Every now and then a delivery or two really sticks out in my memory. Oh,
IÕve delivered thousands of pieces of antique furniture over the years of
course and mostly the deliveries are quickly forgotten or else become an
indistinct blur of faces and hard to find addresses on rainy nights.

IÕve yet to be seduced by a horny nymphomaniac or asked to watch two
obviously lesbian live-togethers get it off together (an exceptionally
favorite fantasy of mine). Goodness I havenÕt even been propositioned by any
of my gay customers either, which at times troubles me, odd as it may seem.
I like to think that IÕm not really all that unattractive looking.

So deliveries are usually routine affairs. I get the piece in place, fiddle
around acting professional, make some nice comments about the house or
apartment and wait to get paid so I can high tail it back home.

But there are exceptions.





A few weeks ago an old customer of mine, Mrs. Van Dorque, a divorced lady
who had already bought several things from my shop came by and purchased a
rather small cabinet for her bathroom. We went through the whole routine of
measuring things, examining the condition of the piece, discussing the
number of shelves needed and so on. She hinted at getting a small reduction
for being such a good customer and with a smile on my face we agreed on a
price.

It was a small piece and she told me there would not be much difficulty
getting it up to her bathroom. Besides, if necessary she could always lend a
hand. We agreed on a time and date for the delivery and after profusely
thanking her as if she had just saved my family and myself from impending
bankruptcy she left my store.

But this was one of those deliveries were everything seemed to go wrong. To
begin with I was late starting out - a customer came into my shop just at
closing time and moped around uninterestedly, leaving without saying a word
nor buying anything. Then I was caught in traffic and spent another half
hour cursing the city council for their half-assed plans at inner-city
renovation.

Finally, almost an hour late, I pulled up at the correct address. I rang the
doorbell. When Mrs. Van Dorque opened up I excused myself for my tardiness.

"Oh never mind. Things like that canÕt be helped I suppose. But IÕm afraid I
canÕt give you a hand right now. IÕm rather pressed for time as well. My ex
is coming by to take my daughter to a school thing and I have to help get
her ready."

Well, thatÕs how things are. Since I was so late already, I decided that
instead of waiting I would just move the cabinet by myself. It wasnÕt all
that large and I was used to moving things around. The major problem would
be not to damage any walls or the staircase.

"ThatÕs all right maÕam," I replied ever the cool and reliable professional,
"IÕll get it by myself. Where do you want it ?"

"Are you sure Mr. Gracier ?" she asked.

I nodded again.

"ItÕs for the bathroom, on the second floor. IÕll show you which door when
you get there. Now, excuse me, I have to see to my daughter."

The lady hurried off up the stairs and I went back to my van and began
moving the small parts inside - the shelves, drawers and door. When all
those are taken out, a piece of furniture weighs considerably less of course
and is usually quite manageable. I also had a rolling flat cart which made
moving furniture on a flat surface small potatoes. The stairs were going to
be the hard part.

I started carrying the door up, two flights of stairs worth. There were
several doors in the second floor landing, so I just put the small door down
and went back down for the next load. The second time up I took my time,
examining the framed family photos hanging on the walls. They were quite
nice, a lot being from vacations obviously, at least judging from the
sun-drenched beaches in the background and the sparsely clothed people in
the foreground. In fact, I couldnÕt help but notice that several photos
seemed to have been taken at a nudist beach of some sort, since none of the
persons was wearing much of anything except sandals. I recognized the lady
of the house Ôau naturelÕ but none of the others in the photos. Not that it
was any of my business to begin with. Still, I couldnÕt help noticing.

Going back up with a third load I couldnÕt help chuckling to myself. Well
well, the Van Dorques at a nudist colony. I wondered where. Saint Tropez or
Cap dÕAgde maybe ? IÕm sure that Spain and France abounded with naturalist
colonies.

Lost in a naughty little reverie concerning Mrs. Van Dorque, the
Mediterranean sun and suntan lotion I wasnÕt paying attention to voices
coming from one of the doors on the second floor landing.

"Oh, Mommy please. Not nowÉ" It was a younger female voice.

"Nonsense Hilde, you know this is best for you right nowÉ.so hurry up
please, we havenÕt got all eveningÉ" I recognized Mrs. Van Dorque. Obviously
she talking to her daughter.

I didnÕt dare stand around eavesdropping, much as I would have liked to, so
I went back down to my van and started with the cabinet itself. I got it in
the doorway and to the stairs without much trouble. Getting it up the
stairway without damaging anything, my back included, was going to be
tricky.

It was strenuous to a degree, but by balancing the cabinet before me on
every other stair or so, I managed to get it upstairs without scratching the
walls or dislodging any of those charming little nudist photos.

But on the second to last step I slipped or something, lost my footing,
banged my knee, dropped the cabinet onto the hallway floor. Luckily I
prevented it from toppling over by grabbing on to it at the last moment. I
did cut myself in the hand on a hinge and gave a little yelp of surprise and
anger.

"ShitÉ. !" I muttered, some more invectives following as I saw blood seeping
out from the cut. It probably wasnÕt a serious wound at all, just messy and
inopportune. I started to bleed somewhat more copiously and took out a dirty
handkerchief to wind around the gash in my hand. Red blood began to seep
through.

I must also have made quite a noise, shaking the wooden floors. Mrs. Van
Dorque came out of one of the doors to see what had happened. "Are you all
right Mr. Gracier ? My goodness what happened, you havenÕt hurt yourself
have you ?"

She looked anxious and to her credit didnÕt ask if I had damaged anything.
She spied the dark red blood staining an already filthy handkerchief. "That
looks like a nasty cut. Let me take a look. I hope it doesnÕt hurt ?"

ÔOnly when I laughÉÕ I wanted to quip, but instead of dazzling her with my
sense of devil-may-care humor I just mumbled something unintelligible (like
I always do in such situations).

"We have to take care of this immediately. Come along so I can wash your
hand out properly. My goodness, using that dirty cloth. Why, youÕll
certainly get an infection if we wait too long..."

I hardly thought so but followed the lady anyway, if only not to bleed all
over her clean carpeting.

Once in the bathroom I got the surprise of my life. Laying on a padded
table, just as nakedly nude as in the photos in the hallway was a young
teenager, presumably Mrs. Van DorqueÕs daughter. She was on her back, legs
flexed open and pulled back. A red rubber tube coiled from between them.

"Oh mommy, pleaseÉ!!! What are you doingÉ!!!" The poor girl looked at me
wide-eyed with surprise. She was just as startled as I was.

I stopped in mid-step, staring at this unexpectedly luscious and lithe
little beauty. I should have averted my eyes, but didnÕt.

"Not now Hilde, this is an emergency. CanÕt you see heÕs bleeding severely ?
WeÕve got to clean Mr. GracierÕs wound."

It looked like I had dropped in on a cleaning session of sorts as well, only
one a little more intimate. The young lady of the house had been getting an
enema. Unbelievable.

Hilde must have seen my bloody hand, for she said nothing more. She looked
around for something to cover herself with, but finding noting in reach, she
crossed her hands over her breasts and rolled away from me, in the process
presenting me with a view of her bottom, from which indeed a rubber tube
protruded.

Mrs. Van Dorque bustled me over to the sink, in which was still a quantity
of white milky water. She removed my sodden handkerchief and told me to
lower my hand into the sink. "ItÕs just warm water with soap," she
explained, though I for one needed no explanation. I knew perfectly well how
cleansing such a solution was. And what it was primarily used for.

She kept up a series of Ômy mysÕ and Ôoh my goodnessesÕ while washing my
hand gently with a clean cloth. Once cleaned off, the cut didnÕt look all
that bad. Mrs. Van Dorque went to a small medical cabinet to look for a
bandage and disinfectant.

Meanwhile I couldnÕt help but stare at young Hilde by way of the mirror
hanging over the sink. She too was looking in my direction, hands still
modestly over her no doubt virginal bosom. Our eyes met and I tried to
express that none of this was my idea. I made an exaggeratedly helpless face
and shrugged, holding up my hands. She saw me and made a face before turning
away. IÕm not sure if she was scowling or grinning.

Mrs. Van Dorque came back with several items and rearranged them on the
counter. She opened up a package of bandages and unwound one.

"Mommy, I have to leave soon. Please let me go and dress nowÉ."

The lady was in a quandary. "Oh do hush Hilde. Not now. This is more
pressing than your lavage."

"Then let me get dressedÉpleaseÉ"

"YouÕll do no such thing until youÕve taken every drop. You know how
distraught youÕll become if we donÕt calm you down now. That will never do
tonight, now will it ?"

"But pleaseÉthat man can see me É." She nodded at me.

"The manÕs name is Mr. Gracier if you donÕt mind Hilde. You keep a civil
tongue in your head. Ask to be introduced if you donÕt know someoneÕs name.
Understand ?"

"Yes mommyÉ.but pleaseÉmay I get dressed ?"

"I donÕt see the urgency. YouÕve gallivanted around beaches and villages
wearing just as little. IÕm sure Mr. Gracier doesnÕt mind."

No indeed I didnÕt.

"But then everyone is nakedÉ." Hilde retorted.

"Maybe I should ask our guest to undress as well ? Or all of us. Would that
make you feel better ?" Mrs. Van Dorque made for a compelling if
unconventional argument. But I was sure she was just posing a rhetorical
question anyway. MoreÕs the pity.

HildeÕs face lit up in a momentarily lecherous grin. I wondered if she was
going to take her mother up on her dare ? She just snorted and looked away.

"Besides," Mrs. Van Dorque continued. "Mr. GracierÕs wife works in the
hospital. So he should be quite used to this."

Now that sounded screwy, even to me, I had no idea what the lady implied by
that remark. But it was nice of her all the same. It seemed like she really
didnÕt care if I saw her daughter get clystered. In fact, I got the sneaking
suspicion she even welcomed it. But for what reason I couldnÕt fathom.

"But you are right, we are running late. Your father will arrive any minute
now." She thought a moment. "I canÕt hold up the enema bag and let poor Mr.
Gracier bleed to death. But if he can use his good hand to hold the bag up
IÕll bandage his hurt hand in the meantime."

Mrs. Van Dorque turned to me, all smiles. "You wouldnÕt mind, would you sir
?"

Mind ? Me ? That was a silly question though I couldnÕt very well say so. I
tentatively nodded acquiescence, hoping I projected an air of guarded
reluctance.

"Come now Hilde," her mother said. "Turn over on your back and spread those
legs wide if you please." She helped her daughter into place. Mrs. Van Doque
took the rubber enema bag and gave it to me to hold.

"ItÕs almost half empty, so it shouldnÕt be too heavy. Do you think you can
manage while I bandage your hand ?"

Ha ! Even with an arm shot off I would have stood there for this
opportunity. Young Hilde, all lovely 16 years of her lay half grudgingly and
half provocatively wide open to my view. I was able to confirm that she was
a natural blond, even though her pubic hair wasnÕt all that profuse. The
slit of her sex organ was nicely visible, pinkish and rounded around the
labia. Her inner lips were hidden or else very small in size. I would have
loved to find out the particulars, but was in no position to do so. Besides,
it wouldnÕt do to press my already outrageous luck. I just held up the enema
bag and stole several long and lustful glances of HildeÕs adolescent charms.

Since the girl hadnÕt been able to do anything about my presence, it seemed
she decided to take an opposite tack. She wiggled about with her hips, slid
her bottom lower (and nearer to me) and opened her thighs even further,
leaving not much hidden from my view. Only her little brown bumhole remained
relatively covered.

Mrs. Van Dorque worked on my hand in the meantime, expertly binding my wound
after applying a disinfectant. Her ministrations and touch were pleasant as
well, even under these unfortunate circumstances. Had not the greater charms
of Hilde lay naked under my gaze, I am sure I would have become entranced by
the attention the older lady was lavishing on me. As it was I was
delightfully light headed. And that was certainly not due to loss of blood
from my cut either.

For while the blood may have drained down from my head temporarily, it
looked like another organ of mine had taken in the overflow. There was a
distinct and discernable bulge in my trousers, right about at HildeÕs eye
level. The teenager saw it of course and pursed her lips at me knowingly. Oh
what a lecherous little smile she sported.

I winked back and she grinned even more. It certainly hadnÕt taken long for
Hilde to adjust to my presence.

Meanwhile Mrs. Van Dorque finished with my hand. "There we are Mr. Gracier.
I hope this feels all right."

"Wonderful, maÕam. Really. Thank you ever so much." I did my best not to
smile too lasciviously.

"Good. Let me take the bag. You must be tired by now." She reached for the
rubber enema bag, now almost empty. I figured I best retire discreetly to
another part of the bathroom, if not to another chamber altogether. But Mrs.
Van Dorque asked me to stay.

"Would you mind rubbing HildeÕs stomach and tummy for me ?"

"Excuse meÉ?" I wasnÕt suddenly hard of hearing that evening, but a little
flustered.

"Her tummy ? Just rub it in slow circles, it gets the solution good and high
up in her bowels."

"OhhhÉI seeÉWell, of course."

"Thank you Mr. Gracier. YouÕve been quite the gentleman this evening,
despite your unfortunate ordeal."

Now that was a patented embellishment of the truth if not an outright lie. I
just cleared my throat and tried to compose myself enough to carry on a more
or less normal conversation.

"It is quite indispensable for Hilde to get her lavage. Otherwise she is
such a flibbertigibbet." She leaned closer, "I use chamomile and mint tea,
with a generous squirt of lemon juice and soap. That and a little massage
calms her down every time."

I didnÕt doubt it and nodded appreciatively. I continued with my massage
until the enema bag was empty.

"There we are, darling. See ? That wasnÕt so bad, now was it ?"

"I guess not Mommy. Please can we hurry up now ?"

HmmmmÉthe youngster still looked worked up to me. Maybe I wasnÕt all that an
expert in massaging as Mrs. Van Dorque had thought. But no, it wasnÕt that.

"Just stay calm now. WeÕll do this as always. Lift up your legsÉthere we
areÉ" Her mother gently withdrew the tubing and nozzle from between HildeÕs
buttocks. I made out a rather large sized spout, something larger than I
would have expected for a teenager of HildeÕs build. Maybe she had been
getting a lot of training. Mrs. van Dorque took a tissue and wiped her
daughterÕs anus clean of lubricant, giving it a good push inwards with her
finger for good measure. Finally, from a pocket the mother whisked out a
nicely sized rubber anal dildo. I recognized it immediately, since I had one
of the same models at home. She quickly and deftly inserted it in HildeÕs
asshole, pushing it all the way in up to the flange. It fit quite snugly.
Remembering how long it had taken me to accustom myself to the adult sized
dildo, I wondered how long the daughter of the household had been receiving
such treatment.

The used enema equipment was put in the sink and Mrs. Van Dorque washed and
dried her hands. "WeÕll not wait much longer for your final massage, dear.
Maybe Mr. Gracier would like to lend me a hand ? HeÕs been doing such a fine
job helping out."

Had I ? Honestly I thought all I had been doing was lecherously staring at
the young girlÕs private parts. But apparently HildeÕs mother thought
differently. "Why donÕt you rub HildeÕs forehead while I take care of things
down here ? Around the neck would be fine as well." I moved over so Mrs. Van
Dorque could take my place by HildeÕs abdomen.

The girl meanwhile lay quiet with her eyes closed, arms crossed over her
chest. She seemed to be ready for the next part. Nodding to me I began to
softly rub HildeÕs forehead and brow as the mother ruffled over the girlÕs
lower belly and went to work between her thighs. I distinctly saw her part
HildeÕs vaginal lips and caress her no doubt luscious and sweet sex organ.
She went higher and uncovered the girlÕs clitoris.

Hilde began breathing deeper and faster, obviously enjoying things. I
watched as the tip of her tongue snaked out from between her moist and
panting lips. She moved her head from side to side. HildeÕs hands were no
longer chastely crossed over her bosom. She had begun to caress and twitch
her nipples, unconcernedly playing with them as her mother continued rubbing
and massaging her genitals.

Several times, Mrs. Van Dorque caught my eyes and with a smile nodded her
approval. I moved lower with my unbandaged hand and rubbed along HildeÕs
neck. She stretched her neck out and tried to take my fingers in her mouth.
To keep her head still I placed a finger or two on her lips. She licked them
and worked her tongue around them eagerly.

Though I could scarcely credit it, the point of all this massaging and
rubbing was to give the girl an orgasm. No doubt skilful from much practice,
HildeÕs mother soon succeeded and the girl was writhing about on the table,
shuddering and jousting her pelvis up and down in short rhythmic thrusts.
Then she lay still, breathing deeply, several drops of sweat rolling between
the small cleft of her rounded breasts. Hilde let go of my fingers, her
mouth still parted in a smile.

"There we are darling. Now wasnÕt that nice ?" Mrs. Van Dorque needlessly
asked her daughter. Hilde sleepily nodded.

"Good, now letÕs remove your little protector here," - out came the dildo,
"and you can head off to the commode. It looks like youÕve got enough time
to dress."

Hilde sat up and sighed several last times. Getting up, she made to leave
the bathroom.

"Hilde darling, shouldnÕt you thank Mr. Gracier for his trouble ?"

Smiling coyly Hilde stepped up to me and took my good hand. "Thank you very
much, sir." She leaned over and gave me a quick kiss on the mouth. It was
proper enough as kisses go though she might just as well have done it on my
cheek. Even so I could discern her wetness. "IÕm sorry I put up a fuss when
you came in. YouÕve been very nice to me."

"ThatÕs ehÉ.quite all right miss." I stammered. For indeed, the pleasure had
been all mine.

Hilde left the bathroom, leaving a very flustered and trembling me alone
with Mrs. Van Dorque. She cleaned up a few things while I waited, trying to
compose myself.

"Well, shall I help you move the cabinet into the bathroom now ?" she asked
me.

I came back down to reality. Cabinet ? What cabinet ? Goodness me. Is that
what I had come here for ? If I didnÕt know better I would thought I had
just witnessed a private little sex show. I shook my head and smiled at the
lady. "Oh, yesÉmost certainlyÉ"

"Can you manage with your hand ?"

I had managed the rest quite well. I couldnÕt very well plead incapacity
now. "Sure, no problem."

As we were going into the hallway, I heard a flushing noise. A door opened
and Hilde, still alluringly lithe and naked stepped out, smiled at us and
scuttled off to her room.

Mrs. van Dorque and I carefully moved the cabinet into the bathroom and into
place. While I took care of laying the shelves and hooking up the door, she
went to see how her daughter was doing.

Several minutes later the doorbell rang. I heard both ladies hurry down the
stairs. I thought it a shame I hadnÕt said a final goodbye to the young lady
of the household. I would have liked to see Hilde clothed, so that I could
at least recognize her if I ever met her again outside of a nudist beach.
But I guess the final image I have will be of HildeÕs naked backside.

I waited outside the bathroom door for Mrs. Van Dorque to approve of her
cabinet. She looked it over, opened the door several times and declared
herself satisfied.

"And how about you Mr. Gracier ? That was quite an ordeal. Are you feeling
up to things ? Why it looks like youÕre still trembling."

If I was, it was from sheer desire and arousal rather than anything else.
But I thought it best not to mention so. Not that I could hide the still
present bulge in my pants from the ladyÕs gaze. She grinned knowingly. "You
know, if you like, youÕre welcome to compose yourself a bit before you
leave. Maybe something to drink ?"

I thanked her, but declined the drink.

"But youÕre still shaking. Really, I think we should get some liquid into
you. Are you sure I canÕt prevail upon you É?"

She looked pointedly and unabashedly towards the bathroom. "There is still
some chamomile and mint tea left downstairs. I think it would be most
beneficial for you right now. If you donÕt care to drink it, there are other
ways of getting some into you, you know."

I donÕt know how she kept a straight face. I was hard put not to break out
in a silly grin. I mumbled something about better being safe than sorry.

"I quite agree, Mr. Gracier. Why donÕt you step inside and make yourself
comfortable ? IÕll be right back."

And she was.

Now if only all my customers were like this.
n