Pizza!

We spent the rest of the day settling into our new house: unpacking boxes, arranging furniture, painting walls, and all the other things that need to be done when you’re moving houses. The place was already in a good shape though, so there wasn’t really _too_ much to do, and we finished around six. We were tired and mom didn’t feel like cooking, so dad called for pizza’s. When the delivery boy arrived I opened the door and took them from him. I offered him a one dollar tip, but he looked kind of disappointed when I offered it to him.

He said: “We’re used to… receiving a different kind of tip when we make deliveries to this neighborhood, you know?”

I looked at him baffled: “Excuse me? What are you talking about? I’m sorry, I don’t have my credit card here.”

He said: “Well… not really that, either. It is customary, when a girl takes the delivery, she services the guy who made it…”, and when I continued to stare at him in incomprehension, he added: “You know, give him a few blows…”

His eyes turned downwards and mine followed. His zipper was open, and his dick hung out, apparently ready and looking forward to be “serviced”... and with a shock, I realized what he meant. Did he really expect me to sink to my knees, take his dick in my mouth and suck it, as a thank you for delivering pizza’s? My cheeks flared red in a quarter second, and I slammed the door shut. As I was recovering from the shock, standing behind the closed door, I heard him hesitate for a few seconds, then get on his scooter and drive off.

I took the pizza boxes and took them to the kitchen. When I put them on the table, I said in the most neutral voice I could muster: “Apparently you’re supposed to reward a pizza delivery with a blow job in this place.”

My mom looked at me in shock. She was obviously unable to respond. My dad was also shocked, but after a few seconds managed to say: “Well… erm… maybe you misunderstood?”

I shook my head, then opened a box and started on a slice. My parents also took some. We ate in silence. When I finished the first, I took a second. That’s when my dad asked: “And… did you? “

“Did I what?”

“Well, give him… erm… a blow job?”

My mom interrupted: “What are you asking here, you idiot? Do you think she should have? You may want to drive her to some cheap brothel right after dinner as well? “

He defended: “No, no! That’s not what I meant at all. It’s just that… when this thing is customary here… we don’t want to get cold pizza’s next time either, right?”

My mom didn’t reply, but her eyes sent charring flames at dad. I pretended not to notice, swallowed another bite, and said: “Well, he was pretty young… a school boy, really. Boys shoot their loads in less than a minute at that age… I might as well have done him the little service…”

Both my parents stared at me completely baffled now, which had really been the point of my remark. I enjoyed a bit of surrealism and black humor every once in a while… and getting them to shut up like this was always fun. So I took another slice, turned around, and walked out of the kitchen to my own room.