Tamara Fox

After the night he’d been having, he wasn’t sure what to expect anymore. First a naked Asian chick, then a literal alien goddess, followed by a distracted journalist in lingerie. Gotham was out of its mind tonight. He glanced at the order: Tamara Fox. A family name he recognized. That any Gothamite worth their salt would know of.

But...was it really the case?

"Fox? Like Lucius Fox, the richest guy in town?" He shook his head. "Nah, can't be."

He shoved the receipt into his pocket and grabbed the pizza from the store.

The pizza delivery guy pulled up to the next address. Hopefully this would be a normal, uneventful delivery. He’d seen more half-naked women tonight than he had in his entire life, and his nerves were starting to wear thin. The name on the receipt read Tamara Fox. He wound up at an expensive apartment building. Like richest of the rich type people. His pizza store was well-renowned and many of the delivery men had access cards to let them into places like this without issue.

The elevator door opened up to the sixth floor. He darted to the requested door, wanting to be as early as possible. He stopped himself from knocking. Through the door, he could hear... something.

Moaning. Loud, very obvious moaning.

Moaning that mentioned white cock.

“Please let that be an echo be from the door behind me,” he muttered under his breath, though deep down, he already knew what it was.

He knocked on the door and waited. The moans from inside the apartment were unmistakable now. It was impossible to hear in the hall but through the door? Yep, it was clear as day. He felt his cheeks flush.

'Seriously, why me....?'

Momentarily forgetting the feminine name, he thought the customer would be some porn addict.

The door swung open, and there she was—Tamara Fox, a dark-skinned woman in casual blue PJs, except for the headphones clamped tightly over her ears. Her brown eyes lit up as she saw him standing there, pizza in hand.

“Ah, hey!” Tamara said cheerfully, as if nothing out of the ordinary was happening. “Thank you."

She reached out to take the box, and he could only blink in stunned silence.

'Does she... does she not know?'

It was obvious what was happening. The porn noises? Tamara thought they were coming from her headphones, not knowing they were in fact booming through her apartment. “How much do I owe you?” Tamara Fox asked.

The delivery guy stammered, struggling to find the words. “Uh... twenty bucks.”

Tamara already had the bills in her pocket. She brought too many. When handing it over, Tamara noticed his slightly dazed expression. “You okay there? You seem a little... out of it.”

He bit his lip, debating whether or not to tell her that the entire building could hear the very explicit noises blasting from her apartment.

"Unhhh~! I love it~! I love your coccckkk~!"

"Oh yeah, baby!? Is it better than any other!?"

"So much better and deeper, babyyyy! You rock my pussy!"

"Don't underestimate a white boy!"

The porn lines. Yeah, so more than explicit.

But something in him—probably sheer fear or maybe the fact that this night had already been *way* too weird—stopped him. “Uh, yeah. All good.”

Tamara flashed him a smile. “Cool, cool. Thanks for the pizza!” She gave him a friendly wave and shut the door behind her.

That was that, right?

"Err..."

Yet standing there, the moaning continued, muffled slightly by the closed door, but still loud enough to be very, very noticeable.

The delivery guy stood there for a second, hand hovering over the doorknob, debating whether to knock again. But then he just shook his head and turned away, walking back down the hallway. “Not my problem,” he muttered. He was getting in his car, already hearing the moans fade into the distance as he drove off, when he let out a disbelieving laugh.

“Man, I gotta get a new job.”