Special thanks go to CanadianM for editing this story. Unwisely, I worked on it some more after his revision so any mistakes found here will be entirely my own. This story is about my 'new found' fetish for breastmilk so if you're not into that then this story will not be for you.
As always, thank you everyone for reading. I'm not a gifted writer but I enjoy writing these stories so I will keep posting them even if it takes me such a long time to write them. Still working on "Behind the Scenes with Mom chapter 6". I'll finish it, I promise.
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That night was something special and I remember everything with such detail. I make about fifteen deliveries a night so my memory gets foggy, but this particular delivery changed my life.
The gate to the complex was closed.
I hate complexes. I get paid for each delivery, so the longer it takes to make the delivery, the less money I make. Sometimes it seems like apartment complexes, townhouse complexes, and gated communities are designed to be confusing, especially at night. Thus my hate for them. I instantly feel irritated at finding a closed gate with no code available to me. It was already 11:30 pm.
The customer hadn't provided a gate code so I had to text them. This happens all the time and it's frustrating. I can hear the clock ticking.
I work for a delivery app since turning 21. Technically speaking I'm an independent contractor and I accept delivery jobs for this one company, and blah, blah, blah. It's all done through the app, and I honestly feel like a slave to it. It actually pays better than you'd think. And it's only temporary... I hope.
In a situation like this one, the first step is to message the customer. People don't like getting phone calls anymore. I understand that, but this means I have to wait for them to text back.
I moved my car out of the way when someone else came to a stop behind me. When they opened the gate and drove inside, I followed right behind them. A minute later I received a text back from the customer.
'Great, the gate code'.
I thought sarcastically.
I wasn't in a good mood but that would soon turn around.
Fortunately, she sent me another text explaining how to get to her place once inside the complex. To my surprise, it wasn't an apartment complex. It was a large gated community, so that was good. I had never had a delivery here before. The houses weren't huge, but usually wealthier people lived in places like this, which in turn meant better tips for me.
Her house was all the way in the back but her directions were clear so I didn't waste too much time in finding it. I parked in front and grabbed my mask and the bag with the delivery. It was quite a strange order, two 250ml bottles of vodka and a gallon of milk.
'Who orders this shit?' I thought before composing myself and ringing the bell.
Because of the alcohol, I had to check her ID to complete the delivery, which was another golden opportunity for time to be wasted. It's a miracle if they come out to the door quickly. It's another miracle if they have their ID ready. I just don't understand why they waste my time. They know I'm coming and they know they ordered alcohol.
Either way, as irritated as I can get, I always manage to put up a friendly face to greet the almighty and powerful customer. I'm still getting paid, no matter what, and they can leave me a bad rating if they are not happy.
A lovely face appeared at the door. I can always admire a female face. She had green eyes, deep black hair, beautiful features, and fair white skin.
"Hi."
"Hey, I got a delivery for Julie."
"Yeah, that's me. You can set it down right there, I don't have my mask."
"Yeah, well, I actually needed to see your ID for this delivery."
"Oh, right! Well I'm old enough honey." She said with a laugh as she opened the door wider and smiled. Then with a sweeping gesture she invited me to look at her and see that indeed, she was old enough to buy alcohol.
In fact, she obviously was at least twice the required age.
"Oh, um, yeah I think you're right... and I don't want to bother you too much but I do have to see your ID. It's required."
Those green eyes scanned me up and down. She took a step forward. "I'm sorry I'm not sure where I put it, can't you make an exception. I'm sure you can tell I'm old enough."
I couldn't help myself but look at her body again after she said this.
'Was she pushing her chest out or were those naturally shaped that way?'
She was wearing a simple cotton black nightgown. I immediately noticed the thin strings over her shoulders, which seemed to strain to hold the weight of her breasts.
She had a very nice rack and the gown was cut low enough to reveal some cleavage, but that's not just what my eyed stared at for a few seconds too long.
No, it was the shape of her breasts, their big round shape. Those melons stretched the fabric and filled it; they were at least the size of my head. As my eyes moved down I saw that the nightgown ended just above her mid-thighs. She had great legs too.
"What was that?" I asked after not listening to her question.
She repeated her question.
"I believe you, no offense but I believe you're over 21. It's just that..."
She interrupted me, "What gives it away?"
"Um, gives away what?" I asked cautiously.
"That I'm old? Is it the wrinkles?" She pointed at her eyes.
"Oh, no, no... not at all." She didn't have wrinkles that I could see.
"Is it my figure? It's not what it used to be." She looked down at her body and then back at me.
I smiled though it wasn't on purpose.
"No, it's no..." I couldn't find the words.
"Is it my breasts?"
"Ah!?..."
"My boobs are not what they used to be. What other proof do you need?" I noticed she now had a playful tone in her voice.
I laughed, a little embarrassed but I agreed with her in my mind. That rack had some years on them that you wouldn't find in a girl.