Media mail, Stella, and me

So, I went to the post office today.
I had a package to mail.
It was media mail.
Stella, the clerk didn't trust me.
Chicks named Stella never trusted me.
She said they could open it up anytime they wanted and if there was anything besides books, cassettes, or Cd's in the package they could send it back.
I said fine, if you don't trust me I'll open the package now.
I reached into my pocket and pulled out a knife.
Stella reacted.
She pulled a pair of numchucks out from under the counter and knocked the knife out of my hand.
We struggled.
I inadvertently ripped open her blouse.
She wasn't wearing a bra.
Her breasts were stunning.
Her nipples taunted me.
It felt like a balloon was inflating in my pants.
Our eyes locked.
We pulled ourselves up on top of the counter.
There was sex.
It wasn't sweet loving let's make a baby sex.
It was ten minutes before the apocalypse so we'd better get it right this one last time sex.
We panted.
We moaned.
We rendered each others' flesh bloody.
Stella started screaming out zip codes randomly then came like a runaway freight train.
I exploded like Little Boy over Hiroshima.
It was over that quick.
There was awkward silence.
There was always awkward silence after I sent media mail.
I hitched up my pants, blew a kiss to Stella, gave a sly wink to the guy behind me in line, and walked out, not once looking back.
The end