Return to Sender

A steamy letter addressed to a house's former occupant results in a sex-filled blind date for two 18-year-olds at a public library!

[Author's Note: This story was originally rejected for not adhering to the new rule that came into vogue in the middle of May. However, this version has been tweaked to satisfy the censors.]

Part One

When I was 18 years old in 1970, my family moved to another, larger house in the same hometown I had lived in since the day I was born. The reason for the move was that our old home didn’t have much of a backyard and it had only one bathroom. I, Gerry Demeter, was the oldest of three children. We and our two parents simply needed more space to be comfortable. My father held a lucrative job that afforded us certain luxuries. We wanted to have a swimming pool built, so the larger backyard was absolutely necessary to make that a reality.

The house’s previous owner was a 30-something bachelor named George Milligan who had only lived there a few months before his international company suddenly transferred him overseas. Therefore, for quite a while, we were getting mail that was intended for him, plus other mail addressed to the family who had lived there prior to him. Their last name was Nordstrom. Apparently, the Nordstrom clan had given Mr. Milligan their forwarding address in case any mail arrived for them, but he neglected to pass it along to us. We had no idea where they were now residing.

As one of my household chores, I was assigned the task of collecting whatever mail was delivered to our box each weekday. At least twice a week I would find something addressed to one of the Nordstroms. The majority of it was advertising, which was disposed of quickly. Whenever it was something more important, however, I wrote “RETURN TO SENDER” on the envelope and put it in the mailbox located on the corner of our street. After a while, those companies and individuals got the message and stopped sending mail to the Nordstroms at 57 Forest Road.

One day, about two months after we had moved into that house, a letter arrived for Brett Nordstrom. That was a rarity; Brett seldom got any mail. The envelope was hand-written. According to the return address in the top left corner, the letter had been sent by someone named Katie Bradford. I had never opened any obvious personal correspondence for the Nordstroms before, but for some strange reason, curiosity got the better of me this time. I decided to open Brett’s letter. I was certainly glad I did. It was quite something to peruse!

“Dear Brett,” the steamy missive began. “I’m certain you must remember me from three summers ago when we met at the resort hotel in the Laurentians.

“I was the girl who had a major crush on you. I was always trying to be near you and touch you and do romantic things with you. I told you how I felt and my desire to be intimate with you. However, you said you could not ‘do sex things’ with me yet because we were both 15. You thought you could get into serious trouble with the law because we were minors. Instead, you gave me your address and told me to contact you in three years so we could make arrangements to get together and fuck!

“Well, here it is…three years later! I turned 18 a couple of weeks ago and I still want to have sex with you as much as I did those three summers ago—probably more. It’s been a very long time since we saw each other back in 1967, but I always think about you and fantasize about making passionate love to you. You must be 18 now too, so our having sex would no longer be against the law. We don’t live too far away from each other. School is out, so we should be able to arrange to get together sometime this summer and fuck each other’s brains out!

“Please write back to me, Brett, so we can figure out a way we can be together very soon. Love always, Katie Bradford.

“P.S. I’ve enclosed a photo of me that was taken last week on the deck of a public swimming pool. I’m wearing my new blue bikini. I hope you like it! You told me you liked ‘my sexy little body.’ It has greatly improved since I last saw you! You’ll notice that my tits are much bigger than they were in 1967. I can’t wait for you to play with them and suck on them…just like I desperately want to do with your dick.”

I was immediately jealous of Brett Nordstrom—whom I had never met in my life. I quickly decided this sexy letter was not going to be simply marked RETURN TO SENDER and dropped into the nearest mailbox. I had a better idea!

First, I went to my bedroom and copied Katie’s address onto a notepad for future reference. Then I got a much larger envelope, addressed it to Katie (who lived in a small town about a 30-minute drive down the highway from my home) and put her original letter in it—along with the following hopeful correspondence from me:

“Dear Katie,” I wrote. “My name is Gerry Demeter. You don’t know me, but my family now lives in the house that was occupied by the Nordstrom family until a few months ago. Another man bought it from them and he’s since moved overseas. My family bought the house from him. We were not given an address to forward any mail that still arrived for the Nordstroms, so I have no idea how to get your letter to Brett or anyone else in his family. Sorry about that! Therefore, I am returning it to you.

“Please forgive me for opening your private letter to Brett—especially given its personal content. I have to tell you this, though: For what it’s worth, if the beautiful girl shown in that bikini photo is really you, you are totally gorgeous! I can honestly state that you are prettier than all the girls in my entire high school! There’s no one even close!

“I am 18 years old, just like Brett, and I would love to meet you sometime. I’ve enclosed a recent photo of me. I’m told I’m a fairly good-looking young fellow. Please write back to me if the idea of meeting me appeals to you. My telephone number is atop this letter if you want to call me rather than write to me. Yours truly, Gerry Demeter.”

I put four stamps on the large envelope to ensure it had sufficient postage. Then I literally ran to the mailbox to send it on its way to the beautiful Katie Bradford.

Much to my delight, about a week later in the family mailbox I found a return letter from Katie! Being a natural cynic, I was fully expecting it to be loaded with very negative and hostile remarks, such as, “How dare you open my private letter to someone else? You must be some kind of weirdo or pervert!” Instead, the sentiments it contained were quite the opposite.

“Dear Gerry,” it began, “Thanks for taking the trouble to return the letter I sent to Brett Nordstrom. I didn’t know his family had moved. I don’t know where he lives now, either, so I can’t get in touch with him. I suppose that’s his loss for not updating me when his address changed.

“However, I definitely liked what I saw in the photo that you enclosed! You underestimate yourself! You are better than just being ‘fairly good-looking.’ I think you are a VERY handsome teenage boy. I bet all the girls at your high school probably think you are gorgeous. Yes, I would certainly like to meet you soon…and I have a great idea how we can do just that.

“There is a special bus that runs once a day to and from my town to the downtown area of your city. I occasionally use it to do some shopping where you live or travel to the main branch of your city’s library. (My town is too small to have its own public library.) Let’s arrange to meet at that library some Saturday—but we won’t do much reading or research! I’m sure you understand my meaning. Gerry, please phone me once you get this letter. My telephone number is below. Kisses from Katie Bradford.

“P.S. I’ve enclosed that same bikini photo that was intended for Brett. It’s yours now, so you’ll recognize me when I come to the library.”

I was about to telephone Katie right away, but then the thought occurred to me that she might be a little bit on the crazy side. After all, who takes a look at someone’s photo and immediately decides to have sex with that person without even having a meeting beforehand? Then it occurred to me that I had done exactly the same thing after seeing her photo, so I was equally crazy, too! Therefore, I swiftly picked up the receiver and dialed Katie’s number.

Fortunately, it was Katie—and not one of her parents—who answered the telephone. That way I didn’t have to explain who I was. She was extremely enthusiastic that I had called her. She laughed when I introduced myself as her “new pen pal.” After a short, sexually charged discussion (in which we praised each other’s photos) we jointly agreed that this Saturday would be the perfect day for Katie to catch the bus to my city. Even though school was on summer break, she still planned to tell her parents she wanted to go to the library and search for certain books she was interested in reading. They bought her story. Why shouldn’t they? In the past, she had taken the bus from her small town into suburbia for lesser things than a library visit. Based on the Saturday bus schedule, Katie said she’d meet me outside the front door precisely at 10 a.m.

Part Two

After a night that was mostly sleepless due to excitement and anticipation, I got up early on Saturday morning, ate a decent-sized breakfast, took a shower, dressed well, shaved, and even dabbed on a few drops of men’s cologne that I had gotten as an 18th birthday gift from my worldly uncle. He advised me with a punch to my arm to “wear it whenever I wanted to impress a young lady.” Thus, this seemed to be an appropriate time to give it a try.

The public library was only about a 10-minute walk from my home if I traveled at a reasonable gait, but in my excitement to meet this stunning small-town beauty, I left a good half hour in advance of our scheduled tryst and I walked twice as fast as was necessary. Arriving well in advance, I was seated on a wooden bench just outside the library’s front door when I saw a pretty girl in the distance headed my way. She also seemed to be moving unnecessarily fast. It had to be Katie.

When she was about 20 feet from where I was seated, I raised my right hand to wave at her as I shouted her name in the form of two questions: “Katie Bradford? Is that you?”

She answered in exactly the same way: “Gerry Demeter? Is that you?”

We both smiled as the distance between us shortened. I stood up—and my short stature startled Katie. I was just 5’3”. Shortness ran on both sides of my family. Neither of my parents was taller than 5’4”. My two siblings weren’t exactly giants, either.

Then I got a good look at Katie. She was certainly quite pretty and well dressed in a pristine white blouse, black skirt and red knee socks. However, something wasn’t quite jibing with what I had expected to see when I gazed upon her frame. She wasn’t nearly as full-figured as her photo had led me to believe she was. In fact, she was far from it. All I could say was, “Katie, you’re not…” before she interrupted my impending comment by raising her hand. We took each other’s hands and stood silently for a few moments. Then we sat down together on the bench.

“I’m so embarrassed,” Katie confessed. “I know what you are thinking. I’m not built like Miss July from Playboy—but my sister Pamela is. The girl in that bikini photo I sent you is Pamela. Believe it or not, she’s a year younger than I am! Mother Nature doted on her—not me. Gerry, I honestly don’t know what came over me. I’m sorry if you are disappointed. I can hardly blame you if you are upset about being deceived.”

I chuckled for a moment and said, “Well, there was no way you were going to pass as your sister! Some things just can’t be faked.” Then I added, “I suppose you are disappointed with me, too, Katie. I clearly get the impression that you expected me to be about 6’2”. Am I right? Everyone who sees a photo of me from the waist up always seems to expect me to be quite tall. Obviously, I’m not; I’m just a diminutive fellow. The Demeters simply aren’t a tall bunch. They never have been.”

“Well, to be totally honest, I expected you to be at least 5’10,” Katie confessed. “However, you are still the same handsome guy in the photo.”

“I guess I deliberately sent you a school photo that doesn’t give a true indication of my actual height. I suppose we were both deceitful in our ways.”

“Hey, maybe we deserve each other!” Katie suggested with a smile. Her remark made me laugh.
“Seriously, Katie, you are still a very attractive girl to me,” I began. “Okay, judging by that blue bikini photo, your sister is out-of-this-world beautiful, but you are nothing to sneeze at. Honestly, I’m very glad I’m here instead of Brett Nordstrom.”

“Really? Do you mean that, Gerry?” she anxiously asked.

When I said yes, she gave a sigh of relief. “Under the circumstances,” she added, “I can hardly complain that you aren’t as tall as I hoped you’d be.” Then she sweetly kissed my right cheek. I then kissed hers in response.

“If it’s alright with you, Katie,” I suggested to her, “let’s just start this relationship all over—right back at Square One. Agreed?”

“Agreed, for sure!” Katie blurted. Then she said, “Stranger, let me introduce myself. I am Miss Katie Bradford. This morning, I took a bus to this city for the sole purpose of having a fuck with a very handsome boy named Gerry Demeter. Are you that fellow?”

“I certainly am,” I said proudly, “all 5’3” of me—and I’m ready to oblige.”

For some reason, we both knew a long kiss was next on the agenda. So that’s what we did, totally oblivious to the library patrons entering and departing the building three feet away from us.

Eventually the delightful kiss ended. Katie whispered a question to me, “Gerry, where are we going to go for our fuck?”

“In there,” I stated, pointing to the library.

“The library?” Katie asked me in disbelief. “Who fucks in a library? How can we fuck in a library without getting caught? This is a busy place!”

I smiled and said softly, “Katie, I have it all arranged. You’ll see. Follow me.”

I led her inside the building and straight to the head librarian’s desk. I produced my library card and said, “Hello, I’m Gerry Demeter. I have one of the private study rooms booked for two hours today—10 o’clock to 12 noon. We’ll be doing some summer review work on basic biology.” I had even brought along a few of my old science notebooks and textbooks to add credibility to the bold ruse.

“Yes, I see your reservation is here,” the fifty-something librarian said. “The study rooms are located on the second floor. There are four of them up there…and you seem to be the only person who has one booked. Apart from your 10 a.m. reservation, none of the rooms is booked at any time today.”

“I don’t think many people know these private study rooms even exist,” I said. “They seem to be a well-kept secret.”

“You are right,” the librarian noted. “Perhaps we need to publicize them more. Be that as it may, you have Room #1 booked for two hours. Do you need me to lead the way?”

“No, I’ve been in one of the study rooms before,” I informed her. “This is the first time I’ve actually reserved one myself, however. We’ll be sure to vacate the room by noon. Thanks a lot!”

When Katie and I got to the second floor in front of a door with a large, black number one stenciled on it, she laughed and said my comment about using the room to study basic biology was brilliant.

“I believe in always being truthful to librarians,” I said with a grin. “You can’t get much more basic in biology than what we’re going to do this morning!”

I open the door and hit the light switch. You couldn’t ask for a more private trysting place in a public building. There were no windows at all. There were plenty of chairs and even a couch in the corner for when groups booked the room for small seminars. The door could be locked. Barring a fire alarm, the chances of our being disturbed by anyone or anything for the next two hours were almost zilch.

Katie praised my initiative. She commented, “This is a very impressive choice for a secret screwing venue, Gerry. Well done!”

I answered, “This past school year I was one of eight history students who used one of these study rooms to work on a group project. It was the first and only time I’ve used one. I quickly realized these rooms definitely had untapped romantic possibilities. Like you said, who would ever think of fucking in a library?” Then I paused for a moment or two and asked the big question: “Are you ready for an in-depth, hands-on, biology lesson, Katie?”

“Yes, Gerry,” she said, barely suppressing a laugh. “Please lock the door. I’m very eager to begin our special biology lesson. I want to fuck you like there’s no tomorrow.”

We both moved to the couch, shifted around some throw pillows, and began kissing and groping each other with tremendous passion. I helped Katie remove her blouse, still hoping that I’d see her sister’s ample and sexy breasts, but I settled for the treats confined within Katie’s A-Cup brassiere. She helped me remove my sweater, undershirt, trousers, socks, and finally my underwear. What I was packing was nothing special. I said to Katie what needed to be said. “I suppose I’m not exactly well endowed, either. I’m just average, I suppose. Hey, let’s do our best with what nature gave us.”

That turned out to be absolutely fine. Katie was as enthusiastic about sex as her letter to Brett and her telephone chat with me had indicated. She was happy to go along with all my suggestions and positions for a memorable and exhausting two hours of coitus: Pussy licking and fucking, dick licking, tit sucking and fucking. She even encouraged me to come in her mouth. “Nobody in the history of the world ever got pregnant from swallowing a boy’s load!” she later philosophized. We also spent quite a bit of time just kissing and cuddling each other.

Moreover, lovely Katie Bradford seemed to have far more experience in sexual matters than I did. Maybe it was a small-town girl trait. I just let on that having sex with a stranger was a normal Saturday activity for me. (If the truth be known, I typically spent my Saturday mornings bowling with two high school friends. I learned that fucking a very pretty, sexually liberated, teenage girl was far greater fun than trying to break 200 at the local bowling alley!) Katie’s carnal talents brought me to two orgasms, the second one being the result of a skillful and sexy hand job that sent ropes of my jism flying onto and around her firm and delightfully perky boobs. She asked me if I wanted to lick the goo off her torso! “Hell, no!” I remarked, absolutely drawing the line at that suggestion! Katie had come twice too, so we were even in that aspect of our lovemaking.

At 11:45 a.m., Katie drew my attention to the clock on the wall. We both ruefully admitted it was time to get dressed and clean ourselves up the best we could, just in case one of the staff came to evict us as 12 o’clock neared. Before we left the building quietly, we both wisely spent some time in the library’s restrooms to do a more meticulous job. As a courtesy, we stopped by the librarian’s desk to tell her we had vacated Study Room #1. She asked if it had met our needs. “Oh, yes!” I replied. “It was just perfect. Thanks so much!”

I had thoroughly enjoyed being Brett Nordstrom’s substitute—and I made a point of telling Katie that she was a sensational sex partner. I also asked her if she wanted another “biology lesson” the following Saturday.

“Sorry, Gerry. I’d really love to do the same thing all over again, but I honestly have other commitments a week from today,” she informed me as she tied her shoelaces.

“Okay,” I said with a genuinely disappointed tone in my voice. Then I suddenly came up with what I thought was a truly great alternate plan. I sincerely asked her, “Katie, is your sister Pamela busy next Saturday morning?”