They dined out at least once a week. Nelson ordered the New York strip, Suzanne the pasta primavera. A glass of red and a glass of white. They quietly talked. She told him of the class she was teaching, The American Novel. Gatsby was currently being discussed, which Suzanne loved. Nelson was not as enthusiastic. He preferred Wharton, about whom they had talked last week. This epitomized their relationship, at least one aspect of it, for she was an educated and insightful woman, a proud Dartmouth grad. Steeped in academia, she inhabited a world very different from his. He was an educated man as well, but his study of history had come at the United States Military Academy at West Point.
They had been brought together as a couple that might or might not work. She had been the more skeptical one, but Nelson's insights into Steinbeck had fascinated Suzanne. His acute understanding of history, in which he had majored, had won her over. Had he spent his military career in something like infantry or armor, it probably would not have worked. But intelligence had been Nelson's branch, in which he rose to lieutenant colonel in his eighteen years. The talk left Gatsby's world of the 1920s.
"And what was your day like?" Suzanne asked him.
The answer could go one of two ways. It could be very mundane, for Nelson was a letter carrier. After the service, he had sought simplicity. And his postal service work added toward his federal retirement. His intent was to work until he had thirty years total between the Army and the USPS, and then move on. Most often, there was not much to tell. But on occasion, his response to the question went another way. Suzanne was waiting. And he gave her the answer that would get her complete attention.
"I had sex with one of my customers today."
It was earlier that day, a Thursday. Nelson parked his truck at the end of Oak Street. Normally here he would walk two blocks down and back, beginning at the white house on the corner and delivering mail all the way. But today he gathered only a magazine and three letters. All the mail for the white house. He glanced at the handful. National Geographic, a credit card offer, a utility bill. And something from Stanford, which identified the recipient as an alum. That was Mia, who lived in the white house with her husband and two children. He commuted to work somewhere, and Nelson never saw him outside of Saturdays. The kids were in school. But on Monday he'd found her in the garden planting rosebushes, and she told him that she'd taken the week off. On Tuesday she was throwing a ball for their golden retriever, Splash. Nelson had paused, enjoying the display of her athleticism.
Mia was tall, maybe five--eleven he thought. Dark shoulder-length hair. Wearing shorts, as she usually was when he encountered her in the yard. Jean shorts that displayed her long legs. She was not slender, her body more shaped by activity. Once she had mentioned that she played volleyball in a community league. All of that was very nice, and the intelligence and achievement indicated by her education accentuated her physical presentation. It was the same reason he was with Suzanne.
Yesterday, Nelson had delivered a parcel to Mia. She'd offered him a glass of ice water, and he'd accepted for the excuse of engagement while he drank it. For about ten minutes they'd talked. About how relaxing it was to have some time off, although she had said that she appreciated his company during other otherwise alone time, saying this with a smile and a deliberate flash of her eyes. Subtle, but it was there. Nelson had glanced at her figure, enough to be noticed but not an ogling. Finally, he had said he needed to be getting on.
"Can't ever stay long?" Mia had said with a mock frown. Nelson had just smiled and told her exceptions could always be made.
"I'll be waiting," she had replied.
Mia, of course, was simply very friendly. And perhaps innocently flirtatious. But Nelson didn't think so. Today he was ready for all eventualities.
The mailbox was by the door, but Nelson knocked anyway. Mia was there in a moment. Broad smile. The shorts. A t-shirt that was a bit tight.
"Is this all you have for me today?" she said, taking the mail.
"Is there anything else you'd like?" he responded.
She grinned.
"Come on in. I'm just working on the porch."
Nelson was getting hard. He followed her. The view was magnificent, and he thought to himself that there was a little more sway to her ass than would be natural, but he couldn't be certain. If it was intentional, she was good.
The three-season porch overlooked the backyard through a wall of windows, but trees provided privacy from the neighbors. There were planting pots and bags of soil, but everything was tidy. Mia turned and hopped up on the table, her feet dangling above the floor. Her legs were parted slightly, her hands on the edge of the table. She looked at him and smiled.
"I was just about to get dirty," she said.
"I'd like to see that," Nelson responded.
Mia lowered her eyes and looked conspicuously at the front of his postal shorts.
"Looks like I'm not the only one."
It was clear enough. Nelson moved forward to the table such that Mia had to part her legs even more to accommodate him. He leaned in to give her a kiss, and she tilted her head to receive it. His hand moved to her breast, felt through the shirt. Clearly she wasn't wearing a bra, and he felt her nipple go erect through the fabric. Then Mia scooted forward just a couple of inches until they were touching below the waist. His erect cock pressed, through their mutual shorts, against her pussy. Their kiss became more intense, then slowly their lips parted.
Nelson took a step back, but his eyes never left Mia's. Without leaving the table, she slipped out of her shorts. No panties, either. He could discern a full bush even without diverting his gaze. Again like Suzanne, he thought. Then he lowered his shorts. Nelson felt his cock pop out, now freed and erect. Mia raised her eyebrows.
"Oh my," she said, a reaction that was obviously both genuine and for effect.
Nelson had a big dick. Nearly eight and a half inches. The real size, not in the inflated world where everyone was packing at least eight. Its girth was proportionate. Not the largest male member in the world, but he knew that he was in the select few. He also knew that, physically, it did not matter much. But at the same time, there were intangible elements to being a member of the one percent. A lover had once described it as a unique experience, mostly psychological. Another had told him that it was flattering having a man with such at attribute focusing on her. It certainly did not hurt his confidence. Nor did the fact that he was tall and in excellent shape for a man of any age. Though he'd mostly spent his military career behind a desk, he'd been serious about physical training. Nelson had not the look of a gym rat but rather that of a man who ran every morning and ate well. This was running through his mind as he took off his shirt. Mia watched him as she pulled off her shirt. Lovely tits.
Nelson closed the distance between them, leaning into to kiss her as she herself leaned into it. His cock touched the inside of her thigh and twitched and he felt her involuntary reaction. He put his hands on her waist and slowly moved them up her sides while kissing her deeply. Without using his hands he maneuvered his cock so that it was against her, the shaft along the wet and receptive cleft between her legs. He moved, sliding the hard dick against the warm wetness. Mia kissed him more intensely now. He was thinking of Suzanne. Then, still kissing her, he moved such that the head of his cock was poised to enter her, and slowly he moved forward. As he filled her, she raised her legs into the hair and lowered herself to the table.