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Pizza Delivery

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For five years, every Friday—like clockwork, as the saying goes—we ordered a pizza from Pizzamania. When the kids were still living at home, we had to get pepperoni or veggie, and for a while my wife, Judith, hankered for gourmet pizza; tomato and basil was her favorite.

Soon we realized we couldn’t handle as much as we used to eat. A plain cheese became our mainstay. It was good enough and a lot cheaper.

Pizzamania wasn’t the best place in town, although it was always chaotic and packed with customers every Friday night. Salvatore Silvio owned the place.

“I’m a real ‘Talian, no Grick!” he proudly informed.

Pizzamania was quick, cheap, and had a gritty hometown feel. Judith frequently suggested we try another place and from time to time we did. Yet I always managed to find an excuse to go back to our old standby. I’m loyal. Then there was Diane, Sal’s wife, who worked there.

I would call anytime between 4:00 and 5:30, depending on how late my wife got home from work.

“Pizzamania, pick up or delivery?” Diane had a mature, assertive tone. If a younger male or female voice answered, I felt a letdown.

“Pick up,” I would say.

“Name?” she would ask.

“Norman,” I would reply and give her my order.

“‘Bout fifteen, twenty minutes, hon!” Her only hint of recognition was to call me hon.

Early on, I figured out she was married to Sal for two reasons. First, he barked at his staff, ignored the customers, and barely worked behind the counter or at the ovens, while Diane ran the staff, ramrodded the drivers, and took care of the customers.

Second, Sal was a bald, short, barrel-chested cook that owned a greasy-spoon joint. To him, Diane was a tall, strong, and smart blonde, whom he worshipped like a goddess.

She said sweetly, “What can I get for you?” to others, but for me she made it very clear. “Don’t even say your name when you come in, hon. I always know you and your order.”

Diane seemed taller than she was, maybe five-eight or five-nine, because the floor behind the counter was raised about six inches higher than the other side where we customers stood.

She wore a baseball cap, sweatshirt, sneakers, and blue jeans under a white apron, smeared with grease, sauce, and flour.

Diane never failed to give me a smile and made me feel good as I left, but I didn’t read anything more into her attitude until one summer night when she asked me, “You takin’ the boat out much this summer?”

“No, I don’t have a boat.” I told her. “I like to swim. I like the beach, but I’m not a boat guy. How about you?”

“Nah, I don’t have a boat either,” she said, propping her chin on her folded hands looking over the counter. “I’m too scared it’ll sink or somethin’.”

So, why did she ask me? The only thought that made sense was if she was “fishing”—pardon the pun—to find out more about me. She was a tough lady, twenty years younger than me. My imagination was flattering my ego.

Another time, mid winter, she asked about my Super Bowl pick.

“The Pats, of course,” I said to her approval. “But I’m more of a baseball guy.”

“Sox, I hope!” Her blue-eyes smiled brightly.

“The Yanks owned the 20th century,” I explained professorially. “The 21st century belongs to us.”

That was the first time she gave my hand a little squeeze. The touching became almost a ritual, whether I handed her a credit card or cash. Diane would entwine her fingers with mine or cover my knuckles with her palm.

Also, around the holidays, she make a point of wishing me a merry whatever and happy what-have-you. She didn’t know I was Jewish and I saw no reason to tell her.

One time, she even came running from the back, where she and Sal had been deeply engrossed in conversation, to say goodbye and wish me a good weekend.

The most fascinating encounter was when I paid cash with a $10 bill for $9.95 special. Diane went into the register, took out another ten-spot and handed it to me plus a nickel.

“Diane, I gave you a ten, not a twenty.” We jointly launched a dialogue, ignoring a line of hungry pizza lovers behind me.

“Are you sure?” Diane was convinced she was right and I was wrong. “I think it was a twenty.”

I laughed gently. “I didn’t even have a twenty in my wallet.” I palmed the bill back to her.

She took it and shook her head. “Look at this. You’re takin’ care of me here so I don’t make a mistake.”

She gave my hand an affectionate pat and I brought the small cheese pie home to my wife, Judith.

My world forever changed two weeks ago. Judith is gone and I’m alone after thirty years. I didn’t even feel like görükle escort eating a pizza for a couple of weeks. Tonight I opened a Sam Adams lager and called Pizzamania.

“Pick up or delivery?” I recognized Diane’s voice.

“Delivery,” I said, not wanting to leave the house or see anybody. I definitely didn’t want to talk to anybody. I’m all talked out from the funeral and sitting shiva.

“Name?” she said hesitatingly, although I knew they had caller ID with the phone number.

“Norman,” I answered flatly.

“Delivery?” she asked in a higher than normal pitch. “Are you sure, hon?”

“Yeah, I’m sure, Diane.” She made it personal and I let her. “I don’t wanna go out. I’m kinda tired.”

“It’ll be half an hour to forty-five minutes.” She spoke in a very businesslike manner.

“Why so long?” I blurted out, not meaning to sound upset.

“It’s real busy tonight,” she told me bluntly and I hung up.

Over an hour passed before I heard the pizza wheels pull into my driveway. I had the porch light on and the front door ajar, so I just waited for the slamming of the car door, trotting up the walkway, and rat-tat-tat on the storm door.

Diane stood smiling in my doorway, holding the big red insulated pouch. I pushed open the storm door and held it for her to cross my threshold. Her jacket smelled of cheese, garlic, and autumn leaves. Her body smelled of fresh air and her breath smelled of minty mouthwash.

“I came myself,” she declared the obvious. “Because we were running so late and I wanted to knock off early. I’m done for the night.”

“Don’t you have to close up or something?” I asked as she pulled the steaming white box from the pouch.

“Nah-ah!” she sounded. “Sal can lock up. I already cashed out and made the deposit drop.”

As I started to hand her the money, I noticed the large sized box. “That’s not a small. How much is it?”

Diane laughed, “It’s a large and it’s free, on the house.”

“Why?” I was curious.

Her shocking answer came swiftly. “Because you need a little T.L.C. I know your wife died. I’m so sorry for you. I figure you wanted a delivery ’cause you don’t wanna go out. It scared me.”

“Why would that scare you?”

“People lose hope, give up on life.” As we talked, I laid the pizza box on my kitchen table, grabbed a couple of plates, and invited Diane to sit down with me.

“I’m still a little depressed,” I told her. “I don’t know what to do with the rest of my life yet. Can I get you a beer?”

“I’d love one,” she said, peeling off her jacket. For the first time I noticed that she had a thick torso, long legs, and high-set breasts, almost adolescent in appearance.

I opened another Sam lager and she drank it straight from the neck.

“People can die from a broken heart,” she stated assuredly. Then she looked at me so intently her eyes crossed. “I like you. I don’t want anythin’ bad to happen to you.”

“It already did,” I responded, sitting down and stuffing the corner of a pizza wedge in my mouth.

“That’s what I mean?” she shouted excitedly. “It sucks your wife died, but you’re still livin’.”

I wasn’t sure how to take Diane’s apparent intervention. I wondered why Diane felt entitled to take this on herself. This was the kind of talk I expected from my son or daughter, but they were too busy getting back to their normal lives.

I offered Diane a piece of pizza, separating crust at the invisible dotted line she or Sal had made with their pizza cutting wheel and lifting it from the flat cardboard.

“Please, I don’t even wanna look at pizza or anything with tomato sauce on it when I’m not at work. The beer’s good.”

“I can understand that.” I put the slice back in the box.

“It must’ve been a shock. It’s bad enough when somebody’s sick, but a car accident…”

“It just happened so fast,” I started to say.

“Were you drivin’?”

This is what everyone assumes happened and they are quick to assure me it wasn’t my fault, though they suspect it most likely was in some way.

“Don’t blame yourself.” Diane spoke softly and reached for my hand.

When I wrapped my fingers around hers, I felt them rough and chapped. I said, “You don’t know what happened. No one does, except me…and Judith.”

Diane sipped from her bottle of beer and gave me a quizzical look.

“I wasn’t driving. I wasn’t even in the car.”

“The news report online said the other car ran a red light and hit her car broadside.”

“That’s right,” I gulped a mouthful of suds and cheesy dough. “Judy got T-boned.”

“Was she drivin’?” Diane wrinkled her brow, bursa görükle escort and then asked, “Wasn’t she makin’ a left turn? How can that be?”

“Someone else was driving,” I explained.

“Who?” Diane hooted.

“Her boyfriend, lover, the guy she was fucking behind my back.” I paused. “He’s okay, just a few bumps and bruises.”

Diane looked at me with wide-eyed wonder. Then her pretty eyes began to glisten and redden. A little tell-tale drop of saliva shone at the corner of her mouth. She pulled my hand to her lips and kissed it wetly for several seconds, finally speaking.

“I can’t imagine the pain you’re in, hon. You loved her…You still do. I can see it.”

“Neither one of us were angels all these years,” I said, leaning my head on Diane’s broad womanly shoulder. “But she was my best friend. To have her ripped from me and getting caught with her panties down at the same time…”

“Do people know?” she asked with concern.

“Not a soul,” I said, forcing a laugh. “Even the cop at the scene thought her boyfriend was me and the EMT who filed the accident report thought I had been the driver.”

“Why’re you tellin’ me?” she asked with a pained smile.

“Ha! I don’t exactly know why,” I chuckled. “Want another beer?”

“If I have another one, I won’t be able to drive home.”

Diane wiped the tears from her eyes and shakily touched my cheek to do the same for me.

“If I do, I’ll have to sleep here…With you!”

We kissed. It was a soft, sweet, and gentle touching of the lips that made us both smile.

“That’s why you came over here tonight, isn’t it?’

We kissed again. This time she hungrily opened her mouth to cover mine with the warmth of her breath.

“Yeah, so get me that beer, will you?”

I stood behind her chair as Diane popped the cap and sucked down half the bottle without exhaling. Then she reached for my belt buckle and pulled me toward her.

“Let’s get your therapy started,” she joked as she unhitched, unsnapped, and unzipped, dropping my slacks to my knees and uncovering my colorful red jockeys.

“I’m a fifty year old guy, Diane.” I tried to hedge my bets. “I might not be able to do you justice.”

“Oh, yeah?” Diane pressed her lips to my stiffening cock through the material. She yanked down my shorts with one hand and stroked my manhood with the other before licking me with her wet, fluffy tongue.

She still had her Red Sox cap on for a minute as she sucked my phallus. I gently took it off her head and was surprised to see her shaggy hair fall over her ears, mid-length and far too yellow to be natural, but soft to the touch of my fingers.

I never knew how long her hair was under her hat and so I fingered it playfully. She giggled and the vibration stimulated my cock swimming in her moist mouth.

After I came, with Diane caressing my groin, thighs, and buttocks, she stood up and smooched me, letting me taste my semen on her lips.

She held me tightly, sighing against my ear. “Show me your bathroom and your bedroom, Norman.”

We strolled down the hallway, holding hands like a couple of teens who just went steady. I showed her the bedroom and she said, “That’s where you get naked and wait for me.” Then I showed her the bathroom and she said, “This is where I go to freshen up.”

I figured she wanted to pee and touch up her makeup. The next think I knew the shower is going full blast and the bathroom is being enveloped in a cloud of steam. I stuck my head behind the plastic shower curtain and Diane jumped, laughed, and cupped both breasts to cover her nipples.

“I been workin’ all afternoon and I wanna get nice and clean before you go down on me.”

I saw Diane in all her unclad glory. The water from the shower head poured over her head and shoulders, streaming down her belly and groin, forming a twisted braid in her wiry pubic hair. Her waist was thicker than I imagined and her hips were of almost equal width, straight up and down. Her tits looked like little strawberry-topped cupcakes.

I quickly stripped and joined her under the teeming spray. Diane greeted me with soapy kisses and her powerful arms pressing my shoulders against the tile. She handed me a washcloth and liquid soap dispenser.

“Wash me, hon, all over,” she commanded in a voice thick with passion. I rubbed her breasts, buttocks, and thighs, scrubbed her back, and went down on my knees to tickle her clitoris, labia, and vulva with the tip of my tongue.

Once she came, Diane turned predator, wrapping her arms around my shoulders and lifting her legs to clamp onto my hips. My cock bursa eskort torpedoed her muscular vagina as I pinned her ass up to the tiled wall and filled her tubes with my seed.

“It’s okay, hon,” she whispered. “I’m on the pill.”

“Doesn’t matter,” I laughed. “I had a vasectomy many moons ago.”

We fled the shower stall dripping wet and actually danced—an erotic fox trot—our way to the bedroom.

Diane fell on top of me and swallowed my still erect organ inside her womanly wings. She hovered over me, dripping soap suds and fresh sexy sweat onto my face as I sucked on her jiggly titties while her cunt squeezed my cock dry.

We lay tangled in an exhausted embrace for a time.

“Does it bother you ’cause we just did it in Judith’s bed?” she asked while twirling a long strand of my gray hair with her finger.

“Harrumph!” I scoffed. “She fucked her boyfriend here. She’d wash the sheets and remake the bed by the time I got home.”

“You forgave her, didn’t you?”

I nodded yes.

“You loved her no matter what.”

I nodded again, but then I turned the tables on Diane. “What about Sal? Where does he think you are right now?”

“I told him I was gonna visit my mom after I delivered the last pizza of the night—yours!”

She reached down to the floor and pulled a pack of cigarettes from her rumpled jacket. She had duly noted that Judith smoked and I tolerated it. I had to let my newly christened girlfriend do whatever my late wife was allowed to do.

With smoke billowing around her head, Diane’s breasts rose with each drag on the cigarette as my hands caressed her mound of Venus and I tasted her succulent labia. I buried my nose in her pubic beard and crushed her clitoris with my thumb as I twirled the tip of my finger on her G-spot.

“We flirted for five years,” she said crushing out the cig in Judith’s bedside ash tray as I straddled her and lowered myself onto her. “If I knew how good it was gonna be…” I cocked her for fifteen minutes before we both came. She spent the night and slept straight through. She snores—just like Judith.

At ten the next morning, I woke to the smell of bacon, eggs, toast, and coffee cooking in my own kitchen.

Diane was wearing Judith’s bathrobe. I didn’t mind. They were about the same height and weight, but twenty years’ difference in age. I threw on my robe and sat on a stool at the kitchen nook.

“You know, at Pizzamania we make sandwiches, subs, and pasta dinners,” she offered cheerily.

I looked at her with a comical grin, not commenting.

“Oh, I get it!” Diane chortled, scalloping scrambled eggs from the fry pan into two dishes already trimmed with bacon and a slice of buttered toast. “You’re a food snob. Either you cook your own gourmet Italian food or go to a foo-foo restaurant. Huh, am I right?”

“Sorry,” I mumbled as she sat down next to me. “I love Pizzamania’s pizza, though.”

In a flash, she turned and said, “And you love me, too!”

She kissed me on the mouth and fed me a forkful of eggs.

“I’ll cook you up a big breakfast like this every Saturday morning.” She picked up a strip of bacon and held it suggestively between two fingers before sliding it in and out of her lips. “I’ll deliver your free pizza every Friday night…” She reached into my lap and found my dick through my robe. “If you want me to, that is.”

“What about your husband, Sal?” I tried to be cool, but she was stroking my organ to rock-hardness even as we chewed her delicious breakfast. “Remember him?”

“I’ll tell him I’m stayin’ with my mom once a week,” she said, pumping my rod as I squirted my low-testosterone fluid on the linoleum floor. “She’s gettin’ on in years, you know.”

“What if he talks to your mother about it?” I was reciprocating, massaging her muscular Venus with both hands.

“She’ll lie for me.” Then she kissed me on the neck just beneath my ear. “I’ll tell her all about you.”

“Why are you doing this?” I asked, quite bewildered at how quickly a flirtation with a mere acquaintance had coalesced into a full-blown romance.

“It’s not forever,” she said unemotionally. “Judith was the love of your life. I know that. I’ll help you get through your grief.”

We slipped off our stools, landed on the floor, and crouched in a sixty-niner’s embrace.

When she finished shivering in orgasm, she added, “If you meet somebody new and wanna move on, I’ll understand.”

“I already have, Diane.” I felt a warmth, followed by stone cold from inside out that was hard to explain.

“I love you, hon,” Diane said to me with her eyes closed. “Wow, I just felt a chill or somethin’.”

“Yeah, me, too!” I giggled nervously.

Diane wrinkled her forehead, and warbled, “Which? ‘Me too’ you love me or ‘me too’ you felt a chill?”

“Both!” I told her and when we kissed I felt the rapture of Judith’s spirit. She approved.


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