Ms. Carissa is the reason I still have a paper route. I mean, really, what eighteen-year-old do you know with a paper route? All my friends work at the mall or at the shopping center. They make way more money than I do. Plus they get discounts on clothes and stuff. And they drive. I have to ride my bike with the heavy sack over my shoulders, and dodge cars and dogs, and I have grumpy old people yelling at me to get the paper onto the porch. But you know what? I’m not ditching my route for anything.
I’ve got all my friends beat. I can put up with the Sims’ dog and nasty Mr. Raleigh who doesn’t shower often enough. Once a month, I get all the recompense I need. Yeah, that’s a big word. I’ve been studying for the SATs.
Anyway, once a month, I collect the payments for the paper. The dogs bark louder on those days, like they know what’s up. The old folks move slower too, I’d swear it on the bible. Ms. Carissa makes it all worthwhile, though.
On payment day is the only time I see Ms. Carissa. She never comes out when I drop the paper on her porch. I try to get it really close to her door without hitting it. People hate it when you make a loud thump on their door at 5 in the morning. This guy accused me once of leaving a dent in his door. A dent! From the newspaper! Like that’s even possible.
Like I was saying, Ms. Carissa doesn’t come to the door at 5 in the morning, but she is always home on payment day. I get hers last, even though Mrs. Garrett is two houses before. I end on their street last. Mrs. Garrett always wants me to come in for cake or iced tea or something. I did that a couple times until Ms. Carissa started getting the paper.
I didn’t think anything of it the first time she asked me in. I was staring down her blouse and kinda nodded my head. Then she turned around, walked back into the house, and called for me to shut the door. I figured she needed to write the check or count the money or something. I was looking around the living room and thinking of what I could talk to her about so I could stay in there some more even though I still had 9 houses to go. That first time, I hadn’t thought to see her last.
We went in the kitchen. She kept talking while she looked around for her checkbook. She was asking me stuff about school and how long I’d had the route and like that. I’d been doing it for 2 years then. I was thinking of giving it up for a job at a restaurant to make more money, with tips, you know. Good thing I hadn’t done that yet.
So Ms. Carissa is looking around for the checkbook and asking questions, and I’m thinking about how everything in the house is plain. Beige walls, tan floors, simple furniture. The house was boring.
Then all of a sudden Ms. Carissa says, “I must have left it in the bedroom,” and starts heading out of the kitchen, but there is only one way out. I’m standing right there in the way, so she has to pass me. When she walks by, I swear, she kinda leaned in and grazed the side of her breast against my arm.
Right away I had a hard on. I quick said, “Oh, excuse me,” and I moved over.
She didn’t say anything.
I took a couple breaths to calm down and tried to think about how I had to go to Mrs. Garrett’s next.
Ms. Carissa went off to the bedroom and then half a minute later she calls me, “Robby! Come on in here so we can keep talking.”
I went in there like she said, only she wasn’t looking for the checkbook anymore. She was in front of a big mirror in a corner undoing the buttons of her dress. She was looking into the mirror at me in the reflection. She looked right at me and kept popping the buttons and asking questions.
“What grade are you in? Do you like that school?”
I kept answering on automatic. I probably sound like an idiot. Especially when she asked if I have a girlfriend.
“No, uh-huh,” I stammered. I don’t know why I lied, but it seemed like the right answer to give her.
“Have you ever had a girlfriend?” she asked next.
By then Ms. Carissa had unbuttoned all the buttons. Her dress was open like a robe. I could see her beige slip and the black panties and bra right through it.
I said, “Yes,” you know, so I wouldn’t seem like a total loser. I said I’d dated a few girls. I’m eighteen you know. I knew where things were going; or where I hoped they were going. I wanted to let her know I had some experience.
I’d done it a few times with this girl last year. She was hot and all excited, but when we were doing it, she just lay real still and quiet. What was that about? It wasn’t like in movies, where the girls are all wriggling around and saying how much they like it. I thought I wasn’t any good at it or something. Later on one day in the locker room a couple guys were saying how this girl is no good. “If that’s all you got available, it’s better than nothin’!” I agreed with them on that.
Next thing I know, Ms. Carissa is saying, “Robby. Robby! Honey, are you listening?”
I looked up to her smiling face in the mirror. She turned around and walked over to the door, smiling the whole time. She looked down at my pants and said something like, “Oh, my!” but not that. Something better. I can’t remember what it was . Something more sophisticated anyway. Then she said, “You can’t go around to your customers in that state. We better take care of that.” I couldn’t believe it!
Ms. Carissa took my hand like I was little kid and walked me to the bed. I didn’t like that, feeling like a little kid, but what she said next changed everything. She was slipping off her dress and she says, “Now show me what you know about pleasing women.”
She didn’t have to tell me twice! I quick took off my clothes and climbed in after her. I wished I’d looked her over longer, but I was already real excited and about to explode. I had to concentrate, ’cause I was ready to blow just looking at her. Then touching her made it worse. And her touching me was torture! I had to jump to stop her putting the condom on. I said, as cool as I could, “Let me take care of that.”
We got to it pretty quickly, and Ms. Carissa didn’t just lie there. She wasn’t all wriggly and talkative like in the movies, either. She moved, you know, wavy like, with a rhythm. It felt real good. She sighed, and said, “Oh, Robby” in my ear sometimes. We got going real good, faster and faster, and started to make the bed squeak after a while. Then she kinda backed off, slowed down. Next thing I knew, I was blowing my top and screaming, “Ah, Carissa!”
I couldn’t help it. It just came out. Um, the words I mean. I wasn’t being rude. Anyway, I must do alright ’cause Ms. Carissa invites me in every time I come to collect.