Mail

Mail


There was a silence in the room when the door leading to the garage opened and Barbie came through the door, holding the day's mail and her car keys in one hand. Swung around her shoulder was her purse -- a book bag which she carries to work. In the book bag is her regular purse, a change of shoes and a pair of pants in case of accidents on the train.

 

Like many workers who commute using public transportation, she drives her car to a park-and-ride lot, changes shoes, and runs to the bus to get to and from work each day.

Barbie walked by me, kissing me on the bald spot at the top of my head. Looking at the computer screen I kept my eyes on, she greeted me in that southern belle accent of hers.

"Hey hon! Are you answering mail or writing?"

"Writing."

She rubs my shoulders -- she knows that I love that. Actually, just about anything she does turns me on something awful. Knowing that she affected my concentration, she stops and moves toward the kitchen.

I hear the kitchen light come on, and the familiar rustling of the coffeemaker being used, as she pours a cup of coffee into one of her small cups. Barbie then turned and walked over to the kitchen table as I continued to type my way through another story.

"Micheal?"

"Barbara?" Her name was Barbara Faye. Only her mother got to call her that, as even I was not permitted to call her anything except Barbara when we started to date.  I told her that I was never partial to being called anything except "Mike". My mother calls me "Micheal" and I never liked it when she did that; but she was my mother. She's gone now, God rest her soul. She would have never accepted the woman I ended up with.

Barbara is nine years older than me. She had a long and tattered life.

 

This was her third "marriage" -- we haven't decided on the marriage thing yet. So we're living in sin, which used to also bother her when we first started to date. Now that she knows that I am with her for the rest of our days on this earth -- "and 50 years afterwards" as she reminds me -- she thinks of me as her husband.  She's my sweetheart, the only one I want now. I'm not ready for the "W" �" wedding - word.

Not yet.

I started calling her "Barbie" after the doll. She looks nothing like the Mattel toy, but it helps to remind her not to call me "Micheal" and to have fun. Barbie has been dying her hair a deep dark brown �"almost black -- since 43. Every four weeks she goes to her hair dresser and gets another bottle of Preference applied to her hair and eyebrows. She looks stunning -- her pale white skin, her dark hair, green eyes and her figure.  She has managed through eight children to keep herself down to a size seven. She complains about her hips, the
lack of a full butt, her tummy and the fact that she's old.

It was all of those facts which made me want her from the first time we met at one of my book signings.  A woman who looked great, had a brain, had a job, had a car, and understood the complex character of Manny Brue, or cried at the conclusion of "Doggies and Jarheads." Someone who knew I had female friends but know that I would never want to cheat on her with any of them.

She was too good for that. Besides, she knew ju-jitzo.

"Did you deposit your last check into the account yesterday?"

I thought of a quick lie. Nah, why lie?

 

"No. I'm sorry, love. I didn't get to the bank."

Barbara got up out of her chair, and walked around back to the midroom which serves as a combination den and living area.

I reached a stopping point and looked at my mate.

"Okay. I'm guilty. I got to writing for most of the day yesterday and I didn't make it out to the bank." I looked at her as I explained the truth.

 

It was true. I had one of those days in which I was being so damned productive - four chapters instead of my normal one or two - and all I could think about was how Jonny was going to get away from the slave traders and at the same time get across the swamp, infested with everything wanting to suck up, eat up, or swallow whole a human
being.

"We had a bounced check today." Barbara smiled.

 

"The check you wrote to Steve for the patches you ordered.  You'll have to call him and send him a money order. Mike, you've got to deposit those book checks.  Or have them to send them to the bank, honey."

I smiled back to Barbara.

 

"You know what that means. I'll meet you in the bedroom. And turn off the computer please!" She moved toward the bedroom, taking off her blouse as she walked slowly.

"I can't. Really, Barbie. Not tonight. I'm to a point where..."

Barbara returned and stood inches away from my turned chair.

"Hey buddy. We agreed. When we bounce a check, we have sex all night long.  All night long, with no exceptions, no rainchecks, no "I've got a headache."

Making love with Barbara was already a near-all-night thing. I smiled, remembering the last time that we �" I - bounced a check. The two of us could barely walk the next day. Good thing it was a Friday when the notice appeared in the mailbox.

It was not that our sex life needed any spicing-up; we have been through three sets of neighbors, each who have complained in one fashion or another about our amorous behavior at all hours of the night. We both work long, sometimes involved days at our regular jobs. When my job sent me to Poland for seven weeks, one set of neighbors was so concerned they would come over frequently and ask if everything was fine. After Barbara told them that I was gone for a bit, they were relieved.

 

"We got used to hearing the two of you," Katie blushed, "when Billy and I didn't hear you two for a while, we got worried!"

 

I laughed when Barbara emailed me the gist of their conversation.

"Aww", I wrote back, "They cared!!"

 

Barbie wrote back "They just miss their free Spice channel!"

 

When I returned from the Polish Republic, I took a short leave of absence and the noise level increased.

The manager of our apartment complex even asked us "is there any way you two can hold down the sounds??"

Barbara was repressed in her two marriages from doing anything but just laying there. I had been repressed in my last marriage by not saying how good it was or even saying the four letter work
for intercourse.  I found my match in this older woman whose sexual appetite was only as limiting as my own -- and who was not afraid to tell everyone and God how good it was or whether I needed to go faster or slower, or when she was about to explode in those warm feelings.

Priase God for intercourse and the great feelings that result between a man and woman engaged in the first steps of creating life! Even if both of our "baby making" mechanics have been removed or immobilized.

She extended her hand outward to me. She looked a little funny, with her shirt half off, exposing where she had her heart worked on. I can see the small lump under her left breast where the portacath was. I stood and bent over and kissed her on her portacath.

"Really. I have never said no to you, Barba..." I started. It was no use. I did not even get to lock the door, nor turn off the computer. It stayed connected to the Internet all night long.

And Someone had mercy on the two of us, for the next day, nine inches of snow fell and both of us used a "snow day" and stayed in the bed for most of that day too.

I still had the check in my jacket pocket.

 

Thank you, Twin Cities Federal, for sending us those notices. Keep up the good work!