It was like clockwork that come 11 a.m. unless the weather was really bad, the little elderly lady at the far end of the cul-de-sac would be outside puttering around by the mailbox waiting for the mailman or woman. It had been that way for four years since her husband had passed that Emily Foster would go out and greet the mail person, often armed with a homemade cookie or a bottle of water if it was hot.
When she first started going out there the delivery person had mentioned that she must be expecting an important letter, and Emily had shrugged and said "you never know" but she did know. The urgent correspondences were few and far between and the only reason to be out there was for human contact, the simple interaction with a virtual stranger that might only be a moment's chat about the weather but meant a whole lot to the petite lady now that she was alone.
Oh, there was the occasional bingo game at the VFW hall and there were a couple of friends still alive that were mobile enough to visit, but except when her only child visited from the left coast every year or so, Emily Foster was alone. She regretted not ever learning to drive, and in her younger days she had even taken lessons from professional schools but she was too jumpy to handle it. As her late husband said, she was no prize as a passenger because she was always grabbing the dashboard, but as he was always quick to say, nobody made fried chicken and baked goods like Emily Foster so everybody has their skills and he was happy to drive her anywhere she wanted. Now with Roy gone, she was dependent on a fellow from church who would take a few seniors to the store every couple weeks.
So that explained why she waited by the window for the little mail truck to pull off at the entrance of the cul-de-sac, since most of them walked around the little semi-circle instead of stopping and starting, and the current mailman was her favorite. Andy Barnes was a strapping young man with dirty blonde hair and a warm smile, and the widow was glad that he seemed to like her as much as she did him because he always chatted for a little longer than the others had. Andy even said that he wished he wasn't on a rigid schedule because he would love to take Emily up on her offers to have him stop in for lunch.
If she was pressed the petite senior might have admitted to having a crush on Andy, his smile and blue eyes warming her heart, and she often found herself staring at the neck of his blue uniform top where some of his blonde chest hair sprouted out. So much like her husband when he was in his 20's. TOO much like him she suspected, and that point was driven home one day a few weeks earlier when Andy had handed her the mail which included the weekly Pennysaver, an ad filled freebie that she seldom read.
"You might want to read the story on Page 5," Andy had said with a grin. "Big local news."
Emily had smiled and taken it in with the rest of the mail, but later that day she had flipped in open instead of setting it with the recyclables and there staring at her with his toothy smile was Andy Barnes. The lad had been named Carrier Of the Year for this district and he was there smiling with the district manager. The picture was in color but of pretty lousy quality. No matter. Emily carefully cut it out and put it on the refrigerator, and seeing his face would be sure to make her smile, especially on Saturdays and Sundays when he was off.
The picture would come off the refrigerator that evening when Emily took it down and tucked it in the Danielle Steel book she was reading, and as she read while in bed Emily was having trouble keeping up with the story because she would keep flipping back to where the photo was. As her eyes began to get a little weary she stopped bothering to read and kept looking at the picture in between her flights of fantasy when she closed her eyes and imagined silly things. Emily snapped out of one of those 'senior moments' and looked down to see her nightie pulled up to her waist and her hand between her legs.
Emily got up and went to the bathroom, shaking her head at her silliness, but when she returned she decided to shed the nightie and sleep in the nude. It made sense because it was warm so she slipped into the bed and turned the light off, but then turned it on low and removed Andy's picture from the book.
For the next ten minutes Emily savored the picture while her free hand did what she had only done a few times since she became a widow, It ended with the picture sitting on the sheets while Emily knelt above it grabbing her breast with the left hand while fingering herself with the right, and after she had an rather amazing orgasm she knelt there and caught her breath before picking the picture up carefully, too late noticing that her hand was dripping wet.
"Who needs Vagisil?" she muttered to herself, the conversations with herself one of her recently acquired habits, and then addressed the picture. "You didn't see any of that Andy."
The senior went out to the kitchen and put the newspaper clipping back on the refrigerator, and she frowned at the damage she had done to the beautiful picture. Making a metal note to ask a few neighbors around her whether she could have their Pennysaver's when they were done with them, she went back to bed and before she dropped off wondered whether the company that printed the paper would send her a few copies of that issue, or better yet whether she could buy a copy of the actual photo which would be worth the price because it would be a much sharper image of that beautiful boy.
***
"There he is, the mailman of the year!" Emily crowed as Andy made his way to her mailbox, and he gave her that sheepish grin that made her tingle inside as she handed him a little bag. "A little something for the celebrity."
"Oh, Mrs. Foster, you shouldn't - hmm... do I smell your famous chocolate chip cookies?" he asked, and when the little lady nodded he grinned wider and declared, "and they are still warm. Oh my expanding waistline! You realize that these will be gone before lunch?"
"Your waistline is perfectly fine, and you shouldn't ruin your lunch. Save them for dessert sweetie."
"The cab of that truck is small. You expect me to sit in there and smell these cookies and not eat them? Not possible because you make amazing cookies. Nothing fancy just simple cookies baked to perfection."
"That's me. Keep it simple."
"You know, the district manager said that the reason I got picked was that they got a lot of positive comments about me, including a couple of actual letters. I guess they count more than e-mails because they take more effort to write. The one letter he said was so complimentary he thought it must be from a girlfriend or something."
"Oh?"
"Yes, and while he wouldn't reveal the name of the person he did say that the person lived on Terrapin Court," Andy grinned and looked around. "Let's see, there's 8 houses. I wonder..."
"It's once of those mysteries of life I suppose," Emily said with a mischievous grin.
"Well I'm no detective but I have a suspect in mind," Andy replied. "And let's just say I'm very appreciative."
Emily wasn't expecting Andy to lean down and give her a kiss on the cheek, and from his expression it looked like it was a spur of the moment thing. Andy's cheeks flushed and he quickly offered an apology as he pawed at the ground.
"Apology not accepted," Emily said with as stern an expression as she could muster before grinning. "And apology not necessary. You just made my day so don't go ruining it for me."
"Oh. Okay," Andy responded. "Guess I'll be on my way, but I do thank you for the cookies and for your taking the time to help get me some recognition. You should let me take you out to dinner some night."
"Oh Andy, there's no need," Emily said, and the moment the words came out she wished she could kick herself in the butt.
"You hesitated for a minute there Mrs. Foster,' Andy said.
"It was sweet to offer but why would you want to take an old lady out to dinner?"
"I don't. I wanted to take you, unless you..."
"Hold on Andy. Why don't you let me make dinner for you instead?"
"I want to thank you for being so sweet and for that you get to slave over a hot stove?"
'It's not work if you like doing it. Why don't you pick an evening that's good for you. I don't want to interfere with any plans you have."
"Plans? No. Any Friday or Saturday is good."
"Saturday it is then. What do you like? Besides chocolate chips that is."
