Miz Judge Oaf was out of town visiting her family over in Salisbury, leaving Your Distinguished Jurist to batch it for a couple of days. "Batching it" usually involves a lot of take-out food, laundry and housecleaning done only occasionally, and relaxing the already casual dress code for "around the house".

Now, I don't go 'round butt-nekkid, if that's what you're thinking. Rather, I wear what's comfortable, if not necessarily a fashion statement. For instance, my current attire is a "gin-yoo-wine" Hilo Hattie Hawaiian shirt, a pair of well-worn black sweatpants, and my good ol' Timberland boots. Comfy clothes, warm on these chilly mountain mornings, and very functional if I have to deal with anything on-property, and don't want to shock the neighbors.

Curiously, this was the same outfit I was wearing this past Monday morning. I was returning home after dropping Miz Judge Oaf off at the airport in Asheville. The trip back from Asheville takes about an hour of good old mountain driving, with most of the twisty-turny stuff just as you get to my neck of the woods.

I made the turn onto Green Hollow Road, and could just see my driveway, when I noticed the mailman's car parked at my mailbox at the foot of the hill.

Now, my mailman is actually a woman. Forty-ish, gregarious and friendly, Marla knows everything that goes on in town long before it gets into our joke of a newspaper, and with greater basis in fact.

Well, Marla's '78 Buick Electra 225 was there, all right, "US Mail" placard in the front windshield. However, there was no sign of her anywhere.

This was curious.

I pulled onto the shoulder of the road about thirty feet short of my driveway, grabbed my .38 from the glove box, and got out to investigate.

No sense walking into a possibly nasty situation unprepared, right?

As I approached the big Buick, I noticed it was rocking slightly. I could hear gasps coming from the back seat. Crouching, I duck-walked up to the driver's door and peered through the window.

And there was Marla, lying in the Buick's big back seat, breathing like a long distance runner, her mail-carrier's uniform awry. One fat tanned breast bobbed provocatively, unencumbered by the capacious bra I saw draped over the front seat. A brown nipple peeped from time to time between the buttons of her mail carrier's blouse.

Marla's eyes were closed tightly in concentration on the task at hand, legs up, both hands buried in her crotch, fingers busy.

I must have arrived at the climactic moment, because Marla suddenly emitted a loud guttural "Ooooohhh!" and began a powerful pelvic humping, fingers probing frantically.

Arching her back, Marla "Ooohh"-ed again, her pelvis gyrated madly against her hands, the orgasmic waves breaking over her again and again. Steam rose in the cool morning air, not only from her gasping mouth, but from her overheated pussy as she came and came, filling the back seat with the powerful aroma of aroused woman.

Gradually the throes of her orgasm subsided, leaving her languid and purring.

Eyes closed, humming to herself, Marla was idly brushing the fingers of one hand lightly against her swaying bosom, while the other stroked and petted her tired but happy pussy, all to my obvious delight....

At which point I must have made some sort of noise (sounds of strangulation, I suppose), because her eyes flew open, and she shot up out of the back seat, busily snatching and re-arranging articles of her clothing.

I ducked down behind the door, but apparently not fast enough, as I heard Marla say, "It's okay, deary, y'all kin look now. Ah'm decent agin."

Guilty as a schoolboy, I stood up....

And there sat Marla, hair combed, buttoning the last button on her mail-carrier's blouse, then doing a quick job on her make-up. And all the while, eyeing me as serenely as an empress.

"This will be our lil' secret, won't it, deary?", she said, the tone in her voice commanding a hoarse "Yes" from me.

Marla sat back in the seat, and got a faraway look in her eyes. "Sometimes", she said, " a woman..."

"I know what you mean", says I, "it happens with everybody, I suspect. No need to explain, kiddo."

Marla made no reply, though I could see that she was pleased with the way things had turned out. She climbed out of the back seat, and closed the door behind her. Reaching in through the window, she rummaged around, and came out with a fat handful of letters.

"Here's your mail, deary", she said, handing it to me. They smelled faintly of aroused woman. Our fingers touched, and our eyes met, briefly, searchingly, then dropped away.

"See you tomorrow, then, Marla?"

She smiled (was that a twinkle behind those eyes?)

"Maybe", was her reply.

Court's adjourned.

Judge Oaf
Senior Judge of the Superior Court of the BEArchive