The Pizza Girl

The pizza boy turned out not to be a boy at all but a pizza girl. She was tall and thin with short spiky hair, dyed purple. She wore dark blue bicycle shorts and a bright green jacket, zipped just high enough to expose her supple bosom. As she turned to look at him, Melvin noticed that she had violet eye contacts to match her hair and a stud in her nose. From the hair, contacts and piercing, Melvin would have first guessed the delivery girl was a teenager in search of an identity, but her face had a look of maturity and experience that set her somewhere in her mid-twenties.

"Pepperoni with mushroom?" the girl said in a scratchy voice. She held the pizza box indifferently in Melvin's direction while she looked him up and down. He swallowed. Melvin would have to get used to women checking him out, he supposed.

"That's me," said Melvin, quickly handing her a twenty. "I like your hair."

"Huh? Oh, yeah. I'm not really a pizza chick; I'm a punk chick. Got my own band. Check us out sometime," she replied, exchanging the pizza for Melvin's twenty. The pizza girl's eyes rested on Melvin's crotch.

"Nice boner," she added.

Melvin glanced down and saw that the fabric of his pants parted his shirt tails at an extreme angle. Whoops. Before he could respond, her felt Bridget's arms reach around from behind him and rub his chest through his shirt. Her head was suddenly resting on his shoulder, peering up at the pizza girl.