Villain of Black Valentine’s Day

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Things were going pretty well for Walter. The sun was shining and the birds were singing. He loved his job delivering the mail as the town’s only mail carrier. He hadn’t missed a day of work in eleven years and adhered to the words that Herodutus, the ancient Greek historian, who wrote about the horseback riders delivering mail in Persia more than 2,500 years ago, “Neither snow, nor rain, nor heat, nor gloom of night, stays these couriers from the swift completion of their appointed rounds,” as was his postman’s oath.

Valentine’s Day was Walter’s favorite holiday. It was the day that he met Sarah, his special sweetheart online. Every year, he’d buy her flowers and a fancy heart shaped box filled with two pounds of imported, assorted chocolates. While she enjoyed the beauty of the fragrant flowers, he enjoyed selecting which chocolates to eat first. The dark chocolates were his favorites, especially the truffles. He loved dark chocolate truffles.

Walter thought that he had a great relationship with his girlfriend. At her house every evening for supper and having sex like clockwork every Saturday night between 11pm and 11:15pm, most folks thought they were married. They were together eleven years before she dumped him for, Paul, the shoemaker. That was many years ago, and now he had to travel to the next town to have his shoes repaired.

“You’re never going to marry me, are you?” The phrase that caught him by surprise haunts him to this day and more so on Valentine’s Day. It was so long ago that he should have gotten over it and her, but he still holds a special dark place in his broken heart for Valentine’s Day. When most people think of love, happiness, and romance, Walter thinks of pain, suffering, and hatred.

She threw the flowers at him and the box of chocolates scratched his forehead as it whizzed by his face spilling his beloved dark chocolate truffles everywhere. She slammed the door shut in his face and Walter quickly picked up the dark chocolate truffles from the sidewalk and stuffed them in his pockets, adhering to the five second rule, and left. He had been clueless. He thought things were going along great. He was happy, so naturally, he thought that she was happy, too.

The time they spent together was always swell watching Who Wants to be a Millionaire, Jeopardy, and reality television’s Big Brother, American Idol, Survivor, Amazing Race, and The Bachelor. He figured The Bachelor was the television show responsible for his undoing and the rash reason for her to suddenly want and impulsively need to get married after only dating for eleven years.

He would have married her eventually, one day, maybe, soon, never. With so many divorces and broken homes, he just wanted to take it slow and make sure that she was the right one. He was going to miss her comfortable couch and her big screen, high definition television with surround sound and cable.

His favorite holiday suddenly and instantly transformed to the worst day of his life. He loved lying on her sofa, eating her popcorn, and watching her television. Now, relegated to returning home to his small apartment, his uncomfortable furniture, and his small black and white television without cable and surround sound, his life had suddenly taken a turn for the worse.

In an obvious act of a rebound relationship and one that would surely not last the test of time, she had impulsively gotten married, no doubt, to Paul three months after she broke up with him. Rumor in town was that Sarah was pregnant with child. He agreed with the town gossip that, surely, she must have been cheating on him behind his back with the cobbler. The whole town counted the months to know if she was pregnant with Walter’s or with Paul’s baby. Precisely, nine months after she was married, she delivered Paul junior and that was nearly 9 years ago.

Things hadn’t been going very well for Walter since. He started calling out sick and missing work on those days when he just couldn’t get out of bed. His annual day of doom and despair was quickly approaching. Next week was Valentine’s Day yet again the ninth anniversary of his girlfriend’s dumping him. He thought about getting a color television and cable to cheer himself up, but it wouldn’t be the same watching television without his girlfriend cradling his head in her lap while feeding him popcorn.

He hardly watched television anymore, anyway Etimesgut Escort and specifically, he never watched The Bachelor. He hated that show. Most of his free time was spent creating handmade, custom Valentine’s Day cards with broken black hearts and black, long-stem, American Beauty Roses. They were beautiful works of art with painstaking delicate details that anyone could see must have taken the creator hours upon hours of cutting meticulous tiny holes and fashioning artistic delicate designs from paper. Walter had developed quite the knack of cutting broken hearts and realistic roses from out of heavyweight black construction paper. He was quite the inspired artist.

It all began when he first started delivering the mail more than twenty years ago. He couldn’t help but notice how people perked up when they received a greeting card, such a clever name for a mere piece of folded paper, a greeting card. The positive energy unleashed when delivering greeting cards was as contagious for him to deliver them as it was for the receiver to receive them. Unfortunately, the converse of that truism worked the same and he hated delivering bad news for that very reason. Then, a week before the one year anniversary of his girlfriend dumping him, he got the idea that morphed to what it is today, when he overheard a second grade school teacher talking to a third grade school teacher about the Valentine’s Day party she was planning to have for her class.

“Everyone brings in Valentine’s Day cards and passes them out to the other children in class. It’s fun watching the children open their cards to discover that they have a secret admirer.”

That year, before he started constructing his own cards from out of heavyweight black construction paper, Walter drove to the town clear across the valley, a place where no one would know him and/or would recognize him. He found a greeting card store at the mall and bought several dozen Valentine’s Day cards and handwrote his special, personal, and vindictive message inside each one. It cost him a few hundred dollars to buy and mail the cards, but the pleasure of seeing the looks on his customers’ faces was money well spent. He flooded the town’s single and available women with mean and nasty cards.

Roses are red,
Violets are blue,
I’m so glad,
I’m not married to you.

The poem was simple and funny, if only it ended there, but the rest of the Valentine’s Day message included personal and nasty information why Walter was glad that he was not married to them.

Always, upon first opening the card, their looks of happy expectation of love and romance turned to shock and dismay. Now, instead of passing out dozens of mean and nasty cards to the women of the town, he chose his victims more carefully. A day before Valentine’s Day, he picked one special woman each year to target and to receive his black Valentine’s Day card.

It could be a woman who caught his fancy that he wanted to play with her mind or it could be a woman he didn’t like and who he wanted to humiliate or it could be a woman who he wanted to know better, as was the case this year. Yet, the routine was the same every year and every year, the women of this cozy little town began dreading Valentine’s Day because they might be the recipient of the feared black Valentine’s Day card.

When he delivered his black Valentine’s Day card to the woman whom he targeted that year, even though she dreaded opening the card, she opened it anyway. Unbeknownst to her that Walter was the one responsible for creating the card and choosing her to receive it, innocently, they all trusted and looked to Walter for emotional support. Affable and personable, everyone loved Walter. He was just the friendly mailman after all. He was just the messenger. Surely, he had nothing to do with targeting the receiver with this black Valentine’s Day card and no one ever suspected that he was the Villain of Black Valentine’s Day. As was his modus operandi, continuing his search for the right one, he befriended them for a year, until he picked another woman the following year on Valentine’s Day to give his black Valentine’s Day card.

It was a game that he played to add undue consternation to the single and available women of the town and to commemorate the day in infamy that had ruined his life. In addition to the tension Etlik Escort that it added to the town that whole week and the week after, it added excitement. Nothing this big had ever happened in a town so small.

The entire town talked about this year’s black Valentine’s Day card and was on edge because of it. The diner had a special Black Valentine’s dinner of Cajun chicken and black eyed peas. The only bar in town served Black Valentine’s Day ale from a secret brew and a special tap. There was a banner across Main Street that advertised the Black Valentine’s Day sale at the General Store and a special $500 Black Valentine’s Day discount at the only Chevrolet and Ford dealerships in town on all cars bought that week.

The Exxon gas station offered a special ten cent discount off per gallon of gas on Black Valentine’s Day. There was a Black Valentine’s Dance that Saturday night where everyone must dress in black and there was even a Black Valentine’s Day song that was a bit dreary and macabre. There were those who speculated who was the black Valentine’s Day card sender, just as there were those who speculated who would be the recipient this year.

Some of the locals even conducted a side bet as to who was going to receive the black Valentine’s Day card this year. The pool was up to a thousand dollars and most folk speculated that Rose, the grouchy librarian was due to receive the black Valentine’s Day card this year. There were even a few copycat black Valentine’s Day card artists who thought it funny to send out their counterfeit versions a few days before Valentine’s Day. Only, they were quickly exposed, as their cards lacked the authentic artistry that Walter’s cards had.

It was a day like any other and Walter was making his rounds. As usual people waved to him and chatted with him as he walked up their walk or stopped at their mailbox. Only, it was different this Valentine’s Day. There was eeriness to the morning air and instead of the women of the town being out and about to greet their mailman as he approached their house and their mailboxes, they hid behind their lace curtains and peeked out looking to see if Walter’s hand held the dreaded black Valentine’s Day card for them.

It wasn’t until Walter passed by their house and continued on his route to the next house that they rushed from their home to wave their relieved hello to their beloved mailman.

At the very next house he stopped at the gate and reached deep inside his mailbag before continuing. He opened the gate and continued his way up the front walk and up the steps to her front porch. Normally, he would put her mail in her mailbox, but today Edna had a special delivery.

“I’m sorry, Edna, but someone sent you the black Valentine’s Day card this year,” said Walter holding out his hand and offering Edna her mail, a black, handmade custom envelope addressed in special white ink. “If I could, I’d rip it up and throw it away rather than deliver it to such a wonderful woman, as you obviously are.”

“No, it must be a mistake Walter. Are you sure it wasn’t meant for my next door neighbor, Ruth?” She leaned into him and whispered, “She hates people and doesn’t even have a pet. I love people and I have three cats.”

“Let me double check the name and address.” Walter put on his reading glasses. “Sorry, it’s addressed to you.”

“But, I attend church every Sunday, help the elderly, and give to the poor. Who would send me such a thing and why would they send it to me?” said Edna staring down at the card with a panicked look of horror on her face and afraid to take ownership of it.

“Obviously, it’s from some embittered person with a twisted personality, who hates you as much as he hates Valentine’s Day and who does not know the special person that you are.”

“Please, Walter, open it for me.”

“I’m sorry, but I can’t do that, Edna. That’d be tampering with the United States mail,” he said setting back his shoulders, puffing out his chest, and moving the card closer to her and nudging her hand with the corner of it. “I could be fired from my job, as a United States Postal Carrier, a job I’ve proudly held for the past twenty-two years.”

She recoiled as if he was offering her excrement, but finally accepted ownership of the card, as Walter turned to leave.

“Wait, Walter, please don’t go. Stay here Eve Gelen Escort with me until after I open the card, incase I have a heart attack.” She held the screen door open for him. “Please, come inside. I have freshly brewed coffee and freshly baked apple pie.”

“Okay, but I can only stay a minute. I have lots of mail still to deliver.” His job required him to be true to his duty, as his altered postman’s oath echoed in his mind, “Neither snow, nor rain, nor heat, nor gloom of night, nor black Valentine’s Day card delivery, stays these couriers from the swift completion of their appointed rounds.”

She was an attractive, mature woman a few years younger than Walter. She had been alone since her husband suddenly died more than a dozen years ago and never remarried or had children.

Once inside, Edna opened her card with shaking hand and heavy heart. She steadied herself by leaning against the living room door jam, as she read the card aloud.

“Roses are red,
Violets are blue,
I’m so glad,
I’m not married to you.

Alone and lonely,
You never have sex,
You’re never horny,
Since you buried your ex.

You’re all dried up,
And don’t get the itch,
With tits like prunes,
You’re a cold bitch.”

“Walter, who would send me such a thing?” Edna started crying and Walter put down his mailbag to comfort her.

“There, there, now Edna, dear, it’s going to be okay. Don’t fret.”

“I do get horny some times,” she said looking up at him and making eye contact. “I have sexual thoughts and feelings. I still get wet, very wet. My tits aren’t like prunes at all and I’m not a cold bitch.”

“There, there, Edna,” he said patting her on the back while holding and hugging her. He looked behind her and spotted the television in her living room. “It’s just someone’s sick idea of a bad joke. I’m sure you were horny once.”

“Horny once?”

Edna looked at the mailman in horror. She pulled away from his hug and stepped back. In a quick rip, she pulled open her housecoat exposing her big, white bra and cream yellow granny panties to the mailman. Her buttons popped everywhere showering the hardwood floor with round, plastic discs that twirled and spun in every direction. She had a decent body for an old broad. She lifted her bra exposing her round, firm, C cup tits, looked down at them, and cupped her breasts in her hands while fingering her nipples to erection.

“What do you think of these knockers, Walter?” She said looking up at him with a face full of lustful desire and naughty intentions. “They look more like melons than prunes to me. Wouldn’t you say so, Walter?”

“You have beautiful tits, Edna.”

“I’ll show you horny. Go ahead touch them, feel them, and squeeze them. Pinch, pull, and suck my nipples. Stick your hand down my panties and finger my clit. I’m already wet, you know.”

“Take it easy, Edna. Calm down. You’re going to give yourself a stroke.”

Walter reached out his hands to feel her breasts. He caressed her big, firm tits allowing his meaty palms to pass over her nipples. As she invited him to do, he reached his hand down inside her panty and fingered her clit. She was already wet.

He noticed her comfortable looking couch positioned squarely in front of her big screen television.

“Is that a high definition TV, Edna?”

“Yeah, it’s a Plasma,” she said mindlessly, more focused on Walter than on her television.

“With surround sound?”


“Do you have cable?”

“Yes,” she said breathlessly as Water fingered her clit and sucked her nipples.

“Do you like reality TV, Edna?”

“I love Survivor and Big Brother, if that’s what you mean.”

“Do you like dark chocolate truffles?”

“I love dark chocolate truffles.”

She reached her hand down and stroked his quickly growing penis through his pants, as she impaled her tongue in his mouth. In one quick pull, Walter felt himself being unzipped. Edna reached inside his uniform pants, stuck her hand down his briefs, and pulled out his erect cock. In an instant, she was on her knees licking the tip of his penis, taking the length of it in her mouth, sucking him, and blowing him.

“You don’t happen to have any popcorn do you?”

“Popcorn? Yeah,” she said removing him from her mouth, “I have some Orville Rickenbacker. Why?”

“Nothing, just wondering.”

“How’s this for horny, Walter” she said only stopping to suck him to speak, again.

“You’re doing a good job of convincing me otherwise, Edna. Yes, indeed, you’re doing a very good job,” he said happy that he finally found the right woman. “Please continue convincing me. I’ll let you know when to stop and Happy Valentine’s Day to you.”

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