Im Dating Our Mailgirl Ch 09

This story is a continuation of I’m Dating Our Mailgirl. The 1st 8 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 FLIGHT HOME

9 and I selected two seats on the next to the last row. There were only two seats on our side of the aisle. We took advantage of the semi-privacy to hold hands and to exchange kisses and caresses. There was actually a beverage service so late at night. The attractive stewardess, Jill, asked if we wanted anything. She mentioned orange and tomato juice and at the risk of being a typical airline passenger jerk, I asked if she had any cranberry juice.

“Funny you should mention that. In honor of Thanksgiving week, we did stock some of that.”

“Now, the big question. Do you have any Southern Comfort?”

She let out the biggest laugh. “Why Miss Scarlett, I don’t know nothing ‘bout no Southern Comfort.” Her mock Butterfly McQueen impression was appreciated by me, certainly, but also 9. “Bless you little southern hearts, we actually do stock some on all flights to Atlanta.”

I looked at Jill, at 9, and back to Jill. “We’ll have two Scarlett O’Haras!”

“I don’t think we have any limes. Will lemon juice do?”

I smiled, “Like Scarlett O’Hara, we must make sacrifices to survive.” Jill finished the drink service and brought back two Southern Comfort miniatures, a can of cranberry juice and, with a triumphal flair, two large lime wedges.

She held up the limes. “Look what I found!” She prepared the drinks and handed them to us. I started singing Tara’s Theme

“My own true love,

My own true love,

At last I’ve found you,

My own true love.”

I looked longingly into 9’s eyes and kissed her as I finished. Jill actually joined me for the last 2 lines.

We each took a sip and Jill asked, “Are you two ladies from Atlanta?”

“I am originally, but I moved away 6 years ago when I went off to college. I’m bringing my friend home for Thanksgiving.”

She observed, “So your family is accepting?” 9 and I glanced at each other and had quizzical looks on our faces.

“Accepting?”

“Yes, of your lesbianism.”

We exchanged glances again, “Is it that obvious?”

“Well, the hand holding gave me a clue, but the kisses were a dead giveaway. The DEEP kisses.”

I looked bashful, “Sorry, I hope we didn’t offend anyone.”

“Sweetie, it’s 1:00 AM on a red eye flight and you’re sitting on the back row like a couple of teenagers in a drive-in movie.” We introduced ourselves. When I introduced 9, I didn’t get any reaction from Jill. “You’re a mailgirl, aren’t you?” 9 swung her arm around to show the 9 in a mock exhibition display. “I fly this route a lot so I’m familiar with what’s going on at Seahawk. I’ll bet you’ve got a few tales to tell. So if you’ve been away awhile,” she addressed me, “are you familiar with the Atlanta lesbian bar scene?”

“Not really, but we would like to hit a couple.” I told her we would be staying in Roswell. “The Tongue & Groove is on the northside of town in Buckhead, but I think a trip into town for My Sister’s Room is well worth the trip. I’ll be flying into Atlanta Saturday and overnighting there. You two gals seem like it would be a hoot to hang out with you.”

I asked Jill, “So are you going to be comfortable there?”

“Why don’t you come right out and ask me. Am I gay? Yes, of course.”

We exchanged contact information and set it up for Saturday night.” Jill appeared a few years older than us. She was very attractive with a very outgoing personality. She wasn’t all grumpy about having to work a redeye flight. She wore her short blonde hair in a bob. 9 asked her, “Are you going to be bringing your girlfriend?”

“Why do you assume there’s only one?”

“I’m sorry.”

“No need to be. Everyone assumes gay stewardesses have a girl in every port. I just broke up with my partner of 2 years. So I’m, as they say, ‘out there’. It’ll just be me. I won’t be a 3rd wheel, will I? I don’t want to cramp your style.”

“We’ll all be fine. We’ll look forward to it.”

Since it was a red eye flight, things were slow. Jill circulated around the cabin once more and then came back to talk with us. She sat on the arm rest of an empty seat just across the aisle from us. “So, 9, you’re not from Atlanta?”

“No, I’m from Minnesota originally.” I looked at 9 again. I had learned this previously, but I had to question why she told Jill without any difficulty and I had to drag it out of her like extracting teeth.

Jill nearly squealed, “Get out of here! I’m from Minnesota. Bemidgi, God, what a God-forsaken place that is. The most exciting thing that ever happens there is the dog sled race in the middle of January.”

“Yea, I’m from Edina.”

Jill looked envious, “Now that a nice town. Buckhead on ice.” They laughed. I guess I kind of got it. Jill got back to work. 9 and I exchanged glances, kissed, and tried to get some sleep.

THE ARRIVAL IN ATLANTA

We landed in Atlanta at 5:46 AM Wednesday. It was about 4:00 AM for our bodies, due to the 2 hr time difference. I asked 9 if she was tired. She said no, the 2 hr nap on the plane helped and besides she was filled with both the adrenaline rush from the meal last night and anticipation in meeting my family. She said she might have been exhausted from the early rise yesterday, the shopping, preparation and serving the meal, but the exhilaration of having her body displayed, and used, as it was had her wide awake now. I was just glad to be back home.

When we emerged from the secured area at the terminal, my brother, Kyle greeted us. “Hey, Sissy, you look great. Welcome home.”

“Kyle, I’d like you to meet my friend, 9.”

“9?” He could see her name on her arm. “Like 7, 8, 9?”

“Yes, 9.” I decided to treat him like an annoying little brother. “And you better get over it. I’m not going to spend a week of explaining everything twice. I’ll give you an explanation, as if you really deserve one, when we see Mama.” It must have worked. He piped down and meekly addressed 9 as “9” the rest of the trip to the house. 9 smiled, I assume at the way I was bossing my kid brother around and the way he meekly shut up.

We got our luggage. Kyle questioned, “Just one piece?” I had a small carry on piece also.

“Yea, we’re traveling light. I have all of both of our belongings in this one bag. When we got into the car, I asked 9 if she wanted to stop for some breakfast.”

Kyle interrupted, “No, no, Sissy. Mama has been waiting for your arrival over a week. She’s fixing eggs, sausage, bacon, grits, toast. The whole 9 yards. That’s where we’ll be having breakfast. We got caught in the morning rush hour as we drove. We got off I-85 and onto state road 400. We passed through Buckhead and Sandy Springs. and then down the familiar streets to our driveway.

Mama rushed out of the house and threw her arms around me. “Sissy, you look great.”

“Mama, I want you to meet my friend, 9?”

“9?” she looked at me quizzically.

“Yes, 9. It’s a long story. I’ll tell you at breakfast.”

Mama was clearly flabbergasted, but extended her arms to welcome 9. “I’m so glad to meet you Miss 9.”

9 politely corrected her, “It’s just 9.” I wish she had just rolled with Miss 9 until I gave an explanation at breakfast. But it was already done.

“Bubba, will you take our bag up to my room?”

Mama corrected me. “You can take Miss 9’s, I mean 9’s suitcase to the guest bedroom.” I decided to finesse the sleeping situation until later.

“We only packed a few things, and we just put everything, both 9’s and my clothes, into this one suitcase. Just put them into my bedroom. We’ll sort everything out later.”

Mama seated us all at the breakfast table in the kitchen. No need for a fancy meal in the dining room. We were all just family. Maybe I need to tell you a little about Mama. Margaret Christopher Ross was the only daughter of Wayne and Deborah Christopher, a CPA. She went to Agnes Scott College and earned a degree in Elementary Education. She married my father 2 months after graduating. He had gone to Emery and received a law degree from the University of Georgia. Go Dawgs! She was so proud when I graduated from Agnes Scott, but Daddy used to joke about disowning me when I told him I was going to get my MBA from Tennessee. He did concede, “At least it’s not Florida or Tech.”

She is a genteel, but frankly, how shall I say, unsophisticated, or maybe more so naive woman. She was born in 1973, but she might have been more comfortable if it had been 1873, if you catch my drift. And no, I’m not referring to racial intolerance. Mama supported every politician who furthered civil rights. I just mean she was most comfortable with the slower pace and the social milieu of the late 19th century.

She had served everyone and we were starting to eat. She started the conversation, “So tell me, Miss. . . I mean 9, I understand you and Sissy work together.”

“Yes, Ma’am. We both work at Seahawk Industries, but we work in two different departments.”

Let’s dive into the deep end of the pool I thought as I interrupted. “Mama, 9 is a mailgirl.” I saw a look of recognition on Kyle’s face.

“Oh, you work in the mail room?”

“Well, not exactly,” she explained. “I’m more in the distribution end of the department.”

I jumped in again. “Mama, 9 is one of 14 girls who distribute all of the communications in our building. They use a numbering system to distinguish the girls from one another, and she is 9 of 14. She has that number on her arm so everyone knows her, well, dispatching code.” I took a deep breath. “And she has the same number on her ass and her breast.” Kyle was trying magnificently to suppress an outburst of laughter.”

“Well, why didn’t you wash off that number for your vacation?”

I explained, “It’s not really permanent. But it is a plastic label that has been applied with an extremely strong adhesive that will hold it in place for approximately 2 years, the length of her contract.”

Mama digested this information and then, uncharacteristically, said, “I see. I was just expecting Sissy to have a friend with a little more responsibility in the organization.”

“Mama, she has a very responsible job. The whole morale of the organization depends in large part on her. She is key to the company’s logistics.” I was using every description I could muster from my MBA training to try to build up her job. “She has a degree from Bryn Mawr. You always used to say Agnes Scott was the Bryn Mawr of the South.”

“I believe my exact quote was Bryn Mawr is the Agnes Scott of the North.” 9 smiled at this. Not with a contemptuous air of superiority, but with an amused sense of who my mother really was.

“Well, sweetheart, I’m most delighted that you have such a refined and loyal friend. But welcome to our home Miss, uh, I mean NINE!”

We finished eating and Mama cleaned off the table. 9 and I offered to help her clean up, but she said she and Kyle could manage. We went into the living room to wait for them to join us. Kyle came in first.

“Sissy, Mama is a little out of the loop, but I’ve learned a thing or two about how the real world works. Why didn’t you tell Mama that 9 runs around all day naked.”

“I was afraid about just getting her to go into the shallow end of the pool. I was afraid of throwing her into the deep end.”

“I really think you need to push her off the diving board.”

“The low board, or should I push her off the high dive?” Kyle knew exactly what I was saying in this cryptic way.

“You mean why you had me put your suitcase in your bedroom?”

I was thankful that he recognized what was going on. “Yes.”

“Despite all her apparent naivety, she really is an excellent swimmer. Besides she loves you dearly and nothing could diminish that love.”

Mama joined us. “Mama, there’s one more thing. Two, actually. 9 makes all her deliveries. . . .in the nude.”

“Oh? Oh! Well, that’s an unusual dress code. That certainly must help you with your cleaning bills!” We all laughed at this. I wonder if this was Mama’s signal that she had now processed this information about 9 and was ready to move on. But was she ready to move on to the fact that 9 and her daughter were lovers? Mama continued. “Tonight we’re going to have that Southern favorite, in honor of your friend, fried catfish, slaw, baked beans and grits. Your Uncle Charlie went fishing this weekend and brought them home. I figured you’d be missing them.”

9 asked, “Is grits the universal side dish her in Atlanta?”

Mama laughed, “Pretty much so. Dear, I noticed you didn’t eat your grits at breakfast. Do you not like them? I know a lot of Northerners have trouble acquiring a taste for them. I can make some French fries for you.”

“No, no, please don’t do anything special for me. I’m a guest in your home and I’ll just have to start acquiring that taste.”

“Sissy, Uncle Charlie and Amber will be joining us tomorrow for Thanksgiving.”

I asked, “Will anyone else be joining us?”

“Oh, no. just a small intimate family gathering.” I had told 9 previously about my father’s passing some years ago. That explained his absence.

“So, Mama, you don’t have a new beau who will be joining us?”

“Good heavens, no. Who would want to date an old prune like me.” Funny how she used the same expression to describe her age as Joyce had.

“Mama, you’re not an old prune. You are still a beautiful woman. You have your charm, refinement and your intellect. You’d be a fine catch for any proper Southern gentleman.” I was struck again by the fact that my mother was 5 years younger than Joyce. “I know a lot of people who would love to date a 51. . . .” I caught myself after that Freudian insertion of Joyce’s age, “uh, 46 year old woman.”

“Don’t make me older than I am, dear. Now 51, that’s old.” 9 was smiling through the entire conversation.

“I don’t have anything else planned for you and, uh, 9. Is there anything you want to do in particular?”

“I thought 9 and I could go shopping in Buckhead this afternoon and then clubbing tonight.”

Kyle jumped in, “Oh, could I go with you? There are some interesting new, uh, specialty clubs now you might want to go to.”

I knew he was still using code to specify lesbian clubs. I wasn’t sure if he wanted to go dancing with 9 or if he wanted to be in the paradise of a good looking young man surrounded by a bunch of lesbians.”

“We’re going to need a gentleman escort. How’s the preparation for tomorrow coming along? Do you need 9 and me to help out with anything?”

“I’ve got everything pretty much prepped. We just need to throw everything together. Your Uncle Charlie and Amber will be arriving at 3:30 tomorrow.”

I thought 9 needed a little explanation why Uncle Charlie’s wife was not referred to as “Aunt Amber”. “Amber is Uncle Charlie’s second wife. She’s 33 and a bit younger that Charlie. She had been his secretary when they, well, they had an affair that resulted in Uncle Charlie and his first wife divorcing. Mama has never forgiven him for that.”

“Come, come, dear. Time heals all wounds. Charlie is my little brother and he will always be family. So are you two tired? You had that long overnight flight, do you perhaps want to take a nap?” I really wasn’t tired and I asked 9 and she said she was still absorbing everything. I had managed once again to kick the can of the news of our sleeping arrangements down the road.

We sat around and exchanged gossip and caught up on things happening in town. I told 9 Kyle was in his senior year at Duke. I have to admit that Kyle is a rather handsome man. Unlike my black hair, he has wavy sandy hair. He swam in high school, but he wasn’t good enough to make Duke’s team, but he still kept himself fit in the pool. He has never been lacking for female companionship since junior high school. But he did fill me in by telling me there was no regular girl that he felt should have been invited home for Thanksgiving. Nor did any invite him home.

In Buckhead, 9 went crazy with the abundance of boutiques. She hasn’t been doing much shopping since she became a mailgirl. I don’t know how wealthy her parents are, but she probably didn’t put a high priority on party dresses in college. I bought a short ruffled tiered wrap dress. A hand could easily find its way under the hem. We bought 9 a short dark floral print dress with a similar hemline. We couldn’t wait to hit the club scene.

I told Bubba to stop at a liquor store in Roswell where I bought 12 bottles of wine for the meal tomorrow, and for fortification for the rest of the weekend.

We ate the catfish dinner. The conversation was lively. We were all enjoying ourselves. Mama asked 9, “Are you enjoying your stay with us? Is there anything I can do to make your visit more memorable.” 9 appeared to shuffle in her seat. She wanted to say something, but clearly she was hesitant to do so.

“Mrs. Ross,”

“Please call me Margaret.”

“But I’m 20 years your junior. I’m your daughter’s guest in the house. Should I be calling you by your first name?”

“9, I don’t think I misread you. We’ve made you feel like you belong. You’re one of the family now.”

“Thank you, Margaret. That’s the same sentiment that attracted me to Monica. I was in an uncomfortable world and she made me feel like I belonged. Margaret, one of the requirements of my job is that I be naked all day.” There it was.

“Good heavens! Why?”

“Well, a couple of academic types did a study and decided by having naked mailgirls productivity actually improved in the organization, 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.”

“What are those pointy-headed academicians going to come up with next?” I was glad Mama processed this information so calmly. We continued with our conversation getting caught up with everything.

After another lull in the conversation, Mama asked, “So, 9, is there anything else we can do to make you feel at home?”

9 clearly wanted to say something else, but she was very hesitant to do so. “May I tell you something very personal about me?” Uh, oh. Was she about to push Mama off the high dive? “I’m under the care of a physician.” I guess that was one way of expressing her relationship with the men in the white coats. “I suffer from anxiety. I’m taking medication for it. But there is only one thing that really relieves my anxiety. I am naked all day long, at work. It makes me feel very relaxed. When I’m clothed, that’s when I have these anxiety attacks. As hospitable as you and Kyle and Monica have been, I am developing feelings of a sort of mental claustrophobia.”

“I’m sorry, dear. Is there something we can do to overcome your anxiety?”

“I really have an almost uncontrollable urge to be naked.”

“Here, now?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“I don’t know what to say. I certainly want to be hospitable and accommodating, but. . . .I just don’t know.”

“Please, please. just let me take off my tank top.”

“Well, I guess that would be alright. Kyle, would you be bothered if she did that?”

“Well, if it will help her mental well being.” I glanced at him as only an older sister can. Mentally, my glance was saying, “Wipe that asinine grin off you silly face.”

With that, 9 shed her top. She was, of course, braless so she was exposed as topless. “Oh, I feel better already. The anxiety is dissipating.”

“I’m so glad dear.” But is that enough?”

“Yes, I think it will be.” 9 was playing my mother like a Stradivarius. Under a doctor’s care for anxiety? Really. But I had to admire her manipulation. She got what she wanted and she made it appear Mama had driven her where she wanted to go.”