Something Spontaneous

Rick hated delivering pizzas. Somewhere in his head, a feeling of suppressed pride kicked in, a feeling of being an experienced engineer, a feeling of being a competent professional, a feeling of being down on his luck. The delivery gig wouldn't last long, he told himself. The plant had closed, sure, and his work ethic had made him take any job as a job, but he'd be back on his feet soon. He was confident.

Given his lack of pizza delivery experience, the call and order didn't strike him as particularly odd. The woman wanted a small, plain pizza, three six packs of Diet Coke, and without hesitation she added a special request. The delivery person who would stop by the grocery store and bring her a twelve pack of Heineken would get a very nice tip.

Rick drove through the cool night with his car windows down as the pizza cooled beside him. The Diet Coke and the Heineken were in the back seat. He found the address easily in an older, well-kept part of town. Young people with good jobs lived around there, he knew.

The house was probably built in the 1930's. It had that look. Being an engineer, he respected that era of construction for the quality and sturdiness of the work. People needed and wanted work in those times. The workmanship showed a certain pride and commitment that was lost in current day.

He stood on the front stoop after ringing the doorbell. The stupid pizza cap was in the car. He never wore it. The pizza was in the red warmer holder, the Diet Coke and Heineken were stacked at his feet.

She didn't take long to answer the door. Rick watched her open it confidently and happily. "Hi," she smiled, "Thank you, thank you for stopping by the store."

She was beautiful, Rick realized quickly. Her long hair was scattered around her face, pulled onto the back of her head in some kind of knot or something. The white tank top obviously had nothing under it. The blue jeans hugged the curve of her hips. Only her toes peeked from the ends of the legs.

She stood there smiling as he surveyed her. She probably knew what he was doing, he told himself. He was immediately embarrassed but she just laughed and asked him to step inside with the stuff while she got her purse. He watched her walk quickly down the hall to the back of the house. Her hips moved confidently without a pretentious sway, but no matter of their level of confidence, those were nice hips to watch move. Definitely, he told himself.

"Would you mind bringing the drinks and pizza back here?" she called to him.

"Sure," he answered before gathering everything in his arms and following the path taken by the hips.

She was in the kitchen going through a stack of papers on the counter. "I thought I had enough cash," she was saying over her shoulder, "But I was wrong. And I can't find my damn checkbook now. How much do I owe you?"

"$13.24 for the pizza and soda. And I paid around $14 for the beer. I kept the receipt."

"So, I owe you around $27, plus a tip," she told herself as she kept looking.

Rick could tell she was getting upset. She kept looking through the same stack of stuff but not finding anything. Finally, with a big sigh, she turned to him and leaned against the counter.

"I've made a big mistake," she told him with a frown. "I don't have anything to pay you with. I found my checkbook but I had written my last check. We could ride to an ATM machine, I suppose. Any ideas? I am so sorry. This has never happened before."

Rick only smiled. "Well," he started, "The pizza and soda need to be paid for before the shop closes. You can pay me back for the beer tomorrow, or something." He held out his hand for her to shake, "My name is, Rick."

She took his hand and smiled, "And I'm, Caron. If I may say so, you know, you don't look like the usual pizza delivery person."

"Long story," he told her, smiling. "Tell ya what I can do. I'll call the store and tell them I've had some car trouble. I didn't really wanna work tonight anyway. And I'll tell them I'll drop off the money for your stuff tomorrow. Hell, I'll just head home, read a bit, and drop by tomorrow and pick up your money. How's that?"

She leaned back into the cabinet and smiled broadly. "I'm really, really sorry. Look, would you like a beer? I was gonna nibble on the pizza, have a few beers, and listen to some music. Why don't you sit down and tell me the long story."

Caron didn't wait for his answer, she just pulled two beers from the carton and opened them as they stood there smiling at each other. After they put the drinks into the fridge, he followed her into her den and sat down. The long story came out easily enough. She listened carefully without asking any questions.

"So," she told him when he had finished, "You're not a career pizza guy."

They both laughed. When their laughter passed, the room was left with only the sounds of Wes Montgomery playing on the stereo. Rick's eyes were scanning the room, taking in the books and CDs and art. When he glanced back to the couch, Caron was looking at him, smiling, smiling a different smile than before. The smile warmed him, and he liked the feel of it.

"Do engineers ever do anything spontaneous?" she asked.

"Sometimes," he chuckled, "But only if it conforms to specifications."

She held his eyes and stood up from the couch. Her fingers unfastened her jeans and pulled the zipper down. Her hands held the waistband on each side as her hips, those hips, wiggled the jeans down until they dropped to her bare feet. She wasn't wearing panties, and the white tank top only came down just below her navel. Caron stood there naked from the waist down as Rick took her all in. Her pubic hair on her mound was trimmed and shaped. Her hips bore the faint tan line of a bikini.

"Do you like?" was all she said.

Rick only nodded to say, yes. When she turned her back to him and knelt on the couch, he thought some kind of dream was taking him. She settled on the couch, her knees wider than shoulder-width apart, looking back over her shoulder at him, showing him her ass and shaved pussy.

When she ran her fingers over her pussy, slipping one inside her for a second, he asked her, "What is it you want me to do?"

"Something spontaneous," she told him, looking at him over her shoulder, "Something unplanned."

Wes Montgomery's "4 On 6" spilled over the room as Rick collected his thoughts. Montgomery caressed the guitar as he played. His fingers sounded gentle as they glided over the frets, squeezing and touching and moving, almost as if he was making love to the guitar and making music as a by-product. Maybe, Rick thought, maybe the music is something of a by-product, a consequence of the love, the loving doing.

Caron was watching Rick from the couch. She was smiling, looking as if she might be enjoying his situation, the situation she had created. She was in no hurry, and she certainly wasn't embarrassed to be showing herself to him, in fact, it would appear she was enjoying that, too.

The quiet space in between the cuts on the CD seemed to be the time for Rick to move, so he did. He stood from his chair and began unbuttoning the pizza shirt. It came off quickly and he tossed it to the floor behind Caron. The cheap red shirt lay there next to the couch perfectly positioned between each of her feet. His jeans came next. He wondered what she thought when she say he wore no underwear. Neither of them did. Fate or fancy or fashion? Fancy, he'd have said if asked, but the question didn't occur to him then or later.

"Road Song" began as Rick moved to kneel just off Caron's left hip. He knelt there naked behind her, to her side. "Spontaneous?" he asked, but her eyes has already answered. She just held his eyes and nodded, yes. Her finger was playing languidly over her clit. It was her left hand. Rick wondered in that moment if she played guitar. Of course, he realized, there had been an old Les Paul in the living room. Of course. It was a Classic Plus, the model with the 1960 version, the one with the "slim taper" neck, they call it, the one perfect for a woman's hand. Of course.

Spontaneous, he reminded himself and he reached for his beer and began to gently pour it down the crack of her ass, over her pussy, over her finger and clit, and onto the stupid pizza shirt on the floor. "Some Heinie for your heinie?" he asked, grinning more than smiling. She giggled and wiggled and he poured until the beer was gone. When the beer was gone, he turned the bottle on its side and let the cool green glass roll in the folds of her pussy.

"Mmmmmmm," she intoned in perfect pitch with the bridge on "Boss City."

Rick watched her pressing and moving her hips against the bottle as Montgomery jived through the song, the horns seeming to press the tempo and coax him. Indeed, Caron was dancing on the couch, grooving her groove against the rolling bottle, dancing a spontaneous dance. When he sat the bottle on the coffee table she didn't stop moving, no, she continued to dance with her hips.

Rick let his right hand move up her body. His palm slid up the back of her left thigh, past that spot where her leg became her ass, up and over the curve of her ass, up her back, pushing the tank top upward as he went, moving over it onto her shoulder, all as she danced and moved.

He held his middle finger to her mouth and said, "Lick it, get it wet."

She did. She took his finger into her mouth and sucked it. Her tongue moved around it in circles. He could feel it, her tongue twirling, her mouth sucking, and he could see it, her cheeks hollowing, her eyes daring him, knowing or guessing what he was going to do. When he pulled his finger from her mouth, she let her tongue follow it, her saliva hanging as string between them until it broke and dripped onto the couch.

She had anticipated him, because her hips stopped moving and waited for his hand. The wet finger found the pucker of her ass, his thumb found her pussy, and they both entered her at the same time.

Her gasp was one of pleasure.

His fingers pressed inside her until he had the sense that he was holding her with his hand. Regardless, whether he held her or not, she moaned and began to dance again. This time "Goin' On To Detroit" took her, and she took his hand. She closed her eyes and danced with the music and his hand in her body. She danced until she came. It was almost as if her body shuddered in time with the music.

When the moment had passed, and he was easing his fingers from her as she watched his face, she whispered, "I don't even like pizza."

"West Coat Blues" took the stereo as Caron turned and settled onto the couch. She held her hands to him and he joined her.

"I have more music," she told him before kissing him softly. "Anything in particular you'd like while I attend to you? You seem so needful." Her fingers held his cock and stroked him with the same practiced hand she had used on her clit.

"B.B. King?" he smiled.

She chuckled and kissed him again. "That could last all night."

"Good," was all he said.