Sitting on a worn wooden stool, his arms lazily draped on the marble counter, was the window's clerk, Steve Samuels. He was bored, not feeling well from drinking too much the previous night, and his bad leg, two inches shorter and smaller than normal because of a birth defect, ached. Besides which, he had read all of the comic books and men's magazines that were scattered around the back of the post office, and he had nothing to do until quitting time. He sighed and rubbed the leather shoe, alleviating for the moment the heaviness of his extra thick built-up heel and sole.
When Cindy Jamison hesitantly approached the window, he suddenly perked up, leering over at her and smacking his thick, rubbery lips. Hey boy! Was that one hell of a woman there… He smirked, noting the twin wedding bands on her finger and knowing full well she'd been fucked and fucked and fucked by her husband.
He couldn't keep his beady eyes off her, his brain fermenting with lascivious thoughts. Her slacks were the tightest pair he had ever seen on a woman, highlighting her rich thighs and pert young buttocks as she walked towards him, and for a crazy instant the clerk thought he could make out the narrow line of her cuntal split. Her breasts strained against the thin blouse, moving rhythmically as she came, and again the afflicted postal clerk couldn't help his erotic thoughts. Is she wearing a bra? Is that all her flesh and was that faint ridge the seams of her bra…? Or tight, berry nipples, swaying without hindrance? He licked dry lips. That lucky bastard of a husband, sliding into that luscious body every time he wants it… Too bad I ain't fucking it on the side.
Cindy Jamison saw the clerk, felt his burning gaze on her body, almost blushing at the blatant way he all but undressed her. She had lost much of her original courage and conviction by the time she had parked her car nearby, and it was only with the desire to do something to save her marriage, even as drastic as this, which kept her going into the post office and to the window. The blatantly leering clerk was almost the last straw, almost sending her running out of the building and back to her home.
It was terrible the way he kept staring at her, as though she was some sideshow freak. And him, so small, so ugly, so… so creepy! He wore thick glasses with an odd green tint to the lens which magnified his eyes until they looked frogish and bulging. His skin was the color of oatmeal, yet there was a Mongolian cast to his features like the half-caste Indians of the Amazon or the south-of-the-border mulattos of Tampa's Ybor City. His sparse black hair was greased flat to his narrow skull.
"Yes?" the postal clerk said to her, and his voice matched his looks. It was thin, bitter, raspy… and Cindy could only think of the word, dark, to describe its hint of malice.
"I…" she faltered, her throat parched and tight. "I… want to open a post office box."
"What size do you want?" Samuels asked.
So simple a question, yet for the life of her Cindy couldn't think clearly enough to answer. She was tongue-tied, gripped by panic and indecision now that she was faced with actually going through with the operation. The postal clerk leaned forward and repeated the question. Finally she managed, "A small one. Yes, that's it, just a small one, please."
"Fill out this card," the postal clerk instructed, bringing out a three-by-five printed card. "Name, address, and…"
"Address?" Cindy asked, "but I don't want…"
"Have to have the address down, Ma'am. Postal regulations. We're not allowed to rent boxes unless you have a permanent address. We even have one of the mailmen confirm that you live there, too, so don't put down a false one."
"Oh, I wouldn't dream of that!"
The postal clerk chuckled. "I'm sure you wouldn't." He leaned forward again. "Here, use my pen." He studied the twin globes of her magnificent breasts as they moved while she wrote out the information on the card. He could tell she was nervous, that there was something the matter… and his tricky little brain started considering possible reasons.
Cindy handed the card back. The clerk picked it up and squinted carefully at what she had written, memorizing her home address. He grinned intimately and asked, "I see you only want the box for yourself. Don't you want your husband to know?"
The unsuspecting wife reeled with the impertinence of the question. It was almost as if this little, gnarled gnome across the counter could read her mind! Could see the obvious state of her confusion and embarrassment and was capitalizing on it for his own sick, perverted amusement! He continued to stare at her from behind his thick lensed glasses, and for one horrid second, Cindy almost blurted out the truth: that she wasn't going to let Howard know what she'd done because he might think ill of her… or other things might happen between now and when Box C123's pictures arrived which would make this whole questionable idea unnecessary. Then she would simply forget she had done this, never return to the post box, let the rent run out on it and the memory fade…
She hoped the latter would be the case, that nobody would ever know what depths she had been driven to… and now this smirking postal clerk was prying where he had no business being!
"It's a… personal reason," she said, trying to sound curt but knowing that there was a weakness, a dread in her voice.
The clerk nodded and took the card away for a moment, then returned with another slip of paper. He handed the slip to Cindy. "You now have Box 34004, near the end. That'll be three dollars and fifty cents for three months."
Cindy dug into her purse for the money and paid. The clerk made out a receipt. "The combination for the box is on the first slip I gave you; the second one is for your records." The way he said it made Cindy think that he could tell she wasn't going to keep the receipt, but was going to throw it away at once.
"Thank you," she said in a low voice. She stuffed both papers into her purse and then brought out the thin package of pictures. She used the clerk's pen to write her new return address on the wrapping, then handed the parcel to him. "I want to mail this."
Samuels didn't reply, but weighed the package, put on the stamps and a first class sticker and threw it on the table behind him. "Forty-three cents, please," he said, turning back to her.
She paid, waited for the change, and then with chin held high, she walked away. As she neared the post office entrance, she couldn't help experiencing a sudden, uplifting of the spirit. She'd done it! She'd actually gone through with it, renting a box and mailing the pictures! Elation and giddiness swept through her as she realized that she had found the courage to follow through with her idea. Although still not completely convinced as she had been at home about the wisdom of her move, she was proud of her determination.
Steve Samuels, the postal clerk, chuckled to himself as he watched Mrs. Cindy Jamison's trim buttocks pass from his heated view. He rubbed his thin, rough skinned fingers together. Yes sir, he now had an idea what was upsetting that sweet little housewife so much. Now to confirm his suspicions! He got off his stool and limped over to where a large, thick postal directory was kept. He took it down from the shelf, thumbed through its pages until he found what he was looking for. With a triumphant grin across his face, he slammed the book shut and dragged himself back to where he'd put Cindy Jamison's envelope.