Sitting with all the lamps off, the only light needed came through the closed window and open blind. Sitting back on her modest couch, in her modest home, she loosened her robe and waited. She knew when he would show up. Slowly closing her eyes, she imagined what he would look like. Having seen him so many times, it didn't take much of her imagination.
She liked men her junior, and loved the way he wore his early 30s. She was glad he carried the heavy leather satchel of mail on his right shoulder, giving her the better profile when he would ascend her steps in no particular hurry. She often dreamed of how she would like to have him strain above her, using the same strong rhythm on her, as he used to stroke her stairs.
With a picture of him in her mind, her eyes drew completely shut, as she allowed her robe to open. Wasting no time she quickly slid her arms out, and tossed the brave cotton to the side. The crude canvas couch, kissing her bare ass. Slouching, she began to run her guilty hands over creamed skin. Within moments, she peeled one of her hands off her thighs and took hold of her breast. Hoping she could last, she thought less of what might be outside, and seized on what was happening down between her legs. The thought of getting caught had started a fire. The thought of exposing her naked body always made her pussy hot.
He has thought about her every day on this route, since the first time he saw her. Saturday was his favorite day of the week, as seeing her was very common. Early on he had caught her walking through the front room with a robe slightly opened. Then there was the time he noticed her coming into the living room in shorts, still buttoning a bra less blouse. Reading on the couch was nice, in only tee shirt and sheer panties. His most lingering memory, the time she walked completely naked through the dining room as she toweled off wet hair. He never knew what to expect, or what to think of these incidents. But think of them he did. Never really knowing if these encounters were purposeful, he just guessed himself lucky.
Dirty blonde hair, draped over the left side of her face, as she laid back into the green couch. Make up made her features seem more for an evening out, than laying on her back in the afternoon shine. Thick with mascara, darkened lashes proved a suitable carriage for blue mist cascading over them. Not much unlike the same blue covering the muscled chest of her mailman. Lips wearing the red of rustled leaves, pursed open over milky white, manicured teeth. Her chin drew tight, as if she was trying to pull her cheek bones into her furrowed brow. Her expression could give new adage to the clichΓ©, it is a fine line between pain and pleasure.
She wore no tan lines, and very little else that mattered. Choking her neck was a necklace of diminished dark beads fixed to a black elastic band. Hugging her waist was a silver chain embracing pinkish stones on regular intervals. Her left hand cupped her breast and pinched at her erect nipple. Extending down, her right hand grazed, grabbing at her moistness.