Mailman

It was that day of the week, Emily thought, her insides turning into butterflies. The time of week her vapid, boring life faded for a few minutes.

Karl Roberts was 68, Black, kindly. He was the mailman for the Pritchard household on Fridays and Sundays, working part-time for the post office. Saturdays were a no-go, with the risk that Ian may be around. But Fridays ...

Emily opened the door perkily. They never had enough time, she thought. The affair had started because he was a good listener, and he drank his lemonade quietly while Emily poured her emotions out. But it had slowly changed into this ... the priggish housewife letting her persona fade just long enough for a sweaty, older mailman to pound one out in her, sating her for another week of this boring existence.