How did I end up standing out here in the middle of a four lane road without a stitch of clothing, blue and red light flashing across my chest and junk in the middle of Drake Avenue?
It's a long story, but basically, it's all because Barney Fife hates me, hates my job, hates my boss, and hates everybody I work with.
That's not his real name of course. That would be too good a gift from the gods of pizza delivery. It's just that 'Barney Fife' fits him a lot better than 'Officer Rodney Smithee'.
Cops tend to hate pizza drivers, or, if not hate us, at least see us as easy targets. But Tony, our boss, takes care of the cops, and they all love us.
Except for Barney. I was on my way back from painting cute little white hearts on a pizza for a couple of randy old ladies when Barney lit me up. Again.
Oh, wait, I should back up. Fallsworth is a beautiful little suburb of Ft. Lauderdale, near the heart of one of the premier tourist destinations in the world. You'd think they'd get a fair cut of all that succulent sounding tax money, but they lacked the one thing that is the main draw for tourists.
Fallsworth is landlocked. There are no beaches. We're hard up against the Everglades, and if it wasn't for 'Glades University, there would never be any reason for anybody to come here.
So the City Council decided to fall back on the second biggest thing that draws tourists. Or maybe it's the first, if you attribute most of the attraction of beaches to the beautiful people in skimpy clothes that are often found there.
Fallsworth took advantage of a loophole in Florida law to declare public nudity fully legal. Full frontal, full backal, full everything. The full Monty, anywhere, any time.
Whether intentionally or not, the wording of the bill made lewd acts in public only a misdemeanor, basically a traffic ticket. And word came down to the cops from somewhere to look the other way, except in the most egregious cases. Or, if they can't help looking, to keep both their dicks and their ticket books in their pants. So yeah, you can fuck in public here, just don't do it in the middle of Main Street on a Sunday afternoon.
Barney misread the memo. I don't know how the stick got up his ass, or what shape it was, but for some reason he hated nudity. He hated sex even more. So he hated us with a passion. If he was married, I didn't know whether to feel sorry for his wife or to blame her.
In any case, he blamed us, maybe because we were easy targets. We were the most visible manifestation of the new laws, or at least the one he knew where to find when he got his dander up.
Drawing cute little hearts with my dick... it's a talent I'm pretty proud of, by the way. I mean, try it sometime. See if you can control the speed and flow well enough to paint anything other than a monochrome Jackson Pollock reject on anything, let alone within a 16-inch circle. All while you're having an orgasm.
Anyway, that isn't the only special service we offered, and Barney knew it. Hell, practically everybody in town knew it. But Tony has friends in high places, and/or a big file cabinet full of dirt on people in high places.
I know nothing...
Tony's last name is not Nudio, name of the business notwithstanding. It's Annunzio, which is, I guess, close enough to write it off as a typo. Probably five minutes after the Fallsworth Council passed the new laws, he'd struck on a a bright idea to increase his business.
He changed the name, and started interviewing attractive young people with good driving records, full insurance, and a high threshold for embarrassment. And he's no bigot, he knew that male drivers would be in demand as well. If not as much as hot college girls, enough to pad the bottom line by a nice margin.
No, I'm not gay, though there is a lot of demand for that, and if I'm just there to wave the flag, I'm not picky about my customers. I've gotten used to being ogled like a piece of meat by guys. Now I know how the girls feel.
But in fact, there's a lot of women out there who like a little innocent fun, and quite a few who like their fun less innocent, or downright raunchy. Giggling college girls indulging their curiosity or that have to touch a wee-wee to make good on a dare or a lost bet. Single career women with no time for a boyfriend, let alone a husband. Lonely middle aged women with fading looks and a longing for past glory.
I can provide all of that with no strings attached, and without having to deal with a frat boy or boy next door who will be a whole lot more selfish and a lot less skilled than I am.
There was more than enough business for me and one other straight guy at the shop. As to the semen condiments, yeah, it surprised me too. But a lot of women actually like the taste, surprising as that is. That doesn't mean they always want a mouthful of it, any more than you would want a mouthful of mustard. But spread it around, let it be a subtle, earthy spice that enhances the flavors of meat and cheese and grease... well, I'll take their word for it that it can be quite the delicacy.
Not all the guys working there were straight. Guys who liked guys were in a lot of demand when the call was for more than just eye candy. Of those three, a guy named Brad was happy to switch hit when business called for it, kind of a utility infielder, able to fill in where he was needed, without regard to what kind of orifice needed filling.
And he could really fill them. He had a schlong big enough, even limp, to use to swing from the trees if he wanted to.
===
"Just a warning?" Chrissy asked after I came in the side door and told her the story of getting pulled over, again, by Barney.
Getting dressed and undressed between runs was time consuming, a pain in the ass, and just plain silly. Plus, hanging around naked built a unique kind of camaraderie among the drivers.
That's why I came in the side door, and why Tony had built this little break room for us to hang out in. We weren't allowed up front because the legislation that allowed public nudity wisely did not include letting people smear their fromunda cheese all over food prep surfaces. Good for us, because we didn't have to do the usual work that drivers at less enlightened establishments have to do while waiting for their next delivery. Like wiping down counters, restocking the make line, answering phones, or folding your pizza boxes.
"He's getting sick of beat downs in court," I said.
"Or he's changed his tactics," said a voice behind me. I turned and saw Patricia leaning in the break room door.
Patricia was the phone girl and all around helper, so she had to be dressed. Technically, she was, but if what she was wearing counted as clothes, then Hooter's girls might as well be wearing nuns' habits.
Yeah, she was the one I looked at behind my eyelids when I had to draw hearts for the two old ladies. The ladies were sweet, and tipped me more than a stripper makes for a dance in the VIP room, but still, I need more inspiration than they were able to provide. Especially if they weren't my first 'special' of the day.
"How do you mean?" Chrissy asked. Chrissy was smoking hot and as scantily clad as I was. The only reason she wasn't the star of my fantasies was that she was Tony's daughter, and in line to take over the business one day. Not that she was strictly off limits - Tony's not stupid or naive - but things could get awkward if I made a habit of thinking about her bent over the hood of my car.
Patricia, on the other hand, welcomed that kind of attention. Even better, she enjoyed making real memories to add to my mental spank bank whenever we closed together.
"I mean, if he just gives warnings, he can pull you guys over more often. Hassle you even more." Patty said.
Shit. I hadn't thought of that angle. He'd been bad enough already. This could get ridiculous.
====
I didn't do specials from day one. They needed to get used to me, make sure I planned to stick around, and that I could be trusted.
I can be pretty oblivious sometimes, but I was probably the last person in town to know what went on when somebody ordered a pizza with 'everything'. We didn't actually have an everything option on the menu. We offered 32 separate ingredients, many of which no sane person would want together on the same pizza even if it was practical to pile it all on.
It was Chrissy who took me aside and felt me out about it, about six weeks after I'd been hired. I was making good tips already, more than I ever could have made with my clothes on, but I was starting to get a whiff of more money going through the other drivers' hands than I saw my share of.
Chrissy, like I said, is Tony's daughter, and apparently his buffer, the one who runs the other business and lets Tony keep his hands clean. Chrissy and Patricia, as I would soon discover.
"You sure have a nice dick," Chrissy told me out of the blue one day when we were the only two drivers in the break room. I was sitting on the sofa and she had walked up to stand right in front of me.
She's a really nice girl, but a bit aloof. Reserved, not unfriendly. Not the kind to make a comment like that, at least without some preliminaries, and probably dinner.
Smart as a whip, too. Good head for business, and really great tits. They're a bit on the big side for her frame, in my view, but then disproportionality is the opposite of a problem when you're dealing with frat bros.
Her being smart as well as reserved made me sure there was some purpose behind this comment, which accounts for my confused reaction. What is the protocol exactly, when a co-worker and semi-official boss looks down at you sitting on the couch and spontaneously praises your genitalia? I doubt Emily Post had ever addressed this specific situation.
"Umm, thanks." was all I said.
"Do you manage to keep all those college girls from groping you?" she asked, smiling at my confusion.
"Mostly," I said, trying to give Chrissy a smile that said 'not as often as I should' without actually saying it. It often got me bigger tips, but there had never been a formal price attached to it. I mean, really, just not having to be the one paying felt like a bonus.
"Hard to resist sometimes, I know." she said, still standing there with her hands on her hips and her stance just closed enough that she didn't look like she was spreading her legs for me.
I decided to feel out her intentions. "I'm supposed to draw the line at touching." I said.
She nodded. "Yes, you are. But sometimes that line gets crossed. It happens. Do you wish you were allowed to let them?"
"You mean, am I straight?"
Chrissy laughed. It was a nice laugh. "We all know you're straight. I mean, is that something you'd be comfortable with?" Her tone was casual, almost joking, but that tone didn't fit Chrissy, nor did the intent look in her eyes.
