Seahawk Industries. I believe the premise of the genre should be apparent in my story if you aren't familiar with it. But the "history" of the mailgirl phenomenon can be explored by reading his Confessions of a Mailgirl. Thanks, Seahawk76.
This is a work of fiction. All characters are at least 18 years of age. No resemblance to any actual person or company is intended.
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THE ANNOUNCEMENT
After 18 years of formal education, 21 if you want to count pre-kindergarten and kindergarten, I finally got my first big girl real job. I had an MBA from a Southern land grant college, not your prestigious Ivy League school or Stanford, but I was proud of my achievement. I landed a job at Seahawk Industries in their corporate finance and acquisitions department and moved west.
I had been there 3 months when we all received an email blast for all employees who worked in the corporate headquarters. It announced that next Monday the company would be implementing a mailgirl program. The description in the body of the email was short and to the point. "The radical concept of having naked women deliver all corporate mail deliveries in the main office originated in Japan. The concept has now been tested and extensive research found that the belief that such a program would be disruptive, and counter productive was not true. Research by Industrial Psychologist Caitlyn Ohara, PsyD, and Industrial Engineer Gregory Kelly, BSE, ISE showed the counterinturtive opposite. Businesses that implemented mailgirl programs found productivity actually improved, sick calls went down, the retention of male employees improved, and workers were often willing to work longer hours. Seeing beautiful nude women during the workday turned out to be more stimulating to many employees."
A 40-page attachment contained an article by Ohara and Kelly jointly published in the Journal of Industrial Psychology and The Industrial Engineering Journal. I found myself drawn to the article, perhaps it was 4 years of undergraduate research and two more years of research working for her MBA, but I opened the article. I couldn't believe what I was reading. I was appalled that these mailgirls would willingly subject themselves to the humiliation of walking around, no running around all day completely naked. I'm not a crusader by nature. I never participated in political rallies, pro-abortion rallies, or even pro-life rallies which did nothing for me. Women's Lib? That's so 80's, and I certainly wasn't going to take a public stand on gay rights.
I couldn't believe I read the whole article. . .twice. The article was profusely illustrated. All of them were abhorrent and completely offensive. I though about it all weekend and decided this wasn't the hill on which I was going to die. I figured the women were all pole-dancers, prostitutes or potheads. I would just show up at work on Monday and mind my own business as I always do. No idle chit-chat at the water cooler, but I never engage in such office gossip anyway. Believe it or not, despite my scholastic achievement I really am an introvert who was known to keep to herself.
THE ORIENTATION
The Monday morning email blast announced that the mailgirls were to take part in a 5 hour orientation from 7:00 AM until noon. They were to take a 30-minute lunch and then they would tour the building, or at least the 10 floors Seahawk Industries occupies between the 21st and 30th story of the 42-story building of which we were the name tenant. Sure enought, at around 2:30 12 completely naked women emerged from the stairwell. They were led in by Joyce Parker. She is the head of home office human resources. On paper, she is the main HR person in the corporate headquarters but theoretically she does report to the head of corporate HR, the COO and of course the CEO and chairman of the board. I would guess she is pushing her 50's. I wouldn't describe her as attractive, I hate to sound like an ageist but she IS almost 50. She actually is quite slender and looks like the stereotype you would conjure up if you tried to imagine the Chairman of the local Fine Arts council.
She rushed the girls into the mail collecting and sorting area. The women were all quite attractive, well, 10 of them where "quite" attractive. The other two were a bit plain but certainly not unattractive. They were all naked and had individual numbers on their bodies. There was an 8-in number on the left buttocks, a 6-in number on the right upper arm and a 4-in number on the left breast. At first, I thought the numbers were applied with a marker, but I later learned they were made of a plastic attached with the strongest adhesive ever used on the human body. The numbers were black except for 7, an ebony skinned beauty with a short afro. I guess in deference to her skin color, her numbers were white to provide a contrast and be easily read. Another girl, 3, was a beautiful caramel or mocha-skinned woman whose skin was light enough that she didn't need the contrasting white colored numbers.
I didn't want to stare, but I was drawn to the sight much as people are drawn to watching a train wreck. As I made that analogy, I wondered if that is what would come of the great Seahawk Industries experiment. I must admit, I was struck by No. 9, a strawberry blond beauty. I must make a confession, I don't go around looking at women's pubic regions, but I couldn't help noticing this woman had strawberry blond pubic hair. I thought to myself, "Well, at least the carpet matches the drapes." Believe me, I don't go around noticing women's, or even men's for that matter, pubic hair, but her hair appeared to be as smooth as any pubic hair I had ever seen. It wasn't kinky or frizzy as most of the hair I have ever noticed has been. Her pubic hair could have been used in a hair conditioner ad, at least it appeared that way.
After about 20 minutes Ms. Parker led the women back to the stairwell.
Starting Tuesday we usually had three or four mailgirls make deliveries or pickups on our floor. Since they were assigned randomly, you could figure on any particular mailgirl coming to our floor maybe every third of fourth day. Sure enough, on Friday 9 came for a pick up. I noticed her hair was worn in a ponytail and her pussy was shaved. I missed her smooth hair, but I guess I need to confess I was glad to get a clearer view of her pussy lips. Alright, here we go. I'm not a lesbian. I've never had any urges in that direction. Sure I participated in the obligatory junior high coming of age girls sleepover where we all "practiced" kissing just so we could be good when we finally started kissing boys. I didn't necessarily like it; I guess I viewed it as necessary just like learning the multiplication tables. Even when one of the girls "copped a feel" of my breast which was starting to blossom into young womanhood, I didn't like it although I didn't protest. Through college and graduate school, I never had any opportunity to engage in lesbian sex and I didn't seek it out and I didn't regret the absence.
But there was something about seeing 9 run around completely naked, with her stunning beauty. Everytime I saw her I was getting a estrogen rush and I was experiencing a completely out of character desire to . . .I don't know what. . .make love to her? No, that's ridiculous but there was definitely a sexual arousal there.
The next week when she was routed to our floor, I came out of my office and smiled at her. "Hi, I'm Monica Ross. What's your name?" She looked at me as if I had two heads.
"Nine. Can't you see", as she jabbed the bold black 9 on her arm.
"Yea I know, but what's your name?"
"I'm nine; that's all."
"But you've got to have a real name."
"We aren't allowed to talk to anyone, unless it's work related." She pointed to her Mailgirl Monitoring Unit, MMU for short, These summoned mailgirls from job to job. These were smartphones encased in black elastic around their biceps . She barely whispered, "There's a microphone in here." Then she just mouthed the words, "You'll get me in trouble." I backed off and went back to work.
She was back 3 days later. I smiled and waved at her, but got no reaction. She had that sad, morose look on her face. Finally, two weeks later when she was making one of her routine trips to our department, I smiled and detected a very faint smile in return. The next time she showed up, I smiled again and waved to her. Her smile was just a bit more evident.
WAITING FOR THE CALL
I felt I was getting through to her and decided to take the bull by the horns. On her next delivery, 2 days later, I handed her a post it note on which I had written, "Monica Ross, with my telephone number and call me." I was gratified to see that she did not throw the note into the trash can. But what she did completely floored me.
