n my opinion, my current assignment in 100%, pure unfiltered fluff. See, my editor has a buddy that works for the United States Postal Service (USPS) down in the state capital. He pitched my editor some human interest topic and now I'm stuck with the follow up. I think the local USPS mucketymuck just wants some good press ... especially in the light of some postal malfeasance that's been making the news in Washington, D.C.So it was with less-than-sincere interest that I approached the sandy-colored brick facade of a nearby post office "station" to interview one Sheila Bowman, a 57-year-old black woman celebrating her 30 year anniversary with the USPS. As instructed, I pulled around to a small parking lot near a series of three loading docks. Waiting for me on the farthest ramp was an African-American woman ... Bowman, I assumed ... and a squishy-looking white man. I killed the engine and jumped out of my vehicle with notepad and camera bag in hand. Taking a moment to plaster a fake smile onto my face, I pulled in a cleansing breath and stepped over to the pair for introductions.
"Richard Milton?" I inquired of the puffy man. He was so visually bland, from his pale complexion and amber eyes to his mousy brown hair, shiny chocolate-colored dress pants, and tan short-sleeved work shirt. The tiny blue diamond pattern of his umber tie was this man's only attempt at embracing the color wheel.
"Yes, sir ... that's me!" he piped up with a ruddy rise of color to his cheeks. I started to reflexively extend my arm for a handshake but I had barely moved an inch before Milton grasped my hand and shook it enthusiastically. His other hand covered our entwined appendages. "We're so glad to have a member of the Fourth Estate visiting with us today!" I guess I shouldn't judge a beige book by its ecru cover, I thought. He's really jazzed.
"You're extremely welcome," I replied, warming to the man quickly. I turned toward the lady and nodded. "And this must be the lovely and esteemed Ms. Bowman."
The roundish face of the dark-skinned woman split into an effervescent grin. She shook my hand with equal vigor. "And you must be the newspaper's 'king' of flattery ... so now we all know each other," she joked, punctuating her statement with a wink. Ms. Bowman was emitting a great vibe, so I decided to set aside my feelings about my editor and act like a journalist. Find the news, I internalized. Make the story.
"Why don't we go inside and show you around," Milton suggested. "We're really proud of all the work we do for this part of the community." Ms. Bowman and I proceeded Milton up the ramp and through the thick metal door. Inside, the place was a bundle of activity and noise. People were hustling everywhere I looked. Some were working on sorting mail whizzing by on conveyor belts, while others sat at tables looking through some large indices. Still other workers pushed large wheeled bins toward the metal accordion-style doors of the loading area. I asked Milton if I could take a few photos. He agreed and stood behind me as I snapped off maybe six wide-angle and zoomed shots, trying to properly convey the level of frenetic activity.
Both Milton and Ms. Bowman chatted or touched shoulders of the people they passed as we threaded our way to a small office to one side of the large work zone. Milton took a seat behind a small, cluttered desk; Bowman and I took the two remaining chairs in the room. Once settled, I opened my notebook and quickly looked over my questions.
"So, Ms. Bowman ..."
"Sheila, please."
"Sheila, do you remember your first day here?"
Bowman leaned back, a dreamy look flashing across her face before her gaze steadied. "Like it was yesterday. I hadn't wanted to take the civil service test, but my friends convinced me that it was the right direction to go. I was 27 at the time with two baby boys to worry about ... and I had just buried my husband after he was in a terrible car accident on his way home from work. This job was a gift from Heaven in so many ways."
"What exactly do you mean by that?"
"Well, I was hurting inside and I needed to focus on something else. From day one, Richard here demanded my best ..."
Milton reached out and affectionately patted her stubby hand. "And she gave it. I remember starting Sheila out front, but within six months she demanded a street route because she wanted to pull her weight just like everyone else. I'll tell you what ... she earned everyone's respect that first week out in the field. It was record cold weather and she never co
mplained once."Bowman let loose with a high-pitched laugh. "Oh, I complained plenty ... just ask my family."
For the next 15 minutes or so, Bowman and Milton treated me to a great story. Bowman continued to take on every challenge she could, including some management courses sponsored by the USPS. She eventually became the second-in-charge and the ad hoc computer system expert ... she was the person they always sent to training seminars because she was a natural at bringing complex information back and explaining it to everyone else.
"We're gonna throw this lady a helluva party to mark he 30th anniversary next week and beg her to stay around until she gets sick of us!" Milton looked slyly at Bowman, as if fearing the anniversary might give her thoughts of retiring. Just as Ms. Bowman looked about to reply with a clever comment, some rapidly-approaching footsteps drew all out attention to the office door. Suddenly a very handsome young face peeked around the corner of the door frame. "Hey, Mr. Milton, Grandma ... did I miss the reporter?"
Bowman's face crumpled into a slight frown. "Manners, Decker ... manners. Is it polite to interrupt people when they're talking?"
"Oh, Grandma ... I waited until no one was ..."
"Decker?" Her reproach was both loving and stern.
"Sorry everyone ... I'll wait out here."
I looked at Bowman first, and then Milton for some explanation. It came from Milton. "That's Decker Bowman, Sheila's grandson and pride and joy." She beamed but kept silent. "He's been with the service for a few months and I thought maybe the grandmother/grandson angle might add to your profile on Sheila."
"That really would be a great addition," I concluded. "I'd love to get a few good quotes from him."
"Actually, I was hoping you'd be agreeable to go out in the field with Decker. Your editor said you loved to get a 'feel' for your stories and, since Decker is running late, he's really got to get out of here."
Damn editor, I muttered in my head, but Ms. Bowman turned to me and gave me a hopeful look. "He's such a good boy, but he works hard and doesn't get any 'passes' around here because of me. In fact, I make sure his butt is where it's supposed to be doing what he's supposed to be doing."
So, after a formal introduction and a hasty departure from the postal station, I was moving down a residential street at a leisurely speed sitting beside the adorable Decker. The street noise was fairly loud in the small postal vehicle ... a kind of Jeep/truck/van hybrid thing with a busted air conditioner. The humid afternoon air moved through the open windows in a heavy, continuous stream.
Decker was a lanky 6' 2" at least. His eyes were dark and serious, shaded by a fierce and unruly afro hairstyle. His smooth skin was a light mocha color; a broad nose and full lips painted a very sensual picture. His regulation uniform fit snuggly. He was nicely groomed and clean shaven, with the only item of individual "style" being a tiny silver ankh earring in his left lobe. My cock stirred in my pants every time he spoke ... or moved ... or breathed. I felt like a caged animal wanting to tear into something. Good analogy, my cock told my brain.
Decker Bowman proved to be a very gregarious fellow. He shared some great stories about growing up around his grandmother and her work at the post office.
"You and your grandmother seem really close," I offered.
Decker split his attention between me and keeping track of the traffic around us, but my comment rewarded me with a meaningful glance. "As a teenager," he recounted, "I was always getting into trouble ... some of it kind of serious. It got to where my Dad and me were constantly at each other's throats and my Mom just didn't know what to do. Finally, Grandma had me come live with her for a while. It ended up being close to seven months, but things just sort of worked themselves out. I realized I was hanging out with the wrong people and now me and my folks are closer than ever."
"So working together has never been a problem?"
The postal carrier chuckled at that comment. "Oh, I didn't say that. Grandma doesn't take shit from anyone ... especially her own flesh and blood. We butt heads constantly, but it's all about doing good work. And besides, I'
m only going to be there a couple more years ... I want to go to school and study chemistry. I haven't decided exactly what I want to do ... pure research or maybe be a chemical engineer ... but the science fascinates me." Decker glanced again sideways and I could see the genuine sparkle in his eyes brought on by talking about his future. He added that he was currently just 20 and hoped to be enrolled at a good university by the time he turned 22."Grandma even said I could probably get a part-time job at a post office wherever I end up ... and Mr. Milton has been looking into scholarship opportunities that the USPS offers."
Our conversation stilled a bit because Decker had to stop the vehicle frequently to empty those large postal mailboxes. As often as possible, I got out and snapped a few photos of him "at work." In reality, I had maybe two good frames of him offloading envelopes and packages and dozens of shots of Decker's muscular legs flexing when he stooped to unlatch a access plate on a mailbox and of his incredible ass being outlined by his slate-blue shorts. I have to remember to switch these shots over to my flash drive, I ticked off to my mental "to do" list.
Eventually we wound our way into an "unsavory" section of town. Decker pulled his vehicle up to a large, dilapidated apartment complex. The whole neighborhood was awash in the noise of cars, radios and TVs playing through open windows, children laughing, and the constant hum of overworked window air conditioner units. The din was occasionally punctuated by the snapping of laundry as it dried on makeshift lines. Unlike previous stops, Decker actually turned off his truck's engine. He opened his door and retrieved his oversized mail bag. He lingered a moment, rolling up his window.
"Close the window and grab your stuff, buddy ... I need your help on this delivery."
By the time I had complied, Decker was halfway up the walk to the middle of the building. I had to hurry to catch up. He led me through a shadowy alcove and over to a row of battered postal boxes. I figured this was our destination, but Decker continued walking and began ascending a nearby stairway.
The steps were formed of pitted cement in bad need of repainting and the path was poorly lit. We climbed a total of three floors but I barely noticed as I was following the rise and fall of Decker's delectable rump. On the third floor, we jogged to the left and Decker stopped in front of a brown metal door with gold letters spelling "3-B." The sound of jingling keys and a door unlatching was quickly accompanied by a blast of much cooler air.
I followed Decker inside. We stood briefly in a small entryway. "Make yourself at home," the black man said as he dropped his postal bag and sidestepped to the left into a small but well-appointed kitchen. As I moved forward, soft lights came on and I was faced with a large room that served as a living room, a sleeping area, and a place for work and studying. The furniture wasn't new but very fashionable and built for comfort. A large flatscreen TV and some video components looked relatively expensive. The place looked lived in, especially the nook in the far corner that housed a desk holding a personal computer set-up and stacks of books and magazines.
I was so intent on my "spying" that I jumped ... and squealed ... when something cold and wet touched the back of my neck.
"Sorry," Decker said with a smirk that plainly conveyed he had enjoyed startling me. "I couldn't resist." In his hands were two Bud Lights in glass bottles, their condensation running onto his cafe au lait skin and forming shiny rivulets. I took one of the longnecks and threw back a hefty slug. Decker did the same.
"Do you usually take 'breaks' like this during the workday?" I teased as I continued looking around the living space. Several large and exciting modern art images adorned two off-white walls. The carpet underfoot was also tan and a bit worn, but overall Decker appeared to be a pretty good housekeeper. The queen-sized bed, however, was in disarray. Although it was separated by a dividing screen from the rest of the room, a mess of puddled blankets was easily observed. A bedside table was similarly "messy" with paperbacks and miscellaneous items.
After several seconds, I realized that the studly postal worker had not answered my lighthearted query about this unscheduled stop.
I took another sip of beer and turned to gauge my host's mood. I sputtered as beer flooded my windpipe and my eyes bulged as I beheld Decker ... his shoes and socks had silently been discarded beside his mailbag and he was undoing the last two buttons on his thin work shirt. As he peeled the garment away from his body, I wiped spittle from my lips and gazed at the smoothest, creamiest, sexiest torso I had ever seen. Each muscle was defined, little movements causing his whole musculature to shift and create new and pleasing shapes. He was hairless, and his sculpted chest held two Hershey "Kiss" nipples begging to be licked and chewed."Come on, dude ... I don't have any time to waste and the minute I saw you sitting in Mr. Milton's office, I knew I had to fuck you!"
I sat my beer on a small occasional table and watched as Decker started to remove his belt and unfasten his pants. Frantically I pawed open my camera bag and pulled out the digital camera. I was clicking away as Decker smiled seductively and slid both his pants and underwear down his sinewy thighs. His 10-inch hose popped out and dangled semi-hard with a gorgeous curve. Decker's cock was on the thin side and a deeper tone than his light skin. An almost white "band" marked where his tool had been clipped. The large crown had a puce tone ... spicy brown tinged with blood-engorged pink. I'm gonna enjoy this, I mentally drooled.
Decker stood there naked, smiling coyly. I snapped off another few photos. "Those for your scrapbook?" he quizzed me, grabbing his cock with both hands and turning to the side in a most provocative "rock star" pose.
"Nope," I replied very matter-of-factly. "Gonna put these right beside a photo of your Grandma. I'm sure she's seen your junk when she changed your diaper ... or wiped your little bottom when ..."
With the speed of a panther, Decker leaped and had the camera in his hands. "It's been quite a while since Grandma's seen my thing ... and never when I'm about to drill it into a pretty white boy!" As I fought to reclaim the camera, Decker delivered a series of delightful "punches" and slaps and pinches and tickles. Either I was incredible distracted or this African youth had some kind of shamanistic powers, because suddenly I was naked as well. My own pecker ... uncut with a sensitive foreskin and just barely eight inches in length ... looked like a toy compared to Decker's shiny, still semi-hard shaft. Decker mirrored my earlier actions and took on the role of photographer. His subject matter ... me ... was trying to hide and cover up more than strike any sexy poses. My cock, however, was fully erect and dripping pre-cum.
I stepped up to the cocoa-colored hunk and took the camera from him. After sitting it aside, I slowly circled Decker, drawing my fingers lightly over his hips, stomach, sides, and back. Tracing his ass, I was delighted to find a small ankh tattoo ... like his earring ... at the base of his spine.
Completing my circuit and returning to face him, I locked eyes with Decker as my hands roamed lower and grasped our cocks. Squeezing them rhythmically, Decker's breath caught in his throat as I worked both fleshy columns. When I dared a glance down, I almost reeled from the beautiful contrast of light and dark steamy skin. My body shuddered with barely-contained desire.
After a few more tugs, I released our twin tools and backed Decker up against the lower edge of his bed. Once the backs of his legs felt the solidity of his mattress, he sat and spread his legs wide. I immediately went down on my knees. After staring into his eyes for a brief instant, I placed one splayed hand at the base of his hot dick and lowered my mouth to his tapered cockhead.
"Just get me hard, dude ... then I'll show you what I can do!" Decker's voice was husky, barely more than the whisper of a sinner sitting in a gloomy confessional. His hands pressed my head deeper into his lap and several inches of sweaty black cock eased down my gullet. I choked loudly but didn't let up for a second as his meat lodged against my throat.
"Easy, man ... go easy. You'll get used to it ... yeah, eat my dick nice and slow! Ummmm!!"
I could barely catch any air, but his sexy encouragement spurred me on. I worked my tongue up tight against his throbbing shaft, my flesh fluttering against his dark meat. I drew my cheeks inward reflexively to massage his smooth penis, tightening and relaxing all my face muscles to pass along every subtle vibration I could muster. More and more inches of meaty rod disappeared into my moist oral cavity. My one hand still firmly grasped the base of Decker's dick while my other caressed and pummeled his hairless nutsack., occasionally straying to tickle and rub his perineum. Slowly ... noticeably ... Decker became hard as steel, surely hitting close to the 11-inch mark.
Decker pulled his mighty prick back over my traumatized tonsils for a final time and abandoned my mouth. He quickly moved up to the head of his bed and beckoned me to follow. I crawled between his legs again to continue my minstrations, but Decker halted my forward momentum with the flat of his left hand. I was breathing heavily, my nostrils flaring with every compression of my lungs. I watched the smooth form before me turn slightly to the side as Decker
reached over to a bedside table to retrieve a condom ... the "big" kind ... and a tube of lubricant."Safe is okay with you, right?" he asked, his breathing also strained.
"Absolutely."
Decker handed me the lube while he carefully tore open the foil wrapper and rolled the prophylactic over his towering member with practiced ease. I dribbled a good amount of lube onto his sheathed prick until it glistened in the room's weak light. As he spread the oozing gel around, Decker had me inch forward and prepare to straddle him. My favorite way to take a big cock, I thought with lust in my eyes and a fluttering in my excited asshole.
Before swinging my leg over Decker's milk chocolate frame, I poured some lube into my hand and reached around to smear my anxious gash. I had two fingers sliding in and out freely before Decker moved me into position and placed his pecker against my hole. I dropped down quickly to allow the head and another inch to sink into my chute with a jolt of sensation. The mix of pain and pleasure was delicious!
There was some additional pain as Decker, without hesitation, thrust up into me, driving nearly his entire dick deep into my rectum. The discomfort passed quickly, replaced by that buzzing feeling of being filled with cock. Hard, molten, throbbing dick!! Soon I had relaxed into the fuck and was bouncing on Decker's pole, grunting each time my anal rim touched his humming balls. From time to time, I rested my head on Decker's warm chest or defined shoulder. His reaming of my hole, though, kept us in constant motion.
Time passed in a blur of passion. Decker whimpered a little but remained subdued for the most part. But while his voice was quiet, his face expressed every loud feeling and aggressive grinding that my internal muscles were causing his rutting rod. His forehead was dripping sweat. I, on the other hand, was growling and snarling like a creature of the forest. I've always been vocal, but Decker was impaling me so deeply that I was creating nonsense noises to express my incredible feelings of pleasure. At some point, Decker must have assumed ... and rightly so ... that I was getting close to climax, because his groin dropped out from below me as he simultaneously raised me up, allowing his tool to be released from my snapping anus.
He gently manuevered me onto my stomach, trapping my quivering cock tightly against the rumpled and damp bedding. Decker draped himself carefully on top of me, slowly increasing his weight as my body acclimated to the pressure. I turned my head to admire the bits and pieces of our bodies that touched and intertwined, creating a beautiful difference in tone and texture. Decker hung his head and cooed in my ear, "Love your ass, baby ... it's soooo hot and tight! I've never been with a dude that fits me so perfectly ... or works so hard to take my cock! You're so totally sexy and willing, boo! Are you enjoying it? Are you digging my dick, man?!"
"Fuck yes!!" I stammered. "Feed me more of that horsecock, you fucker! Ahhhhhhh!! ... I'm so in love ... love that fuckin' dong rapin' my hole!! Just fuck me, Decker ... keep pounding me!!"
Decker hissed loudly and slid into my ass to the hilt. I yelped with surprise and pure ecstasy and instinctively thrust my ass back to take his rod as deep as possible. With a combined scream, Decker filled the condom with his nubian cream after just a few strokes. And I nutted ribbons of spunk all over his comforter.
Decker remained inside me softly thrusting as his pulse tried to return to normal. Our bodies were glued toge
ther with perspiration and when he had softened, Decker lifted his body off mine with a tantalizing "tearing" sensation. I rolled over, not caring about the sticky mess matting my faint patch of pubic hair to my body, and was sadly surprised to see that Decker was already off the bed and scrambling to get back into his uniform. He casually tossed the bloated rubber into a nearby wastebasket before pulling up his briefs and shorts.I must have looked dejected or angry or something because Decker stopped getting dressed, trotted over to where I was reclining, and dropped down to reward me with a brief but deep and powerful kiss. His lips were soft and surprisingly sensual for someone who had just fucked the shit out me.
"Gotta go if I wanna make up my time, buddy ... where are your car keys?" He was rummaging through my pile of discarded clothing as he shouldered his way into his shirt.
"My keys?" I replied. "Why the fuck do you want my car keys?"
Decker placed his hands on his hips, looking for a moment like a teacher about to scold a recalitrant student. "Because, boo, I took the bus to work today and we can't leave your car there at the post office all night."
I started to protest and explain my not understanding when he abruptly raised his hand to ward off my interruption. "There's two big Porterhouse steaks in the frig ... and all the stuff for a nice salad. Try to have everything ready at 5 ... that way we can refuel, talk a little, and then you can show me what that pretty white dick of yours can do to my tight hole!!" He winked as he picked up his mailbag. "Oh, and help yourself to more beer or anything else." Decker then blew an imaginary kiss in my direction and was gone.
I laid in a stupor for a few moments, enjoying the deeply relaxed feelings of my body. Was I a prisoner? I pondered. Who cares?! my dick answered as it stirred from it's slimy, wilted position against my thigh. I rolled over and wormed over to the very edge of the bed. I leaned out and retrieved the used condom from the trash. Carefully, I worked part of Decker's discarded load out into the palm of my hand. I smeared the mess onto my thickening pecker and then licked the remaining goo from my hand and fingers. Luckily, there was plenty of cum to go around.
I stood up and padded naked into Decker's kitchen to survey the contents of his refrigerator. Then I found my pants and retrieved my cellphone. I hoped that I could present a convincing pretext ... food poisoning is always a versatile ailment ... when I called the office to tell them I wouldn't be coming back in today. I licked my lips, detecting the sweet, lingering flavor of Decker's jizz. And maybe tomorrow, I mused.
HEADLINE: Postal Workers Providing New Levels of Full Service
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