The Autumn Diaries (9 page)

The line at the post office is never short. There are always at least a few people in line, and the workers are walking cliches. They don’t give the slightest of shits about you or what you might be up to, or that normal people have places they’d rather be than the post office. Thus, they are always intolerably slow. They aren’t paid by the customer. They’re paid by the hour. And they work for the fucking government.
 

If I walked into a supermarket and saw three people in front of me, I would think nothing of it, confident that it would only be a few minutes before I was out of there. Not so at our post office. I have to mentally prepare for at least twenty minutes, even if there are only two people in line.
 

Right in front of me in line was this guy with a shaved head and blue eyes. I know he had blue eyes because when I came up behind him, he glanced at me in the casual way anyone will glance back at someone approaching them. Then after that, he turned and took a much better, much longer second look. Because here’s the thing — and I can be immodest here because this is MY diary, dammit — even when I’m casual, I look really fucking hot. I had my light pulled back in a loose knot, with a few wavy strands hanging down and sticking out from the top. I was wearing my reading glasses, which I only do when I’m super tired — cute little black cat’s eye frames. I wasn’t wearing makeup. But because I’m a girl, I of course checked myself out in the mirror even though I was in a rush, and totally thought that, yeah, I’d fuck me. I look way cute when disheveled, and honestly, the glasses are awesome enough that I should probably wear them more. I had on a strappy top without a bra and jeans, and everything was tight. I was carrying my shoulder bag with me, and I learned a little trick — if you wear a bag (or even a purse) across your body instead of hanging at your side so that the strap is between your tits, guys love it. It’s like drawing a giant arrow pointing at your fun bags.
 

Anyway, this guy in front of me takes this nice, long look. Totally unashamed. Then he smiles. It wasn’t a lecherous look or smile, but it was the kind of thing where he was waving a flag letting me know I’d raised his dick, and it would be up to me whether or not I responded. He turned back to the front, probably because he didn’t want to seem like a creep, but there was something about his look that
 
turned me on, and so even though I’m with Sam, I couldn’t resist initiating conversation. I wanted to see those baby blues some more.
 

“It’s always like this in here,” I said to him. Very casually, I shifted my weight so my tits would stick out more, and nudged my sexy secretary glasses into place.
 

The bald guy turned, and there were those eyes again. My jeans felt too tight, and my panties too confining. Blue eyes wasn’t wearing a wedding ring. I could totally nail him. We could go behind the post office — I’d driven around the building dozens of times and even mentally had a spot picked out. I do that all the time. It would be quick and dirty and anonymous. We’d have just enough time beforehand, posting our packages, to build up plenty of nasty anticipation. I’d whisper to him where to meet me, then I’d find him and he’d pull my pants and panties down to my ankles and fuck me against a wall. Five minutes tops, and everyone goes home from the post office happy (and sticky) for a change.
 

But that couldn’t happen. Because I love Sam.
 

He smiled. “Are you in a hurry? You can go ahead of me.”
 

Oh holy shit,
he had the sexiest Australian accent. I’m a sucker for accents. I wanted him to plow me down under. NOW.

“Oh, no, that’s fine. It’s just so…” I didn’t finish the sentence. We both knew this was small talk, and that the real talking was happening with our bodies. I shifted my weight again. Ass out. Chest out. Don’t worry; I made that contortion look sexy.
 

He turned fully toward me. He was mailing a single small package that was long and narrow. I found myself wondering if he were mailing someone a dildo. My mind saw him ripping it open and using it on me right then and there, with the post office watching.

Then the clerk called to him, the line moving uncharacteristically fast. His eyes asked again if I wanted to go, but I demurred with a smile. He did his business, I was called, and we exchanged looks as he left. And that was it; he wasn’t waiting for me outside and I didn’t track him down to fuck him.
 

It was just a random encounter, and in the past, before Sam, I might have taken full advantage of it if he’d been interested, which he certainly seemed to be.
 

But I’m with Sam now.
 

Which doesn’t stop me, in my new profession as a smut writer, from fucking him in my head.
 

So I wrote a story about the sexy blue-eyed Australian fucking me right then, right there, in front of the whole post office. And in the middle of writing and at the end, I shoved my hand down my pants and rubbed my clit until I came.
 

Writing this shit lets me keep fantasy-fucking hot guys while only touching Sam’s cock for real. Best of both worlds.
 

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NOTE: COULDN’T RESIST WRITING THIS one in first person. Might change it to third person later.

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There was a smoking hot guy standing in front of me at the post office, with a shaved head and bright blue eyes.
 

I know he had blue eyes because when I came up behind him, he glanced at me in the casual way anyone will glance back at someone approaching them. After that, he turned and took a better, much longer look. Because here’s the thing — even when I’m casual, I look fantastic. I had my hair back in a loose knot. I hadn’t had time to put my contacts in, so I was wearing my glasses. I wasn’t wearing makeup. But because I’m a girl, I of course checked myself out in the mirror even though I was in a rush, and I totally thought that I’d fuck me. I look way cute when disheveled, and honestly, the glasses are awesome enough that I should probably wear them more. I was wearing a strappy little top and a nothing-fancy skirt. I was carrying my shoulder bag, with the strap pressing down between my tits.

The guy in front of me turned and stared, totally unashamed. He let me know with a smile that I’d tickled his dick and that he would love to tickle me back.
 

“It’s always like this in here,” I said, casually shifting my weight so my tits would stick out more, nudging my sexy glasses into place.
 

The bald guy turned and gave me his bright blue eyes again. He was looking at me as if he was already putting his hands all over me, rubbing my tits through my shirt. I wasn’t wearing a bra. I almost never do.
 

He smiled, and I read a thousand dirty words into his grin.

“Are you in a hurry? You could go ahead of me,” he said in a
holy shit
of an Australian accent. I’m a sucker for accents and wanted him to plow me down under. NOW.

“Oh, no, that’s fine. It’s just so…” I didn’t finish the sentence. We both knew this was small talk, and that the real dialogue was there between our hot bodies. I shifted my weight again. Ass out and chest both out.
 

He turned fully toward me. He was mailing a single small package that was long and narrow. “You seem awfully prettied up for a jaunt to the post office,” he said.

“Sometimes I meet hot guys in line.”
 

The woman behind me heard me — a frumpy lady with scraggly blonde hair. She probably needed a good fucking to loosen her juices, but I doubted anyone was looking to toss her a bone. The way she looked at me when I said the “hot guys” thing, it was almost like I’d spit in her face.
 

“I’ll tell you something,” he said, and with his accent,
I’ll
came out sounding like
oil
. “I sometimes meet hot girls here too.”
 

I made a demure little giggle. The woman behind me rolled her eyes.
 

“What are you mailing?” I asked.
 

He unwrapped it to answer, and showed me the dildo.
 

I giggled again to show my surprise or shock, though I wasn’t shocked at all. I was horny and wanted his dildo inside me. Or the live one he kept in his pants.
 

Right there, in front of the entire post office, Crocodile Hottie opened the box and held the dildo in the air. It was pink and rubbery, with sparkles embedded in its fleshy surface. From the corner of my eye, I saw the woman behind me practically faint. I could also almost see the two customers behind her — both men, one probably in his thirties and the other older.
 

“Who is that for?”
 

He looked at the box and the wrapping paper, now crinkled at his feet.
 

“I guess I can’t really mail it now,” he said. “So I suppose it’s for you.” He dropped his arm and began to run the dildo along the inside of my leg, below the hem of my short skirt. Then he ran it up further, probed briefly, and brought it back out. He looked at the tip, smiling at its glisten. The woman behind us backed up a step and dropped one of her packages.
 

“I don’t think you’re wearing undergarments,” he said in his sexy accent, still smiling at the dildo’s wet tip. “You naughty, naughty girl.”
 

I pulled up my skirt to confirm that I wasn’t.
 

The woman behind us backed into a corner, struck the counter, and sort of collapsed to the floor. The men, however, seemed suddenly very interested. There was a third man working with one of the clerks, and when he heard the woman, he turned. The clerks — one a man and one a woman, looked over at me as well. Everyone’s eyes were fixed to my shaved slit as I held my skirt up, all of them seeing exactly how wet I was, shiny beneath the fluorescents.

Nobody other than the scraggly-haired woman seemed to mind.
 

The office was suddenly quiet.
 

The Australian man pushed the dildo against my pussy lips, then slid it easily inside. I parted my legs more to let more of it in, all the way, then made a little gasp, followed by a larger one.

I dropped my skirt. Both of my hands went right to his pants, then unbuttoned and unzipped him. A moment later I was on my knees in the middle of the post office lobby with this hot guy’s hotter dick halfway down my throat.
 

“Oh yeah,” he said. “Suck my cock, baby.”
 

I slurped it up and down, running my tongue along the bottom. Then I started jerking him with my hand, turning my eyes up to watch him. Finally, after milking his fuckstick for a minute or three, I looked up at him and said, “I want you to fuck me right here. Stick your cock up in my pussy and fuck me until you cum!”
 

I stood. He spun me around, then pushed me over to the counter along the back wall. There were racks holding all sorts of postal forms and forms for voter registration and selective service. Everyone was still watching. Most of the guys, trying and failing to be subtle, had been rubbing the fronts of their pants while watching me suck the guy’s cock. Now the one nearest us — the young guy — was more openly rubbing himself. He came closer. The Australian bent me over the counter, apparently not willing to waste so much as a second. His big, hot cock went all the way into my pussy and I shouted.
 

He started pumping me hard and my head knocked over the racks of forms.
 

I realized that the guy nearest me had gotten nearer, and pulled the dick from his pants. It was hard and red at the tip. Since it looked so pretty I moved one hand from the counter and started to stroke it.
 

With one cock in my cunt and another in my hand — both throbbing, with their owners panting and starting to grunt and moan — I felt myself starting to cum.
 

Then I did and about fell to the floor as my knees unhinged.
 

“I’M CUMMING!” I screamed.
 

That was too much for the guy whose cock I was stroking. He exploded thick ropes of white goo all over my leg. His load was massive and I felt it running down my pretty limb, then down into my shoe. The guy about fell over afterward, regaining just enough composure to come over and start rubbing my tits from under my shirt. It felt great. I felt myself already starting to cum again.
 

My Australian stud gave a mighty heave, yelled something in my ear, then leaned forward and bit the back of my neck. He pulled out and I felt his cum squirt into my still-gaping hole, spilling out and running down between my pussy lips and across my clit. His cum dripped to the floor, and I found myself wondering what the janitor would think.
 

With the spell broken, the customers in the post office started to snap out of their trances. The guy who I’d jerked off tucked his dick back into his pants and picked up his package, which he’d left on the counter beside me. I pulled my shirt and skirt back into place, knowing I’d have to wipe off back in the car or I’d slowly leak cum all over the seat on the drive home. The blue-eyed Australian guy put himself away. The woman stood, tried to pretend that nothing had happened, then gave up, suddenly spinning around marching out of the post office without a word.