Author's note: This series contains (occasional) descriptions of rough and forced sex, some of which crosses the boundaries of consent. If this is not up your alley, please click elsewhere! All sexual contact described occurs between adults aged eighteen years and older.
Part 04
The rest of June was a blur. I worked every day, weekends included, delivering pizzas from three to close. I was putting hundreds of miles a week onto my old truck, but thankfully my grandpa had kept it in good condition before I inherited it. In complete honesty, the Blazer only had to last a couple more months until I went away to college. In the meantime, I was getting reimbursed for mileage at a rate that more than covered my gas expenses, and I was pulling in at least fifty dollars in tips most days on top of my hourly salary. I was feeling pretty flush. I'd never had money like this before.
Like a good son, I did what my parents wanted -- put the money away for college -- mostly. I packed the cash away in a shoe box in my closet and deposited my checks into a savings account. But I also indulged myself a little. I kept about twenty bucks on me at any given time, which I used to get an occasional soda and bag of chips at the gas station or a comic book from the arcade at the mall. And when Mario insisted on taking us out to Gio's after work -- something that happened at least a few times a week -- I was proud to be able to pull out my wallet and buy everyone a round of drinks.
"Uh-oh, Paulie's whippin' out his fat wad, here comes his big Lincoln!" Mario would shout, as I tossed a fiver onto the table.
Ever since he'd seen my hard penis in the bathroom at Gio's after my first day at work, Mario had been a little bit... weird. He developed the habit of making not-so-subtle references about my dick. I was embarrassed at first, but after a while his cheerful jabs began to seem like a normal feature of the job. And if I had to be honest, the attention he paid me wasn't entirely unwelcome.
For the first time in my life, here was a guy -- a man -- Mario, who didn't seem put off by me. In fact, it even seemed like he liked me... liked having me around. Initially I didn't really understand it and I was constantly braced to receive a jeer or an insult from him, like most of the guys I'd ever been around. After all, he was definitely a
dude's
dude. He liked sports and girls -- two of his favorite topics to discuss when we were out at Gio's, especially if Derek or Jason or Danny were with us. He talked about a string of girlfriends, although I never saw him with a date. And he was really physical with all the guys who worked at the restaurant. Like an overgrown puppy, he was always pawing at us or play-wrestling us or smacking our asses with a rag. With the women, he was less handsy, although he would occasionally play-punch Stacy's arm or slap her back appreciatively when she made one of her dry, cutting jokes.
When I asked Stacy if she and Mario had ever,
you know
... she just laughed and told me to pull my head out of my ass. He had drunkenly asked her out once, she told me, but she had been dating somebody at the time, a guy named Ben, and she had made it clear to Mario that she didn't need
another
alcoholic boyfriend. Since then, she said, they had been on easy, friendly terms. It was almost impossible not to be on friendly terms with Mario, she'd said. And when she'd eventually dumped Ben, Mario had been solid -- he'd even helped her move back into her grandma's place.
~
Most of the time, Stacy came along when we went to the bar after work. She'd ride with either Mario or me, or one of the other guys if they came along. Stacy didn't have a car -- the reason, she said, that she worked as an assistant manager when she'd much prefer to be a delivery driver.
"Are you kidding?" she scoffed, when I asked her why. "Stuck in that hot, shithole kitchen, sweating, reeking of grease and sausage, listening to Derek and Jason out-dumbass each other? No way. If I had a car... oh, baby... I'd be out on the
road
. Petal to the metal. In fact, if I had a car, I'd be long gone.
Fuck
Pizza Hut."
"But you get paid way more as a manager," I said.
We were sitting at Gio's, halfway into a second pitcher on a Wednesday night after work. Mario was at the bar, yelling and doing shots with a group of his cousin's friends. Derek and Jason were off in the corner, playing darts.
"After tips, I bet you take home more than I do," she replied, blowing smoke out of the side of her mouth.
"Tips are unreliable," I countered.
"Oh, I'm pretty sure you do OK on tips," Stacy said, sarcastically.
"What do you mean?" I said.
"People have been asking for you, did you know that?" Stacy said. "Like, they call up and say, 'Hey, darlin', why don't you send over that little skinny kid?'" She lowered her voice and added a twang to caricature the voice of a dumb-sounding customer.
"Really?" I said, pretending to be surprised. I fiddled with my half-empty glass of beer. "That's so weird. Hey, did a lady really order three pizzas with no sauce or cheese today?"
"It's always the same guys, too," Stacy said, ignoring my attempt to change the subject. "Like, the same six or seven dudes. Our best customers all of a sudden. I mean, who wants to eat that much shitty pizza?"
I laughed, nervously.
Stacy snubbed her cigarette out in the ashtray and then folded her arms, looking at me quizzically.
Oh boy
