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A SEPARATED dad-of-five, Scott Bees, 35, from Ely, Cardiff, worked as a Royal Mail postman for four years, but is now a university student.
As it was revealed, posties were the profession most likely to cheat, he gave a warts and all look behind the scenes to Anna Roberts:
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JUMPING out of the van and grabbing my loaded post bag I felt a surge of pride.
After two months training as a ‘floater’, filling in when other posties were off sick, I’d finally been given my first regular round.
I was 24, married and had finally got the stamp of approval – I had a Royal Mail round and I was getting to know the regulars I delivered to.
But I soon realised being a postman wasn’t just about letters drops and parcel handovers. Instead I was initiated into a world of scantily clad ladies, sex mad pensioners and topless titillation.
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Red lingerie and lippy at 9am
Most people are not at home when you deliver their post. And if they are, they usually answer the door in casual clothes or PJs, a casual ‘thanks’.
Not so Betty*, a woman in her 40s, who was the talk of the sorting office.
She lived in a pretty terraced house in the area of Cardiff where I delivered. At first, I didn’t know what had hit me but just one week into my new round her front door swung open as I passed.
Looking up, I did a double take.
Because instead of trackie bottoms and a hoodie she was clad in red lingerie, heels and bright red lippie.
I had nowhere to look as I muttered ‘here’s your post ma’am’, practically threw her letters at her and raced off.
The next time I saw her she was wearing clothes that were even racier – a lacy gown and suspenders.
The lads were in hysterics after I told them… but by a few months in we were firm pals although nothing untoward happened. I was a married man!
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Have you got my package?
Viv* was in her 50s and every few weeks would get a parcel.
One week I knocked on her door and instead of her usual sensible shoes, plaid skirts and buttoned up shirt she was wearing a silky gown.
Somewhat taken aback, I handed her a package. ‘Pop on the floor Scott,’ she asked, so I did.
That’s when I got the shock of my life. Because she treated me to the full monty before saying ‘I actually want your package.’
I thanked her before reminding her I was married, hoping she’d get the message. I don’t think she did as I got a rather rude-shaped box of Christmas chocolates. Looking back, it was sexual assault – and bang out of order.
Dope delivery
With the dark web a huge source of drugs – and dealers delivering them via the Royal Mail, I realise I must’ve accidentally delivered my fair share of Class As, Bs and Cs.
But there was only one occasion that it was quite so obvious.
Sitting in my van at the start of my round I noticed a rather odd odor from my post bag.
I started sniffing and within seconds discovered it was coming from a large padded envelope.
Feeling the contents I heavily suspected it was cannabis leaves. The address was destined for a block of flats.
The smell was overpowering. We’re obviously not allowed to deliver illegal drugs so I rang my boss who told me to pop it in plastic and bring it back. The police were called.
That anecdote was certainly a story. When I told the other posties they nodded and said ‘we accidentally deliver more drugs than the local Boots.’
Bang on time
You learn a lot about people’s sex lives when you’re a postie.
One day, as I delivered to a five-storey block of flats, I heard loud sounds coming from an upstairs bedroom.
It wasn’t a scream for help but a regularly banging sound interspersed with ‘oohs’ and ‘aahs’. Two people were definitely having a good time. But I had signed a letter to be delivered – so I knocked on the door and braced myself.
The thumping stopped and the door was opened by a bloke completely starkers – with his member standing to full attention. ‘Alright?’ he said in a broad South Walian accent. ‘Alright,’ I replied.
Then he added: ‘Bet I’m having a better day than you.’ before grabbing the parcel, flashing his bum and closing the door.
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With love, honey
On the round you soon know which houses get lots of parcels and it makes you curious.
I started noticing a petite brunette in her early 30s getting almost 10 parcels a week.
Out of curiosity I asked one of the sorting office staffers if they noticed it too.
That led to guffaws… it turned out there was history there!
The previous postman had been curious and Googled the return address: sex toy website Love Honey.
The next time I dropped off her delivery, I winked when I handed over the post.
‘You have a nice day love,’ I cheekily added. She looked at the parcel and blushed.
I delivered more than 220 parcels to her that year all in the same style of packaging.
Maybe she was a secret sex toy reviewer? Or perhaps she had a secret life on OnlyFans. I never asked and she never told me.
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