“Going postal is an American English slang term, used as a verb meaning to become extremely angry, possibly to the point of violence. The term derives from a series of incidents from 1986 onward in which United States Postal Service (USPS) workers shot and killed managers, fellow workers, and members of the police or general public. Between 1986 and 1997, more than 40 people were killed in at least 20 incidents of workplace rage. Following this series of events, the idiom entered common parlance and has been applied to murders committed by employees in acts of workplace rage, irrespective of the employer; and generally to describe fits of rage in or outside the workplace.” From Wikipedia
“If we could get postal workers to throw off their clothes and run about screaming instead of opening fire with an assault rifle, that would be real progress," said a New York psychologist, who asked not to be identified because he advises Mayor Michael Bloomberg on anti-terror matters.
The goal of anger management is to reduce both your emotional feelings and the physiological arousal that anger causes. You can't get rid of, or avoid, the things or the people that enrage you, nor can you change them, but you can learn to control your reactions.
Rose joined the post office as a part time job during the holidays. It paid good money and walking her route was good exercise; it kept her tight body tight. She was a college student, so the extra money was a God send at that time of the year and the occasional gift from a person on her route helped too. At the end of the season the office manager asked if she’d like to work during the summer and she said, “Sure”. She was graduating that June with a Liberal Arts Degree and hadn’t really decided what she wanted to do, so a government job was great.
That summer she had a route that most carriers would die for; a beach community that was inhabited by a great deal of rich and famous people. It wasn’t drudgery, but something to look forward to when the alarm went off at 5AM. She’d crawl out of bed, turn on the coffee maker (always prepared the night before) and jump in the shower. She was 23 and what every guy at school referred to as a “total hottie” and she had a brain. The shower was a chance to be alone, relax and if desired; excited. She normally would place her index finger over her clit and just inside her pussy in order to shave around it, but on occasion she would take the experience further and play with herself; just to relieve the frustration that came from not having an intimate relationship.
At the end of the summer the Postmaster asked her if she’d like to stay on full time. She thought about her route, the money and the freedom it gave her at night to do what she wanted and agreed. Her work was excellent and she was pretty so the Postmaster nominated her to be a “poster girl” for the post office. Apparently someone in Washington thought it was a good idea, because she was asked to pose and was paid for her celebrity status.
Rose was content to work at the post office and everything seemed to be fine, until she was taken off her route and given a promotion. Sure the money was better, but now she found herself at a sorting center working under shop lights instead of the sun. She supervised 10 people who were all older than her, and had to endure leers from men whose own wives didn’t want them. She was now 30 and no longer went to work relaxed after her shower, but instead began to feel the stress mounting before she parked her car or entered the building. She was aware that she was becoming short tempered and yet she couldn’t control the situation. It was that knowledge of her anger and depression that made her seek professional help. She made an appointment and went to see a psychologist who specialized in anger management.
The psychologist was a woman who was about 10 years older than Rose, but appeared to be in good shape with a pleasant disposition. Rose entered her office, sat and fidgeted as the therapist tried to acquire some background information. “Are you uncomfortable Rose? Would you rather lie on the couch?
“No I’m fine; it’s just that I’ve never thought I was crazy enough to see a therapist”
“And what makes you think you’re crazy now?”
“It’s like I’m a bundle of nerves and the job is making me crazy. I took this job as a temp in college and it seemed great; 10 years later I’m seeing a shrink. I used to be out in the sun and get some exercise; now I supervise 10 slackers and never see the sun. Sometimes I feel like crying and at other times grabbing a gun and mowing everyone down. I’ve never had violent thoughts before, but there doesn’t seem to be a light at the end of the tunnel, just a series of trains.”
“Do you own a gun?”
“No, of course not; it’s just the way I feel”
“Good, let’s not buy one OK.!”
“Don’t worry, I’m afraid I might hurt myself before I’d hurt anyone else and I don’t want to be tempted”
“How’s your love life; do you have anyone special?”
“What love life? I work 8-10 hours a day, go home have dinner and watch TV. Hell I don’t even get off in the shower anymore”
“That’s not good. Everybody needs somebody, or at least some form of sexual release; without it you have no release.”
“Well I guess that’s the problem then, because I do not have any releases anymore; just a job”
“Most of the time I have patients take a time-out during work; I tell them to go someplace and meditate, even if it’s in a bathroom stall. I think you need something else. You do need to have some social interaction apart from work, and probably a change in environment”
Rose was on the edge of her chair; not because she was fascinated, but because she wanted to lunge at the therapist and scream. Rose knew what she needed and this person was getting $110 an hour to state the obvious. Instead of screaming she looked the therapist in the eye and said, “Can you prescribe a good fuck”
“Not exactly, but under the guise of physical therapy I can authorize an hour a day away from the job. It will be called stress management rather than anger management, because you haven’t actually attacked anyone yet” The therapist hadn’t a clue as to how close she had come to being Rose’s first victim. “I suggest you take the hour close to your lunch which should give you a couple of hours to unwind in the middle of your day. I also want you to masturbate at least once daily and to get out of the house at least once a week. I will give you a letter excusing you from work for an hour a day that you can have put in your personnel file. Make an appointment to see me in two weeks so that I can evaluate the treatment.” The therapist ended the session, gave Rose the letter and smiled. “You’ll be OK”, she said as she showed Rose to the door.
“Well I guess an hour off is better than nothing” Rose thought. She gave the letter to her Postmaster who wasn’t happy, but compliant and then went into the restroom. There were two stalls and both were empty. She stepped into the second stall, dropped her shorts and lowered her panties, “No time like the present to practice eye-clit coordination” she mused, knowing her eyes would be shut and weren’t required to play with herself. She sat back with her legs spread in the silence of the bathroom and tried to remember a sexual fantasy as she rubbed her clit with her index finger. She imagined herself on her old route; walking down the strand that separated the beach from the condo’s along it. She walked up to the door of one of the units and rang the bell. A tall, attractive man answers the door, wearing an open robe and boxers; his body is hard and tan. “Special Delivery” she says, as she walks through the door. The door shuts and she imagines the man taking her in his arms. He opens her shirt and unclasps her bra; there is no hesitation as he begins to lick, kiss and suck at her erect nipples. He slowly slides down her body, pulling her shorts and panties to the floor. There are no words as his tongue begins to slide between her labial lips and touch her clit. He licks harder and deeper; she feels an orgasm swell inside of her like a wave about to break. His tongue strikes at her clit one more time as her orgasm washes against it like the surf on the shore.
“I’ve been waiting for this” she hears him say, as she continues to play with her wet pussy. She is far away, but drawn back to the here and now when she hears the door to the restroom open, “Rose are you in here? We have a problem with the sorter.” Rose answers and tells the intruder that she’ll be there in a second. She dries her wet pussy and walks out of the door, back into the real world.
“That was nice” she thought, and realized that she did feel much more relaxed. Throughout the rest of the day she carried the vision of the encounter in her head; it was a pleasant distraction, but also made her yearn for the reality. After work she went home and showered, but instead of settling in for the night; she put on a little make up and dressed in a casual outfit. “I can do this” she thought as she left her home and headed for a small club she had seen on her old route.
The parking lot of the club was half full when she arrived. Happy hour was over and patrons were eating or continuing to drink. Rose ordered a light dinner and a glass of wine and as she sat there, realized how conspicuous she was. “Oh my God, I used to pity women who sat alone and ate.” she thought as she tried to make herself small or even better disappear. When the meal came, she asked to have it put in a “to go” container, finished her wine, paid and almost ran to her car. “I am losing it” she thought.
The following day, she returned to work and spent the morning waiting for noon and her two hour respite. Unfortunately, people kept bothering her; even in the restroom, so her mid-day break just frustrated her more. It was on the third day after she had seen the therapist that she decided to take her break away from the office. She headed down to the beach and ate her lunch while sitting on the wall that abutted the strand. She faced the beach and ate as the gulls talked in the wind and the sun bathed her in its warmth. When she was done with lunch she drove to a quiet corner of the large parking lot, closed her eyes and began to masturbate with the same fantasy in mind. Once satisfied she drove back to work. She was once again relaxed and able to face the remainder of the day.
Everyday for a week, she trekked down to the beach and had her lunch in the same spot and then had her dessert in the parking lot. Her appointment with the therapist was two days away, when she saw “him”. She had spun to dismount from the wall to the strand, when she almost fell into the passerby. “Whoa, are you OK” he said, as he helped her steady herself. It was the same face and the same guy she had been fantasizing about. She realized he must have been on her old route and that she must have seen him and made a mental note.
“Thanks, I’m good” she said, as he steadied her with his hands on her hips.
“OK then, I guess I can let go of you”
“Yeah, I guess, but thanks it was nice bumping into you” The words left her mouth and sounded in her ear. He smiled and she blushed. “That was so cliché, I am ashamed of myself” she said
“Don’t be, it was worth it to see you smile” His words made her realize that she was smiling. “Well I’ll let you get going; I wouldn’t want to do what rain, nor sleet, nor gloom of night can’t do and keep you from your daily rounds” She was looking into his eyes and the words didn’t register immediately, but when they did she realized he was referring to her postal uniform; it was the postman’s motto.
“I don’t deliver” she said and hesitated.
“That’s too bad, I had hoped to find you on my stoop one day” He had jumped in when the opportunity presented itself and she realized he was flirting with her. She smiled and blushed again.
“Well you never know; we at the post office do like to leave our customers satisfied that their packages are in good hands” He grinned; this girl was fast, pretty and witty. She was a far cry from the women who drank at the local club.
“I’d love to have her handle my “package”” he thought, but decided to stay mute, rather than state the obvious.
“Maybe we’ll bump into each other again” she said as she headed for her car. He stood there dumbfounded as she drove off. He hadn’t gotten her name, number or anything else and she was definitely someone that he would like to know. In the mean time Rose realized that she didn’t have time to “relieve” herself and headed back to the office. It was funny; she hadn’t had her “nooner”, but the interlude with her dream man had taken her mind off of her self induced pleasure. She returned to the scene of their encounter the next day, but he wasn’t there. She had her lunch and thought about him in the parking lot, while bringing herself to not one, but multiple orgasms.
When she next saw the therapist, there was a noted change in her demeanor and the ambiance of the session was much lighter. Rose couldn’t wait to tell the therapist about her transition, the masturbatory sessions and her chance encounter. The therapist was delighted and encouraged her to continue the therapy and return in another two weeks.
It was Friday afternoon when the Postmaster asked if Rose would mind working on Saturday. She was a bit put off until he told her, it would not be in the office, but rather delivering on her old route. Saturday morning, she dressed in her delivery uniform wearing a starched blue shirt, tie and short skirt over her black lace garter belt and stockings. “My little secret” she thought. She went to the office, gathered a bag, the presorted mail and packages and loaded them into her delivery van.
She got to the beach at about 9AM and delivered the regular mail first and then started delivering the priority and “insured requires signature” mail and packages. It was about noon when she rang the bell to deliver her last package. A mans voice let her know he was coming. “Special delivery” she said. She was hit with a wave of déjà vu and fully expected to see “him” on the other side of the door. When the door opened there was a tall man there, but he was at least 30 years older and wearing tennis togs. “Special delivery” she repeated.
The man brushed by her, “It’s not for me, he’ll get it” he said, motioning towards the second figure emerging from the back of the room.
“Special…..” she started to say “delivery” but stopped short when she saw “him” in the light. He took the package and tossed it onto a table while pulling her into the room. He kicked the door shut as she stood there motionless. He stood in front of her with his robe open, wearing white boxer shorts.
“I’ve been waiting for that and for this” he said, as she looked up at him. He took her in his arms and brought his mouth to hers; there was no resistance. He kissed her and she kissed him back. His mouth moved to her neck, just beneath and behind her ear where he again touched her with his lips. Her mind swam as his hands explored her and held her. He loosened the tie and unbuttoned the shirt as she pushed off her shoes and undid the button on her skirt. While he undid the hook on her bra; she dropped the skirt to the floor. His mouth found her breasts and nipples as he slowly worked his way down to her waiting pussy.
“I’ve been waiting for this” she said, at the onset of her first orgasm. The encounter lasted into the evening and she finally said, “I have to take the van back”
“Will you return or will I have to mail myself another package?”
“Not tonight, I need to think about this, but I’ll be on the wall Monday at noon” She grabbed her tie and darted out the door, leaving her lover in his bed. She spent that night and all day Sunday thinking about the events of Saturday and anticipating going back to work on Monday.
Monday came, and the morning seemed to drag as she watched the clock; waiting for her lunch break. She arrived at the beach and mounted the wall; aware that her pussy was wet and hungry. She was looking down the strand trying to see him, when she heard “I have a package for you” She spun around and almost fell off the wall, but he caught her and led her off to his apartment. It was obvious that it was a large “package” from the bulge in his pants.
When she next saw the therapist, she was a new woman. “Well” the therapist said, ”Is the therapy working?”
“Oh yes, I think I am getting a handle on my frustration and have no desire to hurt anyone”
“Good, you can visit me in a month” the therapist said as the session ended.
When Rose returned to the Post Office, there was a commotion in the lobby. One of her female co-workers had flipped out, stripped down and was standing naked at the counter. Rose went out to the woman, calmed her down and got her dressed. The Postmaster was upset and demanded an explanation from the woman, but Rose intervened. Rose gave her co-worker the therapist card and took her home.
Rose is still with the post office and happy. Every day at noon she takes a special delivery to her lover and delivers it in pigtails and black lace.