I'm Dating Our Mailgirl

This story is a continuation of I'm Dating Our Mailgirl. The 1st 2 chapters of that story should be read first for context. All characters are 18 or older and are completely fictitious as is Seahawk Industries. Any resemblance to anyone living or dead is purely coincidental and unintentional.

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THE SISTERHOOD SOLIDARITY

I brought 9's glam dress to the warehouse after work on Friday. I walked into the central room and I didn't see 9. I did see 6 cowering in a corner weeping quietly. "What's wrong with her?" I asked 8 who was the first girl I ran into.

"She's been like that since Monday night."

"Aren't you worried about her?"

"She does her job. Then she comes home and stays like that most of the night. Sometimes she comes to bed; some nights she just stays like that all night long."

"What happened to your hair?" Her head wasn't completely shaved, but it had been shorn into a flat top style. I noticed her eyebrows were shaved. "Is this the new fashion statement?"

"Evelyn and I did this in support of Nicole. We want to show solidarity with her and support her."

I was taken aback by the names. "Evelyn, Nicole?"

"Oh, 10 and 6 to you."

"I just never realized you all had names. I thought you all went by your numbers."

"No, we all have names. 9 just refused to use hers. 2 started out as Patricia and 11 used to be, what was it, Sharon, Lisa? Isn't that right? 9 won them over during the first week we were here and, of course, we respect their choice, 2 and 11, and of course 9."

I was getting dizzy. I think I need a program."

"Just call us by our numbers. That's the degrading state of anonymity Seahawk has force us into. It has a certain poetic justice about it."

"Well, I must admit, your new hair style is very attractive on you."

"Thank you. 9 has only shaved her eyebrows, but she is considering shaving her head completely." I was taken aback that she would consider making such a drastic change without even consulting me. She knows that I am infatuated with her strawberry blonde hair and that is what first attracted me to her.

9 came in. I handed her the dress and I told her, "I thought we would go clubbing."

"Great, let me put this on." Of course she had no problem shedding the jeans and tank top she was wearing.

The dress was a greenish gray satin dress with sequence and beads. The hem barely covered her ass.

"How do I look?" 4 and 10 answered before I had a chance to.

"Oh, wow, you look great. You're going to be the belle of the ball. There won't be a woman there who won't be hitting on you."

I asked, "Why do you say that all the women will be hitting on her?"

"Well, when you two walk in together, it's going to be pretty obvious she bats from that side of the plate."

"How can you tell she's not a switch hitter?"

I don't know why I was bothered by this conversation. Maybe it was just the complete realization that we were becoming the sapphic couple of the year. Maybe I should just relax and revel in the fact that this beautiful woman was my lover.

When we got into my car, I asked 9, "What's with the eyebrows?"

"8 and 10 and I decided to do this in sympathy with 6."

"Sympathy? The woman voluntarily shaved her head and eyebrows."

"She was driven to a psychotic break by the company. Didn't you see her cowering in the corner of the room?"

"Of course I did. Look, a shaved eyebrow isn't much of a symbolic gesture," I looked at her deadly seriously, "but don't you dare touch your hair. I love your hair."

"You love me, or you love my hair?"

"I love you . . . .with your hair."

I drove in silence. Finally 9 asked, "Are we going to Club 869 or Blush & Blu? I want to sing karaoke at the Blu."

"What do you mean?"

She started quietly singing to herself, "And don't tell me what to do

Don't tell me what to say

And please, when I go out with you

Don't put me on display 'cause

I don't tell you what to say

I don't tell you what to do

So just let me be myself

That's all I ask of you."

"Alright, you've made your point." I drove to the Blu. As we came in, Liz greeted us.

"You're back! I'm glad to see you."

9 asserted herself, "Can we sign up for karaoke?"

"Of course, it wouldn't be the same without you two."

9 asked Liz, "Can you dust off that old Leslie Gore song, 'You don't own me'?"

"Ooooh, we're not having a lovers' spat, are we?"

I answered for us. "No, not at all. We just need to smooth our some rough spots." I smiled at 9 and kissed her warmly, but not passionately. She responded in kind.

"Just grab a table, I'll send Joyce over to get your order."

As we walked in, I spotted Rose Anderson. I led 9 by the hand, "Come over here with me. I want to say hello to Rose."

Rose pointedly kept her back to us. I know she saw us coming toward her.

"Rose?" No reaction, "Miss Anderson?" She slowly swung around to me. She was with a very attractive woman her age. Both were dressed in jeans and a blouse. "I, uh, I was very rude to you the other night. I want to apologize. Would you and your friend let us join us?"

"Your apology is accepted." She looked 9 over up and down. "But I don't socialize with mailgirls." Wow, any though that I had done something wrong quickly dissipated.

9 said, "I'll leave. You two can talk. Just joint me when you get through. I'll be at a table over in the corner."

"Rose, you're making this very hard. That was so rude." The waitress came over.

"What would you like to drink, Monica? You're 1st drink is on me. And maybe a few more."

"I'll have a gin and bitter lemon. And please start a tab for me and 9 and bring her a Dos Equis." I addressed Rose, "9 is a human being. She is my companion. Please respect that."

"I admire your spunk, Monica. I'll tell you what. Joyce Parker has just appointed me as chairperson of Seahawk's Gay Pride Week committee. Since you are such a crusaded and advocate for the downtrodden, I'll overlook the fact you are involved with a mailgirl and invite you to be a member of our committee. I think you can bring a fresh perspective."

I wanted to slap her. She was so rude and arrogant, but I remembered what 9 had told me about being rude to Rose last week. I put on my best smile and nearly choked on the words and I said, "I'll be delighted to serve on the committee. I'm looking forward to working with you." The waitress brought my drink. I started gulping it down.

"I'll send you an email with details."

"If you don't mind, I'd like to get back to 9. If that is alright?" Damn, why did I have to add that last catty remark?

She looked me over. "Sure. I'm glad you came over. And, oh, that invitation to join me in my office to test out my, uh, tool, is still open."

9 and I danced until karaoke started. Again, we were very well received. We did "You Don't Own Me." 9's gestures were outstanding, she really seemed to be trying to teach me a lesson, at least in the song. but I could tell by her caressing me, kissing me, and smiling, she wasn't trying to send me a message any more. Or at least she felt her point had been made.

When we went back to out table, Rose came over. "Come on, Monica, I want a piece of you on the dance floor." I wasn't anxious to leave 9 nor to dance with Rose. But 9 was giving me some strong non-verbal signals that indicated I should dance with her and that 9 didn't mind. Rose kissed me at the end of the dance. I did not return her affection.

We left around midnight. When we got back to my apartment, I said "I want to undress you. And I want you to undress me." We each did so. We made love and I remained naked the whole night.

The next morning, I told 9 my Southern heritage was rearing its head and I wanted scrambled eggs, sausage, grits and biscuits and gravy. We went to The Cracker Barrel. I don't think the denizens of this bastion of middle America even suspected that we were lesbians until 9 kept insisting on holding my hand and kissing it. Fortunately, we were on opposite sides of the table so she couldn't kiss me. I say "fortunate" for the sake of the crowd there not having to be exposed to a couple of lesbians displaying some serious PDA, not for my sake. I wish we could have kissed.

The rest of the weekend was uneventful really. There was the usual love making, and idle talk.

"Halloween is coming up a week from Thursday. You're not going to have to work late that night, are you?"

"I won't know until next weekend. But I think I can have it covered."

"Can you take off Friday? It's probably going to be a very late night."

"Monica, I'm a mailgirl. We don't have sick days. We're not allowed to be sick."

"Well, what if you can't report to work?"

"I'll get 10 demerits. That will probably guarantee that I have perpetual 42nd floor duty through Christmas. I may also have to work a few Saturdays, which will really put a damper on our weekends. Hey, don't worry about me. I'll probably just pop a couple of extra uppers and I'll make it through the day. But I'll have you the whole weekend."

I just quietly accepted her "plan".

Sunday evening, during another lull in our conversations, I don't know why I did it, but I asked 9, "Do you know a girl named Olivia in Accounts Payable?"

"Yea, sure. Kinda got a little Linda Ronstadt thing going, short black hair, pretty round face, maybe needs to lose 5 pounds or so. What about her?"

It suddenly dawned on me, 9 was a walking building directory. She covered 10 floors, every department and probably interacted with, oh I don't know, 80% of the employees of Seahawk.

"She saw me eating my scone and drinking my coffee Thursday morning and came up to me and started a conversation."

"That little slut. So did she ask you out?"

"No, no, it was nothing like that." I remembered how she kept trying to characterize our rendezvous Monday after work as a "date".

"Don't kid yourself. She has hinges on her heels so she can lower herself into position to get her cunt eaten out."

"She had a lot of good information. About me. What people are saying about me."

"You never listen to office gossip. You don't care what people say about you."

"Yes, but I think I need to listen to what she has to say." There was a long pause. "She wants to meet with me after work Monday."

"She wants you to eat her box. Where are you taking her?"

"I'm not taking her anywhere. We are meeting at the Loading Dock."

"I thought that was our special place."

"It's a friendly bar where a lot of Seahawk workers meet after work."

"Don't meet her there." She didn't say it as if it were a suggestion or a request. Rather it was an imperative.

"Alright, that's the least I can do for you. "I think I need to listen to what she has to say."

"Whatever."

"You don't mind?"

"Do whatever you want to do."

"I don't want you to think I'm being disloyal to you,"

"Are you being disloyal to me?"

"No, no. Of course not."

We made love several times during the course of the rest of the weekend, but the sessions were not nearly as intense and they had been before. I drove 9 back to the warehouse Sunday evening. I told her I wanted to take her to a quiet restaurant on Wednesday. I would pick her up at the warehouse and I would bring her her nice jeans and blouse and her strapped sandals.

MY NOT-A-DATE WITH OLIVIA

I hadn't gotten any personal information from Olivia. I thought that was a positive for me. I didn't even know her last name. When I got to my office, I searched the office email directory. I went to accounts payable, there she was, Olivia Wallace. I sent her an email requesting we meet at the Brew House. It was two blocks from the Seahawk building, but in the opposite direction from the Loading Dock. And I wouldn't have to walk past the warehouse.

Olivia was waiting at a table when I came in. She had obviously gone to a great deal of trouble to make herself look attractive. She greeted me, "Thank you for meeting with me."

"I should be thanking you. You said you have some information concerning me."

Olivia continued, "I have a bit of a reputation for being an office gossip. I hear a lot of things, people actually bring me information."

I prompted her to continue, "I'm listening."

"You have a lot of enemies in the company."

"What?" I was floored.

"While a few of us admire you for being so open about your sexuality, some others resent it."

"The fact I'm dating a woman?"

"No. the fact that you are dating a mailgirl. You're the Rosa Parks of Seahawk. I really admire your free spirit and your flaunting convention; but others are made uncomfortable by it."

"Who are these enemies?" I asked.

"The two main ones you have to worry about are Bill Nelson and Joyce Parker." Bill is my immediate supervisor. I certainly didn't want him for an enemy. And while I had little contact with Ms. Parker, well, being on the bad side of the main office HR head couldn't be a good thing.

"What should I do about it? Should I stop dating 9?"

"I can't tell you what to do. I've got a selfish motive in seeing you break up with 9."

"And what would that be?" I inquired.

"I'd like to start dating you." With that she grabbed my hand and gently caressed it.

"That's not going to happen."

"Are you prepared for the consequences if you don't turn things around at work?"

"What kind of consequences?"

"I'm sorry. I've already said too much. Just, just . . .watch your backside."

I felt like I had just come from a visit to some soothsayer or some oracle. We drank our drinks in silence.

"Listen, Monica, they're having a wild Halloween party at a club I hang out at. I'd love for you to be my date for that party."

"Olivia, you know I'm going to be spending Halloween with 9. I'm sorry, I won't be able to make it."

"So you're going to continue to see her?"

I didn't know how to respond. "Of course I am."

"Despite the consequences?"

"What consequences?" I was really getting agitated and I let her know it. "You come in her like Cindy Adams spreading rumors and getting me all upset, but you really haven't said anything. I'll just take my chances. I'm not going to give up 9."

"I admire your loyalty. Maybe some day you'll be as loyal to me."

I paid the whole tab. She protested, but I didn't want to be indebted to her in any way. "Thanks for meeting with me," I said without any real conviction that I did appreciate it. We went our separate ways.

I was agitated all the way as I drove home. I kept running the things she said through my mind. Maybe she's just a trouble maker who is only interested in breaking 9 and me up. I can't let what she said, not that she really said anything, become a self-fulfilling prophecy.

A QUIET MEAL

Wednesday, I picked 9 up at the warehouse at 8:15. She changed into her pants and blouse and we left for a casual restaurant. We drove and 9 told me about some things that had happened to her the first 3 days of the week. Funny how when we first started dating nothing ever happened to her at work. As she initially described it, "I just go to work, take off all my clothes, shower, shave and make my deliveries. I eat my gruel for lunch, make more deliveries, go home and go to sleep to recover. Then I do the same thing the next day." Now there were some interesting things happening at work that she wanted to talk about.

I told her on Tuesday I got into the elevator to go up to the 28th floor. On the next floor after I got in, 12 got into the elevator and hit the 35th floor button. I didn't say anything but I was puzzled since Seahawk didn't occupy the 35th floor; and mailgirls were only allowed to use the stairwell. I asked 9 about it.

"They have increased our delivery zone to include the 34th through the 36th floor. That's the law firm that does most of our legal business and they have subcontracted with Seahawk to have us provide delivery service to them. Even Seahawk Industries realized it would be inefficient and burdensome if we had to take the stairs up there, so for deliveries to and from there we can take the elevator. Ms. Parker has hired two more mailgirls and they start next Monday."

I carefully weighed what I said next. I knew I would be walking on egg shells and I ran the risk of upsetting 9 and starting a fight "Oh, I may have to come to the fishbowl Monday morning to see the new girls." Quiet. Good, no explosion. And just to make that news a little more palatable I added. "I can drive you to work Monday morning so I can make it to the show."

We were stopped at a stop light. 9 leaned over and kissed me affectionately. Good, crisis averted. 9 seemed to be a lot mellower. Maybe her meds were working.

When we were seated at the restaurant and after the waitress took our order, 9 asked. "So, how was your big date with Olivia?"

"Please, it was not a date. The woman is really annoying. You were right about that. But she really is plugged into the Seahawk grapevine. I don't think there's a tidbit of gossip she doesn't know about."

9 looked at me and said, "Oh, you two are just alike then." I knew she was being facetious. She knows very well I abhor office gossip and I never partake in it."

I took her hand, caressed it, and turned her joke right back on her. "Maybe opposites attract. Or maybe we can compliment each other." 9 smiled. Good she took my joke in the nature it was intended.

9 asked, "So when are you going to see her again?"

"Please."

"You said you thought she was attractive. 'Kinda got a little Linda Ronstadt thing going, short black hair, pretty, round face, maybe needs to lose 5 pounds or so.'"

"You are the one who described her that way, not me. I thought she had a little Rosie O'Donnell thing going."

9 kept it up, "I thought you two couldn't wait to make it to Blush & Blu's for karaoke night. You know, maybe a little 'I've been cheated, been mistreated

When will I be loved

I've been put down, I've been pushed 'round

When will I be loved, I've been made blue, I've been lied to

When will I be loved'"

I laughed out loud to signal to 9 I knew she was trying to push my buttons and I appreciated her attempt at humor, this from a woman who until they put her on fluoxetine had no sense of humor.

We had a nice meal and we agreed I would pick her up from the warehouse Friday after work. We would spend the entire weekend together.

NOT EVERYONE ACCEPTS US

Friday after work, I went into the warehouse carrying 9's glam outfit. She changed, but she displayed some unusual modesty by keeping her back to me. We got into my car and I asked her where she wanted to go. She said since I had brought her partying outfit, she wanted to go to a club. I asked if she wanted to go to Club 869 or Blush & Blu. She said she had overheard people talking about The Triangle which has a good mix of lesbians and straights with great food. I don't know why, but that simple remark made me so sad. This poor woman has to rely on overheard conversations at work to get recommendations on restaurants. And she can't even participate in the conversation to ask some questions.

We walked in and she saw three girls that she had overheard talking about the place. As a mailgirl, she was reluctant to go over to them and strike up a conversation. I didn't know them, I may have seen them in the lobby area or cafeteria, but that's all. I asked if she was alright with my taking the lead in talking to them. She reluctantly agreed.

I went over and said, "Hey, I recognize you from Seahawk. I'm Monica Ross and this is my girlfriend 9." Not that they couldn't see her "name" on her arm and the top of it on her ample bosom and the curved hook on the bottom sticking out on her ass. They pointedly quietly acknowledged me, but completely ignored 9. All attempts to strike up a conversation were completely rebuffed. "Do you come here ofter? How's the food? Are there any special nights here?"