Danas First Day

'How was it, hon?'

'How was what?' Dana replied, closing the front door behind her, exhausted.

'Your first day of work,' Ryan said from the living room. 'Obviously.'

'Oh. That. It was -- well, it was a thing.'

'Ah,' he said to himself knowingly. Then, louder: 'come in here and tell me about it.'

'Come and meet me in the bathroom. I really need a shower.'

Dana slipped her trainers off and headed upstairs. Ryan flicked the TV off and followed her -- always a pleasure, he grinned to himself, despite her mood.

In the bathroom, she turned the shower on and began undressing. The frosted glass window steamed up almost immediately and the white and blue tiles were in a similar state before she had removed the last of her sweat-soaked clothing.

Even Ryan, whose eyes were mostly focused on the shapely form of his now-naked girlfriend, was aware enough to notice the surprising state of her work uniform. It was not a warm day, as evidenced by the instant condensation of the steam, and yet her clothing was drenched in sweat. Sweat and, was that yoghurt? Cream? Something white and slimy was streaked down the cheaply-made t-shirt. Something similar, but slightly off-colour filled the crotch of her leggings.

He wasn't sure whether to be angry or sympathetic. Either way, his overriding emotion was confusion. He decided that, given Dana's unusually quiet demeanour, he would play it sympathetic until he had reason to do otherwise.

'So, uh, what happened exactly?' he asked, not drawing attention to the state of her clothing yet.

'Take a seat,' she advised. 'I'd better start from the beginning.

Ryan put the toilet lid down and sat on it, watching Dana shower. He tried his best to look sympathetic while also ogling her suds-soaked arse. The way the water sloshed between her firm, round cheeks made it difficult to focus on anything else but he tried.

'It wasn't exactly Deliveroo,' she went on. 'But it was food delivery. Kind of.'

'What do you mean? Tell me everything.'

Dana exhaled at great length. 'Well everything started out fine. I got there in plenty of time, parked my bike and waited for the boss to arrive. I was nervous, but you know that, and a bit excited.'

'Understandable. It's your first proper job.'

'Are you saying my paper round didn't count?' she said, grinning half-heartedly, already lightening up in the warmth of the shower. 'It was not what I expected.'

He noticed the yoghurt -- or cream, whatever it was -- was running down her body with the water too. He really wanted to know what had been going on, but it clearly wasn't the time to press the issue just yet.

'Well, what was it? You can tell me.'

'Alright. Well, the boss turned up and gave me my kit: branded t-shirt, comically large backpack, all that jazz. So far so good. Then he asked me what underwear I was wearing.'

'Wait, what? Just like that? The fucking cheek of it!'

'Oh, it wasn't him being a creep. Well, it was partly that, obviously. But, well... we'll get to it.'

'Go on,' said Ryan, already fuming.

'I was nervous, so I answered honestly. I should have told him to go fuck himself, but I thought maybe it was a joke or that he might sack me before I'd even started or something. I don't know. So I told him the truth and he said "alright, that'll do," as if it were nothing.'

'What the hell?'

'Right? I was confused too. He wasn't even bothered. It would almost have been better if he was just sat there wanking. I felt like crap. Like, what, my knickers aren't good enough for you, you creepy piece of shit?'

'Motherfucker. I can't believe this guy.'

'Yeah, well. Turns out it was all business. Nothing personal. He could have been nicer about it, but, turns out sexy underwear is part of the uniform.'

'How is that "all business" and "nothing personal" exactly?'

'Oh, I'm getting to that. Pass me the shower gel.'

Ryan grabbed a small Lush bottle from the window sill and handed it over.

'Okay,' she went on. 'I was feel pretty crappy at this point, but after a brief bit of introductory training -- there's not much to it, obviously -- I got my first job. It was only 10AM at this point, so I was a bit surprised. Who wants Chinese at that time of day, right?'

'Right.'

'Well, I'm sent to this address and told they will give me everything I need. From there it's just your basic "cycle to the address and deliver the food" job. So, after a strange start, we're back to where I thought we'd be. Fine. I get on my bike, fasten on my comically large backpack and get moving.'

'Okay, so...'

'So, I rock up at the first address in plenty of time but it's clearly not a takeaway. I'm wondering if there's a mistake -- a typo or a prank or something -- when somebody comes out of what turns out to be a baker's. This was the back door. Fair enough, I guess. Bit weird ordering dessert before lunch but who am I to judge?

'She introduces herself as Emma, tells me she's looking forward to working together and whatever. I'm only half listening since she's behind me, filling up the backpack. It's heavier than I expect and it takes longer than I expect, but eventually she sends me on my way and tells me to be careful with the fragile contents.'

'So it was cake or something?'

'Exactly. But way more than one.'

'Some kind of party going on?'

'That's what I thought. Anyway, it's about a twenty minute ride to the house. I knock on the door, remove my backpack, and start lifting these cake boxes onto a little wall by the door. I'm unloading them when I hear the door open, then I look and see...' she trailed off, giggling.

'Oh,' Ryan's face lit up with realisation. 'Seriously? On your first job?'

'Ryan, I swear to God it was hilarious. I mean, at the time I was sort of disgusted and sort of scared, but I pretty quickly realised this guy wasn't going to hurt me. He just stood there, naked except for a pair of budgie smugglers, arms behind his back, eyes closed.'

'Oh my God. What is wrong with people?'

'Oh, it gets better. I just sort of stared at him for a moment. I mean, what would you have done? After a minute, he opens his eyes and looks just as confused as me. Then he looks a little embarrassed.'

'I'm not surprised.'

'Then, he coughs and says "aren't you going to splat me then?" as if I'm the one in the wrong.

'Splat him? Eh?'

'I had no idea either. "Oh," he says. "You must be new." I told him I was. Then he explained to me, in graphic detail, that the food this company delivers isn't for eating. It's for covering people in.'

Ryan raised his eyebrows. 'What?'

'Yeah, it's a thing apparently. I googled it on my phone during a break.'

'Hang on. You're telling me this company you work for delivers food to people's houses, and then you're supposed to, what, slap cakes in their faces?'

'Sometimes.'

'What does that mean? Also, does this mean my girlfriend is a sex worker now?'

'Ha. Very funny. More like a kissagram or something.'

'So you did it? You splatted the cakes in his face?'

'Well I was already there and he had the money. I never had to touch him and he assured me he wouldn't touch me either. The day was already so bizarre I figured what the hell?'

'Day, I don't know what to say. I can't believe it.'

'Like I said, I never touched him and he was true to his word. Different strokes for different folks, I guess.'

'Very magnanimous of you, but I don't think I like the idea of my girlfriend going around delivering people's weird fetishes to them.'

'Your girlfriend? That's not very progressive of you.'

'You know what I mean. Anyone could be on the other side of the door. Just because this pervert was harmless doesn't mean they all are.'

'And I could get run over by a bus on my way to the next delivery.'

'That's not the same. Wait, next? You're going back tomorrow?' Ryan sounded incredulous.

Dana shrugged as she got out of the shower and wrapped herself in a fluffy beige towel. 'We need the money.'

'Honey, there are other jobs out there.'

'Ryan, honestly, it's fine. None of those other jobs pay this well for so little work. I get to be outdoors most of the time, I'm getting exercise, and I get to see a different side of people.'

Ryan laughed at that last part despite himself. 'That's one way of putting it. Wait, hang on. There's something missing here.'

'What do you mean?'

Carefully picking up Dana's spoiled top, Ryan held it out in front of himself and said 'if you didn't have to touch him, what's all this? That was only the first job of the day, right? So what about the rest? Why is your uniform such a state.'

'Oh. Right. Yeah. Promise you'll listen to the end before you react.'

Dana was exhausted by the time she arrived at her destination. She remembered the bit in her University brochure about how her adopted city had its seven hills in common with Rome and wished she had chosen lovely, flat York instead. Bit late for that now, she reminded herself, rapping on the door of flat sixteen.

It opened a moment later, but nobody was there to greet her. Dana double checked, in the process of emptying her rucksack but there was no sign of any naked weirdos. 'Come in,' someone muttered. She realised the voice's owner was standing behind the door, out of sight. A bit worrying, but all of this was still new and a bit scary. Dana told herself that the company and her boss would know exactly where she was -- nothing to worry about. Besides, based on her first delivery, she could fully understand why a customer would want to remain unseen.

Leaving her now empty rucksack in the atrium, Dana stepped inside with a pile of four greasy-looking takeaway boxes in her hands.

The flat was dim, poorly-lit, but well-appointed. Everything looked tastefully pricey, from the mahogany side table with the BMW key card on it to framed painting of two chubby women on the wall. It was funny, Dana thought, how non-digital art, even one as ugly as this, was more of a status symbol than the BMW hover-car nowadays. Given the flat's location, none of this was surprising. This was no cheap-as-chips council flat. Dana was in the nice end of town, where people who couldn't quite afford a house in the leafy suburbs but knew it was only a matter of time until they could laid their heads at night. It was a far cry from her one bedroom apartment next to the city's main spaceport that she and Ryan called home.

Still, that was the whole point of this endeavour wasn't it? A few months of dual income and they would have enough credits to put a deposit down on somewhere a little bit quieter. She would keep looking for jobs in her degree's field, but she was starting to regret having studied Lunar Anthropology at all. Her graduation was almost two years ago now and she hadn't seen a single suitable role in all that time.

'You can pop them on the table just there,' the voice, deep and very noticeably male, stated.

Dana startled at the blunt instruction. She had been so lost in her dreams of tomorrow that she had forgotten about her dingy today. She stopped gawping at the décor and placed her payload on the table beside the key card. She felt a little guilty about the greasy smear the cardboard left, but she was simply following instructions, she reminded herself.

'Alright. You can start by emptying the top container into your own top. That's the waffles, right?'

'Excuse me?' Dana asked, nonplussed. She must have misheard, she figured.

'The waffles. Maple syrup. Whipped cream. Into your top, please. Make sure you get plenty in your bra or I won't tip.'

'Sorry, what is going on here?'

There was a frustrated sigh, then a figure emerged into the corridor. In the low lighting, Dana could hardly make out his features, but she could tell that this customer was a touch overweight and more than a touch shabby. His chin was fuzzy, but in a way that hinted at laziness rather than any kind of deliberate choice. His graphic t-shirt fit loosely and his hair was unkempt -- clean, but uncombed. By comparison, Dana felt positively fashionable in her dowdy work uniform of a branded t-shirt and gym leggings.

'Another newbie?' he asked. 'I suppose it makes sense that you girls never stick around.'

'I started this morning,' Dana replied. 'You're my second delivery. The first was, erm, unusual.'

The figure nodded. As Dana grew accustomed to the dingy atmosphere, she noted that the stranger wasn't unattractive. At least, he could have been attractive if he made a bit of an effort. 'You might want to have another look at your contract. I can wait. Don't be too long, though, or that stuff is going to get really unpleasant.' He nodded in the direction of the cardboard.

'I think I get it. Like I said, the first delivery was pretty odd. So, where do you want it?' Dana had lifted up the top container, flipped back the lid while they continued to talk.

'Like I said, all over your tits would be great. Thanks.'

Dana arched an eyebrow. 'Oh, yeah, you mentioned that. I'm good, though, thanks. I'll put it wherever you want, but obviously I'm not going to touch you directly.'

The figure exhaled impatiently. 'I really think you should check your contract again.'

'Alright,' Dana said defensively. She put the box down again and plucked her phone from her pocket. Nobody spoke for several minutes as Dana found and then scrolled through the e-mail that contained her contract. She skimmed the majority of it -- boring, unhelpful legal jargon.

'Try searching for "willingly" the customer suggested.'

Dana did just that. Her jaw dropped slightly as she started to read. It continued to drop as she made her way through the section labelled Exceptions. She audibly gasped when she got to the part labelled Special Exemptions.

'Yeah. So, how much do you need this job? There's a bit in the contract about customer satisfaction and what have you. Money back, et cetera et cetera. Shall we begin?'

'Just a minute,' Dana replied vaguely, still scrolling. This was a lot to take in. What she had assumed to be a simple delivery job had all of a sudden taken on a slew of additional characteristics, none of which were welcome. Most of which, her partner Ryan would not be happy about. Dana had to come to terms with all this, decide whether she still needed this job and she had to do it all in the next couple of minutes. As the customer had mentioned, time was a factor here if she wanted to be paid.

Dana didn't want to do anything the contract said, but she also didn't want to spend her whole life living in a pokey, noisy flat, paid for almost entirely by Ryan. She could handle a bit of sticky discomfort and psychological ickiness, she decided. Besides, the pay was pretty good, all things considered. The customers had to pay a little bit extra, for now-obvious reasons, and some of that got passed on to Dana. Now she understood why the company wasn't just using drones like everybody else. Jobs like this were quickly becoming obsolete and all of a sudden it made sense why this job couldn't be replaced by AI.

'Alright. Sure,' she said, trying to convince herself as much as anybody else. 'I'll need you to talk me through this to some extent, though.'

'Not a problem. I already started, in fact, if you recall.'

'Right. Right.' She picked up the box of waffles again. Grease was already seeping through the flimsy cardboard and the maple syrup and cream had splattered all over the insides. She wondered if this was part of it. If this weirdo (customer, she corrected herself) was going to enjoy her getting sticky and messy, was the greasy container some kind of foreplay? She had no idea. It didn't matter.

Grease dribbled down her arm and dripped of her elbow as she removed the waffles. She hated how it felt on her bare hands -- sticky, clingy -- but she aware that this was just the beginning. There was a palpable tension in the air as she reluctantly took one of the two waffles and eased it through the neck hole of her sky-blue t-shirt. For Dana, the tension was her reluctance rubbing up against her willingness. She felt that, for the customer, there was a very different kind of tension at play. As she let go of the waffle, but before she felt it land on her breasts, she wondered if the stranger was wanking in the shadows. It didn't sound like it, but she couldn't be sure.

Shuddering at the tacky feeling now coating most of her chest, Dana lifted the second waffle out of its container and cringed anew at the syrup coating her hand. She moved more quickly now, accepting that she was, in fact, going ahead with this, and that the sooner she got on with it the sooner it would be over. With that in mind, she let the second waffle -- and its sticky toppings -- fall into her cleavage. Both waffles stayed put, almost like a perverse satire of her bra, held in place by the sticky syrup. Unfortunately, the gooey mixture of syrup and whipped cream did anything but stay put. It oozed into the gap between her tits and her bra, where it sloshes around with her every move.

The customer interrupted before Dana could get too deep into self-pity, though. 'Now give it a good squeeze. Rub it in,' he said. His voice was firmer, more controlling now that Dana had agreed to the terms.

Dana remembered the parts of her contract she had so recently read for the first time. Without a word of protest, she cupped the outline of her breasts through her flimsy t-shirt and squeezed everything together. She moaned softly as the sugary slop shifted and swirled around her cleavage. She felt the waffle break apart under her hands, adding a new, spongy texture to the mix. She felt her nipples harden as they were inadvertently massaged by everything.

'Good. Keep going. Rub and rub until it starts to leak through your top.'

That didn't take long, at least. Maybe a minute or so after Dana began squeezing and rubbing her chest, a greasy dark patch appeared on the front of her t-shirt and she could feel the sticky mixture on her hands again. She felt more and more objectified, more and more awkward and embarrassed the more she rubbed. It was so silly, so demeaning, almost juvenile, but the worst part was that she knew she couldn't stop until he said so -- not if she wanted her pay cheque to have more than one zero on it.

Mercifully, Dana heard him tell her to stop a few seconds after she felt the syrup seeping through. That was end of his mercy, however, because now he ordered her to open the next container. So much had happened since she had collected the order that she couldn't remember what it had inside. It was a pizza box, so she assumed pizza, but when she opened it she saw that it was just a margarita. She did wonder, based on the way it shimmered even in the dim light, if Extra Grease was an additional extra on the website, but otherwise it was topping-free.

'Now, slap that in your face, there's a good girl. When you've done that, you're going to smear it back over your hair. Yes?'

Dana really did not want to do any such thing. The thought of that oily mess against her scalp, ruining her hair sounded horrific. What she said, though, was simply 'yes.'

'Good. But in future, say yes, sir. Understood?'

'Yes. Sir,' Dana replied, remembering to add the Sir at the last moment. This was getting seriously weird now, and Dana did not appreciate being made to simper and kowtow to a pervert she couldn't even see. She bit the feeling down, reminded herself of the money, and lifted the pizza. This required the use of both hands due to the weight of the topping and the flimsiness of the base. Dana comforted herself slightly with the fact that at least she didn't have to eat the disgusting-looking thing, and pushed it against her face.

If the sticky syrup-cream concoction had felt unpleasant against Dana's breasts, the greasy pizza was downright disgusting against her face. She almost dropped it, it was so slippery with oil. Once she had readjusted for this, she forced herself to pull the whole thing back over her hair. Her dirty blonde hair was up in a pony-tail, to keep it from flapping around as she biked between deliveries, so it was an easy enough task -- physically speaking -- to drag the pizza backwards. The aftermath was the most ridiculous she'd felt so far, and that was really saying something. She stood there, hands by her sides, with the pizza resting precariously on top of her head like the weirdest hat of all time. Tomato, cheese and oil oozed down the sides of her face, soaking her shoulders and trickling inside her t-shirt. It was disgusting, and she felt utterly stupid as she stood impatiently waiting for further instruction.