Page 6 of The Fed Sex Man

2

Tyson

“The boxyou left last week was upside down.” Her voice was edgy, like that of a smoker. “Everything was all jostled around,” she continued.

Miss Everly was new to the neighborhood. In the past six days I’d made six deliveries to her home, but I had yet to catch a glimpse of her. I preferred associating a face to a name, so I turned toward the raspy voice without hesitation.

Athletic legs sprouted from fuzzy slippers and seemed to go on for miles. They disappeared beneath the hem of a monogrammed terrycloth robe that was far too short to be wearing anywhere but in the privacy of one’s home.

She flipped her platinum blond hair over her shoulders. The edges of her full lips curled into a slight smile. She looked as if she’d stepped off the set of a centerfold shoot for Playboy magazine.

I smiled in return. “Sorry about that, but I don’t pack the boxes or label them. I place them on your porch with the printed address facing up. If someone put the label on the bottom of the box, it would end up upside down.”

Box in hand, she took a step in my direction. When she did, her robe fell open, revealing much more than a glimpse of her disproportionately large boobs. “Well, it’s not a big deal,” she said, making no effort to cover herself. “I just thought I’d say something.”

“You might mention it to whoever packed the box.” I lowered my gaze from her bulging breasts to the box she held. I gave a half-hearted wave. “Have a nice day.”

“Would you like a glass of tea?” She asked. “It’s terribly hot out here.”

She was right. It was early spring, and over hundred degrees. Nonetheless, I knew myself well enough to realize a glass of tea with a half-dressed wannabe supermodel wouldn’t be limited to a glass of tea. I had somewhere else I was anxious to go and didn’t need – or want – the distraction.

At least not at that moment.

“Sorry,” I said. “I’ve got a full truck. I’ll have to take a rain check.”

She shifted her gaze to the sky. “One glass of tea won’t hurt.”

While she ogled the cloudless sky, I stared at her tanned mounds of buttery smooth flesh for long enough to memorize the location of each freckle. With reluctance, I tore my eyes away from the scantily dressed temptress and cleared my throat.

“I’m on a tight schedule,” I said, forcing the words past my lips. “Thanks for the offer.”

“That’s a shame.” She cocked her hip slightly and threw me a hopeful smile. “Tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow’s Saturday,” I said with a smile and a wave. “Maybe some other time. Thank you.”

With a half-stiff dick and a mind reeling with ideas of what to do with it, I left Miss Everly’s home and completed my residential deliveries, finishing before nine am. An hour later I was on my commercial route, delivering a next-day package to a local book store.

The book store’s owner was the newfound object of my sexual desires, and my reason for putting Miss Everly on the back burner. Jo Watson was a mirror image of the sexiest woman I’d ever seen. She also shared the last name of one of my idols.

I had plans to seduce her.

She was the twin to Miss Garber, my high school librarian. The subject of daily lunchroom conversations between every boy in school, Garber was thin with curves in all the right places. Her high cheeks, long legs, and pouty lips attracted the attention of every male within eyeshot and garnered the envy of the entire female population of Plano, Texas.

Wearing form-fitting skirts and button-down blouses, she defined all that was sexy throughout my formative years. With horn-rimmed glasses perched low on the bridge of her nose she strode through the library, leaving a room of raging hard-ons in her wake. I ached to fuck her for four years and continued to fantasize about her long after graduating. I now had the opportunity to screw her doppelganger, and I intended to take advantage of fulfilling that fantasy.

Eagerly, I grabbed the Zappos box and hopped out of my truck.

Wearing a pair of cut-off jean shorts, boots, and a Johnny Cash tee shirt, her well-endowed co-worker stood with her nose pressed against the glass door. I flashed a quick smile and gazed at the bookshelf beyond her, where Miss Garber’s look-alike adjusted a row of books.

Jo Watson’s ass was shaped like the waning crescent moon, perfect in size and as round as the glass sphere paperweight that sat atop the desk behind her. The pair of black-framed Rayban glasses she wore were in complete contrast to her pale skin, and her hair was in a braided messy bun that rested against the back of her bare neck.

I reached for the door handle, paused, and took every inch of her into view. Dressed in a sleeveless black dress and black low-heeled shoes, she looked remarkable. While I revered her every feature, my cock acknowledged her beauty by stiffening a little more with each beat of my heart.

Emotionally committed to delivering the package, and far too confident in my manhood to allow a stiff dick to embarrass me, I pushed the door open and stepped in front of the large-breasted cowgirl.

“Good morning.” I glanced at the label on the box. “I need a signature from Jo Watson.”

The cowgirl’s gaze was fixed on the growing bulge in my shorts. “Jo,” she said without looking away from the outline of my cock. “He’s got a package for you.”