The Lady and the Delivery Boy

I am neither a virgin nor a prude. I have standards; standards that were bred into me by my parents and grandparents. I was raised in Manhattan and the Hamptons and work now for the Metropolitan Museum of Art on 5th Avenue as a Curator and Archivist.

I have an undergraduate degree from Bryn Mawr College in Art History and a Masters in the same from Princeton, where both my father and grandfather attended. I have an apartment on the Upper West Side, just across the Park from the MMA.

I have had sex with men. I have even had a boyfriend for just under two years, and we performed sex sometimes as often as twice per week. Unfortunately, things did not go as planned with my boyfriend, and having failed to move towards marriage, I released him after 18 months. It was a proper decision, as I discovered later that he had been cheating on me.

No, I wasn't raised to sleep with men before marriage, but this is a different time and there are different acceptable codes of conduct for young women in the modern society of today. I understand that men have their needs, base though they may be, and that if I am to compete for an acceptable husband, not letting a man have his way with me will scare even a good one away for fear that I am cold or frigid.

As I mentioned, I do have standards, though. A polite peck at the door on the first date if all has gone well and I am interested. A lingering kiss at the door on the second date, perhaps a little smooching on the third date.

If I am still intrigued and find the fellow worth pursuing, I allow a little passion to creep into the kissing on the fourth date, then perhaps breast-play on the fifth. If the young man still pursues me and I am still interested, the sixth and seventh dates have a time and place set aside for kissing and petting.

This is when I make my final decision on whether or not to continue pursuing the relationship. By this time I have been able to understand the gentleman's character, his family, his drive, and the path of his career. If I find all those to be acceptable, then I will consent to intercourse on or after the eighth date.

I am on the pill, ready at any time for the right man to enter my life. As I said, I am neither a virgin nor a prude.

My name is Elizabeth Crutchfield and I am 29 years old. People at work call me Betty.

** ** ** ** ** ** ** **

I broke my ankle in a short fall from a ladder at the MMA in early June. Failing to heal properly, it required surgery by the end of the month. Father and Mother were in Italy for the summer, but I saw no reason why I should need care. I would be off my feet for six weeks, but I could get around the apartment with crutches or a wheeled scooter-like contraption that I could rest my knee on and glide around the apartment on. I could call an Uber for doctor's appointments and could get around the apartment well enough on my little scooter to cook and bathe myself.

I made arrangements with the local grocery to deliver my food and for the local laundry to pick up and deliver my clothes. The little Mom and Pop grocery was owned by an East Indian family, the Singhs, and I had been shopping there for years. Being a small store, their selection wasn't as great as a supermarket, but what they did carry was top quality, especially their fruits and vegetables.

I stocked up before surgery on Monday and didn't require a delivery until Thursday. I called the store and told the Uncle, Mr. Singh, what I required and he told me he would send Dhani, his nephew, with the order within an hour. They didn't normally deliver, but knowing my situation, had agreed to help me out for the six weeks I was laid up. I had prepaid five hundred dollars, and assured them I would refill the account before it was empty.

I was reasonably sure that Mr. Singh understood my order, but it was difficult, as his English was so thickly accented. They all had thick accents, even Dhani, who had lived in the U.S. for the past six years, since he was 14 years old. We pronounced his name in an Americanized way, like Danny, and Dhani attended Michigan State majoring in engineering, but was home for the summer break and working at the family store as he had all through high school.

As promised, an hour after I placed my order, my buzzer buzzed and when I hobbled to the speaker near the door on my crutches and pushed the button, Dhani identified himself and I buzzed him in. I unlocked the door, and hobbled back to the couch and lay back down. I was wearing a nightie with a light robe over it, but I didn't think it was inappropriate for the local delivery boy.

When Dhani knocked, I called out that it was open. "Hello, Miss," he said as he entered, smiling.

"Hello, Dhani. Thanks so much for delivering my groceries. You can just put them on the counter in the kitchen," I answered as he entered the room, his arms full of bags stuffed with groceries.

"Oh, no, Miss. I'll be happy to put them away for you," he said, looking at me and smiling. "You look to be quite helpless, Miss." He began walking towards the kitchen, which was just around the corner from the living room where I lay.

"Well, not completely helpless," I answered, watching him as he turned the corner into the kitchen. "It's just difficult for me to get around with this cast."

I listened to cupboard doors opening and closing as Dhani put the groceries away. Only once did he put his head around the corner and ask, "Do you like your fruit in a bowl or in the refrigerator, Miss?"

"In the refrigerator, please, Dhani. Thank you so much!" It was so nice of him to volunteer his services as well as delivery, and I must admit it was nice as well to have someone else in the apartment. I had been alone for the previous three days and I secretly welcomed the company. As I heard him finishing up, I looked down to make sure I was properly covered by my robe as I lay prone on the couch.

Dhani came back into the living room, smiling as always, his teeth beaming white in contrast to his brown skin. He came and stood right next to me, close to the couch.

"Thank you, Dhani," I said, feeling a little bit uncomfortable with his proximity. I don't care for people to be too close to me, violating my personal space. "If you'll grab my purse off the table in the dining room I'll give you a nice tip."

"Oh, no tip is required, Miss!" he answered immediately, shaking his head. "I am happy to do it for a woman as beautiful as yourself, Miss."

I don't know why, but this made me not only blush, but sent a warm tingle through my entire body, as if my whole being was blushing.

"Well, that's very nice of you Dhani, I appreciate your compliment." I said, looking away.

"It is most certainly deserved," he continued. "I have noticed you in the store since I was a boy and always thought you were most beautiful and desirable."

I blushed again and felt that the conversation was really going too far.

"Well thank you again, Dhani. I hope that one day I can repay your kindness." I looked back up at him, standing right over me, and saw his eyes running over the length of my body. This was getting quite inappropriate. I excused him with, "I'll call your Uncle in a few days when I need more groceries. Goodbye till then."

"Goodbye, Miss," he answered cheerfully and headed towards the door. Turning back, he asked, "Would you like me to lock the door behind me, Miss?"

"Yes, please, Dhani. Thank you so much again." As he exited I felt the odd tingling in my body and the heat on my face again.

Only one day went by, but I kept thinking I should call and order more groceries. I didn't really need much, but I thought it would be good to keep well supplied. I called Mr. Singh and gave him a light order. Easier for Dhani, I thought to myself, to carry a lighter load the 4 blocks to my apartment.

When Dhani arrived, I had left the door unlocked for him again, and was dressed similarly, although with a prettier robe on than when he had come before. Again, he eagerly volunteered to put away the few groceries he brought and when he finished, he came and stood again very close to the couch I lay on, looming over me. I didn't feel quite as uncomfortable as the first time, but it still felt odd that he stood so close.

Before I could offer to tip him again he said, "You look even more beautiful today than last time, Miss."

I blushed again and said, "Thank you Dhani, are you sure I can't give you a tip?"

"No, Miss," he answered smiling. "But I will tell you that I have had a very hard day."

I frowned. "You've had a difficult day, Dhani?"

"No, Miss. Not difficult, hard." With that he reached down and took my hand. He brought it up and placed it on his penis, which was very erect under his pants. "Hard, Miss. Like this. All day I was hoping you would call for a delivery."

I must have blushed a deep shade of red and answered immediately, "Dhani, I don't think this is appropriate." But for some reason I did not remove my hand. He had been so nice to me and I was dependent on him to bring me my food, and I didn't want to offend him or turn him away. Perhaps in his culture, this was acceptable.

"It is appropriate, Miss. It is a way to show your gratitude." He smiled. "Like I said, no tip required. But I am very uncomfortable with this hardness all day from thinking about you. Perhaps you could relieve me and make me comfortable again."

"Dhani, I'm sorry, but I just can't do that," I answered, still blushing but afraid to remove my hand for fear of offending him. "This just isn't right. I mean, I'm not that kind of person."

"You don't have to be any kind of special person, Miss," he answered energetically. He put his hand over mine on his penis. "You just need to rub like this." He began moving my hand up and down on the hard shaft of his penis. I could feel the thick outline of it as he closed my fingers around it. I could feel it sliding through my hand underneath his pants.

"Dhani, no," I said as I felt his penis growing even more in my hand. "I really can't do this. I've never done anything like this before, and I'm really not sure now is the time for me to start."

He took his hand off mine, but it was as if my hand kept moving involuntarily. I looked up at his eyes and he smiled and I could see the kindness in them. But still, I knew that I had to nip this in the bud right away. He began to unzip his trousers.

"No, Dhani, absolutely not!" I said with authority as I continued to squeeze and rub his hard penis. He ignored me and unbuttoned the button above the fly, then reached in and pulled out his stiffened member. I was aghast.

"Dhani, put that away!" I ordered. "You can't just come in here and take out your penis and wave it around in my living room!" It was long, and smooth, and dark brown with a lighter crown.

"Miss, perhaps it won't be waving around so much if you hold it in your hand."

"No, Dhani, I won't do that, now put it away." I was mortified.

Again, he reached for my hand, but rather than pull it away, I allowed him to take it and place it on his penis.

"See how easy, Miss? Just squeeze and rub." He put pressure on my hand so it squeezed his penis and began to move it up and down his smooth skin. I looked again at it and was transfixed. I normally thought a man's penis was, well, unsightly. But his seemed to be perfectly proportioned, and so smooth and so brown against the white hand of my skin.

"Dhani, we really must stop this right now," I said and when he didn't answer but just closed his eyes and smiled, I began a countdown, telling myself I would stop when I got to zero. Five, four, three, two, one, I thought to myself. But I didn't stop.

"Would you be so kind as to speed up a bit, Miss?" Dhani asked politely.

"No, Dhani. Not that! Not here in my living room. You'll make a mess." Again I was aghast at the thought that he might actually ejaculate. I mean that is so disgusting. It's bad enough when it's in me and I have to deal with the slimy leakage and the mess, but I definitely did not want to deal with having to clean it up off my carpet.

"Yes, Miss. Just like that," Dhani sighed. I hadn't realized that while I was fearing what might happen, my hand had involuntarily sped up. It must have been the power of suggestion.

"Dhani, we have to stop this right now!" I cried out as my hand began moving faster. Dhani began groaning and grunting, all the while with a beatific smile on his dark face.

"Dhani stop!" I begged. "Don't do it!" His face began to scrunch up and his grunts got louder.

My hand was a blur now and as I opened my mouth to protest again, I suddenly felt his penis jerk in my hand and I watched as a wad of white, pearlescent sperm leapt from the hole of his penis, spattering the front of my pretty, freshly washed robe.

Dhani, stop doing that right now!" I said as spurt after spurt sullied my clothing. A sudden, secret thrill coursed through my body, one that I have never known. I squeezed his penis and watched as a drop fell from the tip onto my beautiful carpet. I looked away.

"Dhani, I think you should leave now." I said, looking into the back of the couch.

"Okay, Miss," he answered happily. "But I'll certainly be back when you call for more groceries." I heard him zip his pants and begin walking towards the door.

"Thank you, Miss. I'll be locking the door for you. See you soon, I hope."

"Thank you, Dhani," I answered, pretty sure that I was talking about the groceries and the door.

When he left I just lay there, aghast at what had just transpired. I shifted and realized that I was soaking wet down there. Not just moist, as I usually get, but wet and leaking as if a man had just finished inside me.

I felt very confused and disturbed as I looked down at the front of my robe and saw the splatters of his ejaculate. I counted seven individual tracks of his sticky, gooey seed. I reached down and took some on my fingertips. Rubbing the tip of my index finger against my thumb I could feel the crude thickness of it. Disgusting, I thought to myself, as my face got warm again and I felt a pleasant surge course through my body.

** ** ** ** ** ** ** **

I am aware that there are women who feel sexual urges in the same way as men. I think there must be something wrong with their wiring somehow. I understand that men are biologically wired to want to spread their seed, propagating the species. But women bear one child at a time, and once fertilized, have no need for sex. Therefore, we are not wired to want or desire sex as strongly as men or on as regular a basis.

I have concluded that women who are wired that way are the ones who end up being prostitutes or the ones you might see around taverns and bars, usually ending up pregnant and waiting tables to support their unwanted little ones.

Women of breeding and education, such as myself, understand that urges such as these are unhealthy and unproductive. We are able to control ourselves and focus our lives on marriage, family, and the support of our husbands' careers and professions for the good of that marriage and family. We also support our husbands by letting them use us to keep their basic urges under control. That is why it is normal and acceptable for a husband and wife to have sex once or twice a week. It keeps the man's attention on the home and family, not on spreading his seed.

While I was a bit horrified at what had happened with Dhani, I understood from his viewpoint that he found me attractive; had perhaps even fantasized about me as an adolescent boy, and now as a young man his inherent urges plus his lack of breeding and social standing, allowed him to act out on those fantasies once alone with me. While I forgave him this one time for the liberties he took, I certainly wouldn't let it happen again. After all, it was nothing I hadn't seen before. I have seen a man's penis. I have touched a man's penis. As I said, I am neither a virgin nor a prude.

I decided that I needed a few groceries again two days later. There were only a three or four things I needed, but best to have them in case I needed them than to need them and not have them. I called Mr. Singh and placed my order and listened intently as he read the list back to me. Reasonably sure he had the order correct, I thanked him.

"Dhani will be most pleased to deliver them again to your apartment," Mr. Singh said in his thick accent.

I certainly hoped that Dhani had not shared what had happened with his uncle, but from the tone of his voice I feared that he had.

"Thank you, Mr. Singh," I replied formally as my face burned with shame. "I will buzz him up, then leave the door unlocked for him."

In about ten minutes, the buzzer sounded and after identifying Dhani, I buzzed him up. When he entered, I was prone on the couch in my nightie and robe, which I had washed myself for fear that the workers at the laundromat would see the dried splatters on the front and be able to guess what they were. I would be beyond mortified!

Dhani entered without knocking, his smile immediately brightening up the apartment that was beginning to feel more like a prison than a luxury home in the best part of town.

"Good day, Miss," he said brightly. "It is a most beautiful day for a grocery delivery to a most beautiful Miss!" I must admit that he was very endearing and sweet.

"Thank you, Dhani. You are too kind," was my immediate response. He smiled broadly and moved towards the kitchen with the bags.

"I brought you a small watermelon in addition to what you ordered. No charge, Miss. They are the best melons we have had in this year."

"Thank you, Dhani. I'll have some later."

"Would you like me to cut you some and bring it in, Miss?" he asked. "It is sweet and ripe, like you, Miss." I blushed again, alone in the room, and the strange feeling washed over my body.

"Dhani, that's not appropriate talk, and you know that. But yes, that would be nice and watermelon does sound delicious." My mouth watered at the thought of the sweet melon.

I heard Dhani wash his hands and begin chopping on the cutting board. When he reentered the living room he was holding a plate with 4 or 5 squares of melon on it. He came over to the couch and knelt next to me. He held out a piece of melon and when I reached to take it, he pushed my hand away and moved it towards my mouth.

"It is a custom in the village that my family is from that when you care for someone who is sick or healing, you not only prepare food for them, but you feed them as well. I offer this as a sign of my concern and of my commitment to your recovery."

"Oh, Dhani. That is so sweet." I smiled at him as he held the melon in front of my mouth. "We don't do that in my culture, and I must admit that I find it odd and a little uncomfortable, but to honor you and thank you for your care, I will let you feed it to me." I opened my mouth, and Dhani placed the piece of melon, cut just to the right size, gently into my mouth. He watched intently as I chewed, and I again saw the kindness and encouragement in his eyes. It was absolutely delicious and when I finished I opened my mouth wide enough for him to place a second piece in.

He silently took another piece and again gently placed it into my mouth, looking intently into my eyes as he did. I felt an odd flutter in my stomach and closed my eyes briefly to focus completely on the wonderful taste of the melon as I bit down on it, releasing its sweet juice into my mouth. After swallowing, I again opened my mouth and Dhani fed the melon to me. We repeated this until he placed the last piece in my waiting mouth, staring intently into my eyes.

I chewed the last piece and when I swallowed, Dhani leaned down and kissed my lips, still moist from the juicy melon. It was such a sweet and tender kiss, and the moment had felt so intimate that for an instant I fell into the kiss and returned it with feeling. Realizing what was happening, I broke the kiss and pushed him away.