It isn't as easy, or convenient as one might think, to have a relative in the delivery business. Oh, sure, I can get discounted rates on overseas shipping from time to time. And, true enough, I have access to a never-ending supply of cardboard. But something about the biz makes one a bit off. You know, the term, 'going postal'? They might've been more accurate if they'd popularized the phrase 'going UPS'.

Now, before you get any ideas, I'm certainly not implying that everyone affiliated with that logo is nutty. But my cousin is unmistakably so. I tend to think that it is due to prolonged exposure to that gummy packing tape. Well, not regular exposure. I went to pick her up from the job one day, and caught her with a mouthful of the stuff. She'd spun around to face me when she's heard my footsteps on the cement floor, and I still don't know which one of us were more shocked. It was pathetic.

Her cheeks were packed like a squirrel's, with a long wet piece of the chewed tape escaping the corner of her overful mouth. She had pieces of it stuck to her forehead, and to her hands, with some even tangled in her hair. What does one say in such a situation? I still don't know. She turned a bright crimson and made a shrieking 'mmfff' noise. All I could do was tuck my cock back into my pants, and shake my head wearily, turning away to give her privacy to finish her 'fix'. We didn't speak of that day again.

I can't bring myself to address this issue straight-on. I know, I know she'd deny having a quote-unquote problem, but oh, she does. Not only does she seem to have an insatiable appetite for the packing tape, and, yes, the Styrofoam worms as well, but an actual fetish for the packages, themselves. I spied on her one night, a night where she'd claimed to be behind at work, and was staying well past her 8 hours of duty. I knew something was going on, no one could've convinced me otherwise. So, in a nearly automatic mode, driven soley by a desperate curiosity, I found myself creeping into the warehouse to see exactly what she was up to.

Quiet as could be, I found myself slithering, weasel-like, to the large metal door that separated the rest of the world, the 'regular' folk of society, from the depravity I was soon to know as the rotten underbelly of UPS. I cautiously peeked up and into the small rectangular window into the dim warehouse, and saw no one in my immediate view. My hand felt for the push-button style door handle, and I pressed my thumb down, quiet... quiet... and leaned into the door with my shoulder. No creaking; it opened silently for me. Now past the thick metal that was a partition between my cousin and me, I could easily hear noises that would be associated with deviance and lust. I turned in the direction of the moaning and scuffling sounds, my cock already twitching excitedly at the thought of what I might see next.