- 8020,
It seems like I am always doing three days’ worth of work on Fridays. The Friday marathon usually keeps me at the office into the evening, sometimes as late as 8 o’clock. By that time I’m ready to go home, crash on the couch, call up Netflix and stuff my face with empty carbs. Sleep soon follows.
I’m a passable cook but after a 12-hour workday I don’t want to spend another hour in the kitchen. Sometimes I’ve got something in the freezer that looks good, but often I’ll treat myself by picking up on the way home. But this Friday night I was too tired to do even that. Work had been a bitch – malfunctioning computer systems, people not doing what they were hired to do, that sort of thing – and my brain had turned into a block of ice. All I wanted was to eat and fall asleep. Tomorrow I’d be off. I had all day to let my brain thaw.
So when I walked through my front door I tossed my keys and wallet onto the cabinet, took out my phone and placed an order for a pizza through an app. I ended up ordering a medium with mushrooms and black olives I’m by no means a vegetarian but at least I can pretend that my pizzas are healthy.
I took a quick shower and was putting on a pair of shorts when the doorbell rang. “Shit,” I muttered. “Who the hell is delivering my pizza? The Flash?” I hadn’t even gotten my shirt on. But an anticipatory stomach growl sent me toward the front door, wallet in hand.
I opened it to find a young guy standing there holding a thermal bag. He was about 5-foot 9, maybe 135 pounds, with coarse blond hair that hung toward his eyebrows and covered the tops of his ears. He wasn’t skinny but lean, his torso narrowing at the waist and widening to accompany his hips. I checked out his basket and saw a hint of something there – nothing huge but definitely something I wouldn’t mind seeing in the flesh. He was wearing a company polo, tan cargos and tennis shoes. I noticed his legs were hairy – I like that in a guy. I want some hair where there’s supposed to be hair.
“Sir?” I heard, and realized I’d been staring, and he’d been speaking, and I hadn’t noticed it at all. “You ordered a medium with mushrooms and black olives?”
“Come on in while I get you some money,” I said.
He stepped inside the door and followed me to the kitchen. I started looking for my wallet and couldn’t find it, until I realized I was holding it in my hand. “Sorry, it's been a long day,” I laughed, realizing that he must of thought I was acting a bit strange.
He laugh with me. He had a very pretty laugh to match cute body. The next thing I realized was that my cock was lengthening and stiffening in my shorts. Because sometime over the past 30 seconds I had decided this guy was eminently fuckable and that if I failed to get into his pants my life would be sadly diminished.
Jesus, what was I thinking? This wasn't one of those porn movies with the pizza delivery guy. I shook my head, disappointed in myself and at the same time disgusted with my sense of propriety. Sometimes I could be my own worst enemy.
He smiled and put the bag down on the cabinet, unzipping it and removing the cardboard box containing my pizza. “I do that sometimes with my sunglasses,” he said. “I’ll be looking all over the place for them and they’re on my head.”
I bet he looked incredibly sexy, sunglasses sitting atop that blond mop, the arms tucked behind his ears. A part of my brain devoted itself to composing a mental image of him behind the wheel of a convertible, sunglasses sparkling in the light, hair flying, shirtless, driving down a beach road, passersby staring in envy at a gorgeous young man who held the world in the palm of his hand with his good looks.
My loins quietly ached.
I grabbed the money from my wallet and told him to keep the change – he was that beautiful. It was going to be hard, eating a pizza when what I really wanted to eat was walking out the door.
He thanked me and turned to leave. “Before you go, can I ask you a question?” I decided I was going to make if I could make a cliché porn scene come true.
He turned and said, “Sure. What?”
“How old are you?”
He smiled knowingly. “I get that a lot. I’m 21 but my baby face makes me appear younger.”
My heart skipped a beat, in a good way. Twenty-one years old. One major obstacle down. One more to go.
“Yeah, well, hang on to that because it will serve you well through life,” I said. “They shouldn’t, but people really do judge you by your looks. And you look terrific.” And as he stood there blushing, I decided to go for broke. “So terrific that I wouldn’t mind having a little sausage with my pizza – YOURS, for instance.”
You never know how a guy is going to react when you broach the subject of sex with him. Some are offended. Some even threaten to beat you up or call the cops. Others politely decline. And then there are a few who actually take you up on your offer.
I wasn’t sure which way pizza guy would go. The expression on his face seemed to dim, his smile gradually fading, his gaze falling away from me to land somewhere on the floor. But he wasn’t frowning. And his muscles weren’t tensing for a fight.
I started to say something, maybe offer him a graceful way out, when he said in a quiet and suddenly sly voice, “It’s the end of my shift and I was just going to head home after your delivery. Since you offered, I wouldn’t mind getting my dick sucked.”
Jackpot! I had lucked out.
I’m a passable cook but after a 12-hour workday I don’t want to spend another hour in the kitchen. Sometimes I’ve got something in the freezer that looks good, but often I’ll treat myself by picking up on the way home. But this Friday night I was too tired to do even that. Work had been a bitch – malfunctioning computer systems, people not doing what they were hired to do, that sort of thing – and my brain had turned into a block of ice. All I wanted was to eat and fall asleep. Tomorrow I’d be off. I had all day to let my brain thaw.
So when I walked through my front door I tossed my keys and wallet onto the cabinet, took out my phone and placed an order for a pizza through an app. I ended up ordering a medium with mushrooms and black olives I’m by no means a vegetarian but at least I can pretend that my pizzas are healthy.
I took a quick shower and was putting on a pair of shorts when the doorbell rang. “Shit,” I muttered. “Who the hell is delivering my pizza? The Flash?” I hadn’t even gotten my shirt on. But an anticipatory stomach growl sent me toward the front door, wallet in hand.
I opened it to find a young guy standing there holding a thermal bag. He was about 5-foot 9, maybe 135 pounds, with coarse blond hair that hung toward his eyebrows and covered the tops of his ears. He wasn’t skinny but lean, his torso narrowing at the waist and widening to accompany his hips. I checked out his basket and saw a hint of something there – nothing huge but definitely something I wouldn’t mind seeing in the flesh. He was wearing a company polo, tan cargos and tennis shoes. I noticed his legs were hairy – I like that in a guy. I want some hair where there’s supposed to be hair.
“Sir?” I heard, and realized I’d been staring, and he’d been speaking, and I hadn’t noticed it at all. “You ordered a medium with mushrooms and black olives?”
“Come on in while I get you some money,” I said.
He stepped inside the door and followed me to the kitchen. I started looking for my wallet and couldn’t find it, until I realized I was holding it in my hand. “Sorry, it's been a long day,” I laughed, realizing that he must of thought I was acting a bit strange.
He laugh with me. He had a very pretty laugh to match cute body. The next thing I realized was that my cock was lengthening and stiffening in my shorts. Because sometime over the past 30 seconds I had decided this guy was eminently fuckable and that if I failed to get into his pants my life would be sadly diminished.
Jesus, what was I thinking? This wasn't one of those porn movies with the pizza delivery guy. I shook my head, disappointed in myself and at the same time disgusted with my sense of propriety. Sometimes I could be my own worst enemy.
He smiled and put the bag down on the cabinet, unzipping it and removing the cardboard box containing my pizza. “I do that sometimes with my sunglasses,” he said. “I’ll be looking all over the place for them and they’re on my head.”
I bet he looked incredibly sexy, sunglasses sitting atop that blond mop, the arms tucked behind his ears. A part of my brain devoted itself to composing a mental image of him behind the wheel of a convertible, sunglasses sparkling in the light, hair flying, shirtless, driving down a beach road, passersby staring in envy at a gorgeous young man who held the world in the palm of his hand with his good looks.
My loins quietly ached.
I grabbed the money from my wallet and told him to keep the change – he was that beautiful. It was going to be hard, eating a pizza when what I really wanted to eat was walking out the door.
He thanked me and turned to leave. “Before you go, can I ask you a question?” I decided I was going to make if I could make a cliché porn scene come true.
He turned and said, “Sure. What?”
“How old are you?”
He smiled knowingly. “I get that a lot. I’m 21 but my baby face makes me appear younger.”
My heart skipped a beat, in a good way. Twenty-one years old. One major obstacle down. One more to go.
“Yeah, well, hang on to that because it will serve you well through life,” I said. “They shouldn’t, but people really do judge you by your looks. And you look terrific.” And as he stood there blushing, I decided to go for broke. “So terrific that I wouldn’t mind having a little sausage with my pizza – YOURS, for instance.”
You never know how a guy is going to react when you broach the subject of sex with him. Some are offended. Some even threaten to beat you up or call the cops. Others politely decline. And then there are a few who actually take you up on your offer.
I wasn’t sure which way pizza guy would go. The expression on his face seemed to dim, his smile gradually fading, his gaze falling away from me to land somewhere on the floor. But he wasn’t frowning. And his muscles weren’t tensing for a fight.
I started to say something, maybe offer him a graceful way out, when he said in a quiet and suddenly sly voice, “It’s the end of my shift and I was just going to head home after your delivery. Since you offered, I wouldn’t mind getting my dick sucked.”
Jackpot! I had lucked out.