Big Surprises (Mini-GTS/Gentle/18+)

[pseudoclever]

Greetings Process readers! Here's my latest story. Couple quick notes before we begin.

1. Like most of my stories, later chapters contain intense and prolonged scenes of graphic sexual content. You've been warned.

2. Daily updates, every day except Saturdays.

Comments/Questions/Constructive Criticism welcome!



Big Surprises

By pseudoclever


I was barreling down Main Street on my eighth mission of the evening, midnight black asphalt slipping away beneath my eighteen inch radials, when my phone began to vibrate frantically. A rough staccato of fat raindrops were pounding my windshield, and the road was just starting to get slippery. The coefficient of dynamic friction between rubber tires and wet pavement is a mere 0.5, less if your tires are starting to go bald. You don't need to know this, and neither do I. But we both know the practical upshot ? act like a jackass when it's raining, and sooner or later you're going to get burned. The problem is, maybe the guy driving next to you isn't that smart.

All the more reason to keep tabs on the bovine shape of the minivan currently riding my blind spot. Keeping a wary eye out, I worked my cell phone from the pocket of my standard issue tight khaki pants. A quick glance at the illuminated caller id box, and with a snap of my wrist I answered the call. ?Joe's Crab Shack. You want crabs??

I heard a familiar laugh on the other end of the line, soft and lilting like warm grass on a summer's day. ?Hey baby, you out of work yet??

I sighed dramatically. ?NO. We're getting killed right now. Whenever the weather is bad like this, lazy people refuse to leave their houses.?

?At least the tips are good, right??

?Right,? I said, rolling my eyes. It took me a moment to remember that this was a phone conversation, and she couldn't see my facial expressions. ?That was sarcasm.?

?I'm a smart girl, I figured it out. So can you make sure and give me a call when you get out of work? I'd like some advanced warning.?

For no reason that I could identify, those words sent an ominous chill down my spine.
?Sure.? I paused. ?Can I ask why??

?I don't know.?

?You NEVER know!? I replied, finishing our favorite inside joke. We both laughed. ?Listen, I'm about to be back at the store. I'll talk to you soon, alright K??

?You better,? she said, and hung up on me.

I turned the last corner, and the familiar avatar of my home base came into sight ? a fifteen foot Italian stereotype. It was pudgy and stout, having originally been a 'Big Boy' statue purchased secondhand and converted with the bare minimum of artistic discretion to avoid a lawsuit. It wore a gigantic chef's hat and white robes (old bed sheets) and sported bushy eyebrows and a Snidely Whiplash mustache. At some point in the past I had been mortified to have my employer represented by something so repulsive. Chagrin, well-worn with time, had given way to simple apathy.

There were no other drivers in the parking lot ? a bad sign. Sure enough, the inside of the store was a chaotic mess. Workers were answering phones, slapping out dough, pulling pizzas from the ovens. I pushed my way past the mass of take-out customers crowded in the lobby, grabbed my next run, and dashed back to the car.

If you're a young man in need of stable employment, or if you've failed to survive the latest round of downsizing at your high-powered corporate job, and especially if you're an anti-social malcontent looking to make some quick cash, may I humbly recommend the fast-paced world of pizza delivery. Imagine if you could get paid to play a mission-based driving sim, a la Grand Theft Auto. Imagine also that you could do this while listening to your favorite music, and that your boss only had access to you about five minutes out of every hour. This is my job.

There are downsides, of course. Bad hours. Goofy uniforms. The high probability of a grisly death in the twisted wreckage of metal that used to be your vehicle. But ultimately, I would say that customers are your greatest hazard. Can you restrain yourself from strangling college students when they don't tip you? After you've driven fifteen miles to bring them a piping hot supper? In the midst of a blizzard? If so, you're golden.

One hour and four deliveries later, my night came to an end. All I could think of now was getting home, peeling off my uniform, and taking a hot shower. I returned to my car, now in a civilian capacity, and dialed Kristen's phone number.

?I'm in your house,? she answered, sounding pleased with herself.

I half laughed, half coughed at this unexpected greeting. ?Really? And what are you doing there??

?I don't know,? we both said.

?In any case, I just got out, and I'll be home in a few minutes. If you're planning on robbing me, you might want to hurry.?

?Silly boy, you don't have anything I want. And Justin, make sure you come straight home,? she said. ?I'll be waiting.?

I only lived a couple miles away from the store, so it was less than five minutes later when I pulled into my parking space. The front windows of my house were dark, the curtains shut tightly. As I made my way to the front door I could feel the hairs on the back of my neck begin to stand up. Turning the key, I went inside.