Third Class Mail
"Harold?" A faint voice cried out from the bedroom upstairs.
"Yes Maude?" A baritone answered from below.
"Are you coming to bed?" Harolds' wife's voice gained strength.
Harold was bald, chunky, and pushing fifty five years old. After thirty years of working for Maudes' father , a cantankerous old fart that owned most of Baltimores' dry cleaners, Harold was like most men of his age and position in life. Bored.
Maude was fifty three years old, slender, rather lanky, practically tit-less, with simple features and mousey brown hair worn in a pony tail since college. Doomed to a life that she never wanted and thoroughly hated, Maude was like most women that had absolutely nothing going for them. Bored.
Harold spends his nights in the basement on his laptop cruising porn sites while Maude was in the master bedroom on hers. Maude however had no interest in porn sites. The hole in her heart that drained her spirit couldn't be filled as a spectator. Interaction with other people was what she craved. Those cravings were satisfied on an adult chat site called, 'Excite!" which she frequented nightly as 'Stunning Cunt' between the hours of 9-11 pm. Stunning described herself as a hot 30 something, unhappily married and looking for Mr. Right.
Mr. Right happened to be Ralph Connors, a sixty something plumber from Detroit who described himself as a tall, muscular, 40'ish advertising executive that could tie a knot in a cherry stem with his tongue. That was the only piece of truth in his bio as he had proven time and time again in the local bars in his neighborhood. The gist of that particular skill apparently was that he possessed a skilled tongue that would surely satisfy even the most skeptical of his female targets since he was poorly hung.
Mr. Right enjoyed his status at 'Excite!' where he was known as 'The Tongue' and his profile page was covered with scantily clad maidens all professing to be 'perfect' for him.
"I'll be right there honey! Give me five minutes." The time was needed to close out all the windows of porn that had stacked up during his evenings cruise through the Internet. It also allowed, unbeknownst to him of course, Maude the opportunity to pull off one more orgasm with The Tongue before slapping her laptop shut and scrambling under the covers before Harold caught her.
So this was the life of Harold and Maude Jennings of 234 Maple Avenue, a neat little craftsman style house built in the 40's for returning veterans of WWII. The street was lined with maple trees and white picket fences. Dogs chased cats, and cats chased squirrels, and the men on the block mowed their lawns on Saturday mornings, and washed their cars in their driveways Saturday afternoons. Afterwards one or more of them would grill and the neighbors would all end up in backyards tossing horseshoes or a football.
Ahh, yes it was a simple life on Maple Street. No gangs of thugs on the corner, no loud music pumping from cars that were almost dragging the ground, and certainly no crime. It was the ideal neighborhood to bring up children and there were many on the block riding bikes and pulling little red wagons carrying the family pet.
Yet, that was Maple Avenue on the surface and in broad daylight.
Nighttime was different.
Take Don and Rhonda Carson. Don worked nights at the chemical plant just outside the city limits. Naturally, that left poor Rhonda, his hot young wife all alone. Well, she was only alone until dark. That's when Rod Carroll who lived on Elm Street which ran parallel with Maple and directly behind the Carsons hopped the fence and scampered to the rear door to be greeted by the hot red head who dragged him by the collar and swept him inside.
Then there were the Olsons. Frank Olson was the hunk of the neighborhood and the neighborhood wives all gathered on the sidewalk on Saturday mornings to watch Frank mow his yard. The highlight was of course when the 38 year old construction worker slipped off his trademark red tee shirt and grinned which showed off his sparkling white teeth.
Now, Frank had a wife, Dottie, but she was older and her libido was lower than a snail in winter. So, the hunk of the neighborhood frequented the widow Moore at 256 Maple Avenue every Tuesday and Thursday under the guise of playing poker with the boys.
There's much more going on at night on Maple Avenue, but by now you get the drift. It was the same routine night in and night out as it was in much of America. Bored housewives and horny husbands that had disconnected long ago now sought a love or sex connection somewhere else.
Harold and Maude were no different.
While Maude really did feel a connection to The Tongue, and Harold had made contact with several sites that promised real sex within minutes, neither of them had taken the next step. Oh, they knew their marriage was in trouble but had no clue how to fix it.
Then one day, Maude casually sauntered to the curbside cluster of mailboxes about the same time as Dottie, Rhonda, and the widow Moore. The housewives nodded as they collected their mail and made small talk about the exceptionally warm weather for October.
"Holy shit!" Rhonda exclaimed as she unfolded a piece of third class mail.
"What on earth is that?" The widow Moore said as she slid her glasses down her nose and peeked over Rhondas' shoulder.
Rhonda opened it up fully, as the other ladies gathered around.
"It's some kind of ad for a sex clinic...I think." Rhonda said as Maude nodded in agreement.
"Sex clinic? What's a sex clinic?" Franks icy wife Dottie asked.
"You know...one of those 'how to' things were they teach new techniques and demonstrate new toys and stuff like that." Rhonda explained as she lit a cigarette and continued, "and I for one am going to go!"
Maude looked at Dottie who looked at the widow Moore.
"What do you think?" Maude asked.
Dottie grinned and replied,"Sounds interesting...when is it?"
"It's tomorrow night over at that big house on the hill. 7 pm sharp."
"Do we bring our husbands?" Maude asked before apologizing to the widow Moore who simply shrugged her shoulders.
Rhonda continued, "Uh, let me see. Nope. No husbands or boyfriends allowed. For women only."
The women all gathered close to Rhonda and stared at the glossy photos. Apparently the theme for the event was fellatio and there were numerous couples engaged in the act in full color leaving little to the imagination.
After a few minutes of gawking and sighing, our cast slowly separated and walked back to their respective homes. They were each lost in their own thoughts of their mundane sex lives and what they could possible learn at a clinic exclusively for women.
Dottie suspected her husband was fooling around, but had no clue it was the widow Moore. At first she accepted it since her desires were gone anyway, and was sorta thankful that he wouldn't be pawing at her all the time since he was being serviced elsewhere. But, that damn piece of third class mail was pretty graphic and stirred something in her loins that she hadn't felt in a long time. She stopped on her porch and lit a cigarette and stared up and down Maple Avenue wondering just what really went on behind all those closed doors?
After popping the cap on a beer, Dottie sat on her sofa smoking and drinking. The pictures of women sucking a mans cock from that sex clinic flyer had her mouth watering and her pussy twitching in seconds. After putting her cigarette out, she got up and marched into her bedroom, opened the drawer of her nightstand and retrieved her big flesh colored dildo and quickly began sucking it. In seconds, her unused cunt began flowing. She ran the warm , and now very wet dildo over her face and kissed it over and over before slipping it to her moist pussy. The instant it slipped in, she let out a soft gasp, then moan. With her legs open, she leaned back against the headboard and began fucking herself hard. The first wave of orgasms slammed into her anxious pussy with such force she cried out, "Oh FUCK! FUCK!" before the next wave ran across her lower back and up her legs into her now spastic pussy where they exploded sending her into the 'zone' of ecstasy. The shaking quieted to quivering as she slumped down on her pillow and drifted off to sleep with her toy still buried inside her.
The widow Moore also stopped on her porch where she pulled the pin from her tight bun and shook her long dark hair loose. Then she went inside and sat on her sofa and picked up a Vogue magazine. She did enjoy Vogue since it had so many pictures of beautiful women with big red glossy lips. You see, the widow Moore was a closeted bi-sexual and hot women made her pussy tingle and drip in a flash. Women were better lovers in her book, and knew exactly which buttons to push and how to drive a woman to the edge... then hold her back. Suddenly, she found her feet on the edge of the coffee table, as she held the open magazine inches from her face and lusted after those shiny red lips advertising Revlon lipstick. There was no stopping her right hand from pinching her nipples before cruising over her flat tummy where her palm rested over her pubic mound. She brought the glossy magazine page to her lips and kissed the anonymous young mouth again and again as her fingers danced inside her dripping pussy. The sensation was overwhelming as she finger fucked herself to multiple climaxes soaking her new Baltimore Ravens throw that rested on her sofa for cold winter nights.
Rhonda too, felt urges when she got home. Sexual intercourse for her was always fun, but her big thing was sucking cock. Dottie's husband Frank had a nice package as far as she could tell when he wore those tight jeans, but Frank was heavily involved with the widow Moore and most everyone on Maple Avenue knew that, except Dottie of course. Rhonda had made more than one play at the neighborhood hunk but to no avail. That's why she took up with Rod back on Elm Street. Franks rejection only fueled Rhonda and her hunger for cock, and Rod Carroll was hung like a stallion. Unfortunately, Rod was at work, Frank had rejected her and her husband Don had been called in for some overtime.
Then she remembered the pizza boy. What was his name? Ricky? Rocky? Shit, it didn't matter. With a dripping cunt, any cock would do. A quick call to Dominos and it was all set. Rhonda masturbated thinking about the tall, lanky teen with sandy hair and got herself off several times beforw the doorbell rang. A nice swirl through her pussy gathered enough cum for her to lick from her fingers as she pranced to the door. The young pizza boy smiled and said, "uh, one pepperoni and green peppers? That's $7.50 ma'am."
Rhonda dragged the delivery boy in as she took the box from his hand and tossed it on the coffee table. The startled lad then stood wi his mouth open as Rhonda brought his swollen cock from his jeans and rubbed it over her lips. He slipped his stupid little hat off, grabbed the back of her head and proceeded to fuck her mouth hard. Needless to say, Rhonda got more than she bargained for as the young man pumped load after load of hot cum down her throat as she swallowed feverishly to keep up. It had been a while since she had fucked a 19 year old and had forgotten that they can go and go and go and go. Upon completion of his task, the young man said, "Uh, no charge ma'am. I got it this time. Thanks." Then he picked up his little hat and squared it on his head and walked out leaving Rhonda with a still warm mouthful of cum.
Maude stepped through her front door and heard noises in the basement. After tip toeing to the basement door she cracked it a bit and peeked in. Harold had oiled up with Baby Oil and was twisting and turning his crank to some big titted babe on one of those web cam sites. Maude leaned back against the door and ran her hand directly to her now twitching cunt. Although Maude had never considered herself a voyeur, she was having the time of her life as she watched her husband and 'Stormy' get each other so hot...even 'Stormy' climaxed! Maude's knees buckled when she saw streams of cum spurting from her husbands cock. One hand went to the door frame as the other hand finished her off.
"Aw, shit!! Fuck. Fuck. Fuckkkk!!" Maude cried out loud as her own juices ran down her legs.
Harold turned his head and saw Maude sliding down the door. He quickly jumped up and with his cock still semi erect, he ran to the stairs holding his pants up with both hands while his cock danced against his belly.
"Maude? Honey, are you ok? What happened?" Harold asked as he squatted down in front of her.
Maude opened her eyes and saw Harolds' dripping cock and immediately took it to her mouth. Although he was shocked, he leaned back and watched his wife give him the blow job of his life. Over and over she sucked and slurped his cum soaked prick. Then flooded his hand that he had placed on her warm pussy. Completely exhausted and satisfied, Harold asked, "What the Hell was that Maude?" as he stood and zipped up his Dockers.
"Harold. We need to talk."
The moral of the story?
The only thing needed to spice up your sex life is a little piece of third class mail.
Everything else will....find its way to your bed.