After leaving school I was unable to find a full-time job. This wasn't because I was unemployable; I was, eminently so. No, the trouble was the lack of available jobs and the inane Covid restrictions. Still, for all that I was able to pick up several part-time jobs and I was getting by.
One of those part-time jobs was delivery boy for a pharmacist. The pay was non-existent; I was supposed to make my money by getting tips. Oddly enough I found that people who really need their medicine also tip quite well, so I was getting by.
I fronted up at one house to make a delivery and rang the door-bell. The door was promptly answered by a young lady in her early twenties. Not bad looking at all, in my opinion, and dressed to tease. I had no objection to being teased and my eyes might have wandered to a nice enticing cleavage that showed considerable side-boob.
"Mrs. Adams?" I asked, holding up the package I was delivering.
"No," came the prompt answer, leaving me floundering a little.
"Ah. I was asked to deliver this to a Mrs Adams at this address," I explained.
"No doubt you were," acceded the young woman. "That's probably because she lives here."
"Oh. Could you, deliver this to her or fetch her? It has to be signed for."
"No."
"Excuse me?" I was feeling a little surprised.
The woman smirked at me.
"I'm feeling a little contrary," she said. "I didn't like the options you offered and chose my own. Follow me and I'll take you to her."
I dutifully followed along, my eyes watching her tush as it wriggled about under her short skirt. I had to admit that I found it no hardship to trail along, eyeing the scenery.
I was taken down to the kitchen where I found another young woman doing cooking type things on the table. Don't ask me precisely what -- just cooking type stuff. This young lady, presumably Mrs Adams, was about the same age as the first woman, also quite attractive, also dressed to tease. It seemed to me that there was a generous amount of cleavage and bosom on display in that room.
"Who was it, Karen?" Mrs Adams asked without looking up.
"A kid with a package for you, Emma," Karen said. "You have to sign for it. Presumably you also have to tip for it."
"Oh, right, I've been expecting that," Emma said, hand out for the parcel.
I handed it over, passing the delivery slip with it. Emma took the parcel and put it and the delivery slip on the table, and fished around for a pen with which to sign it. I promptly held mine up. She took it and signed while I watched appreciatively.
The main reason for my appreciation was the fact that when Emma leaned down to sign the slip her excuse for a top gaped wide, demonstrating that she was not wearing a bra and that she had a pair of very nice breasts, a very pleasant handful indeed.
"There was movement at the station because the word had got around that the colt from old Regret had got away," said Karen, and both Emma and I turned to look at her with some surprise.