Pizza Boy Part 1

      Finally, the doorbell rang. I looked up at the clock. "Christ," I muttered to myself. "It's been over an hour and a half. There goes this guy's tip."
      I went to the door in my underwear and socks, beer in hand. There stood a skinny kid holding my pizza.
      "You ordered a pizza, Sir?"
      "Yeah, it's about time!"
      "Sorry, Sir. I had a flat on the way."
      I looked at the skinny kid. Being a weightlifter, you always looked at other guys and sized them up. He had short blond hair, a hoop earring in his ear and, hell, he even had a smudge of grease on the side of his face! He stood about 5'6" and I guessed that he weighed about 150 pounds. Not much but he looked young and had time to grow. My mind processed all this in a matter of seconds as he stood there looking at me apologetically.
      "How much do I owe you, kid?"
      Balancing the pizza in one hand, he looked at some sort of log book and said, "Uh, that comes to $19.95." Then he added, "Please."
      I grunted. "Well, that wipes out a twenty, doesn't it?"
      He smiled. "Yes Sir."
      "Hold on, man. I need to get some cash." I turned to leave and had a second thought. "Better yet, come on in and wait. I'll be right back."
      "Yes sir." He stepped inside the doorway and looked around cautiously.
      I left him standing in the entryway holding the pizza as I ran upstairs to get my wallet. I yelled down the stairs, "You can just sit it on the coffee table!"
      He called back, "Yes Sir."
      I thought about pulling a twenty out of my wallet and then decided just to bring the whole damn thing down so I could figure out a tip. Shit, it wasn't his fault he had a flat.
      I came back downstairs and he was standing in the middle of the living room in this ridiculous pizza outfit. He was wearing a red and white striped t-shirt of some kind and a pair of baggy white cotton pants. I noticed a swipe of black grease on his pants up by his thigh and saw that both of his knees were dirty from, what I supposed was dirt from changing the tire.
      I suspected the baggy pants were his own choice. The fashion statement of the younger generation. But, I did have to admit, it always made you wonder what was underneath. Thank God the girls weren't doing it! However, the skin tight red and white striped t-shirt was definitely company issue and did show off a slim torso and the beginnings of what I might consider a chest someday. Man, I was critical.
      I stood in my jockey shorts and white socks rummaging through my wallet as he patiently waited. I could feel myself weaving a little. Hell! I'd already had 5 beers, for crying out loud. I finally found a twenty and a five and handed it to him. When I looked up, I saw him eyeing my beer with longing.
      When I handed him the cash, I said, "Here's twenty and five for you," I glanced up at his shirt and saw the nametag that said, "Anthony." I added, "Tony, huh?"
      He took the money and said, "Thank you, Sir. Thank you very much. No, it's Anthony. Tony is just too ordinary."
      I looked up at the boy. "Oh, great, a little attitude, huh?" I thought to myself. However, out loud I said, "Oh, sorry. Anthony it is. I've had a few beers, so sorry."
      He looked over at the beers. "Yeah, I can see."
      He grinned. Nice looking boy. Friendly face, polite. Rare these days.
      "So, you got some hot plans for this big Friday night?" I asked.
      "Not really, no Sir. It's been a long day at work. Friday nights are always our busiest."
      "Hmm, bummer, man", I answered in mock sympathy. Then I added, "I'm just kickin' it tonight. No wife, no kids, just hangin' out."
      "Sounds like fun, Sir."
      I looked at him as he was stuffing the money in his baggy pants pockets and heading for the door. I don't know where it came from or why, but suddenly, I said, "Hey, Anthony. If you want, you can come by here after your last stop and have a beer with me. You are over 21, I hope."
      He hesitated. "This is my last stop, Sir. And I just turned 21 two days ago."
      I was feeling the booze. "Well, Happy fuckin' Birthday!" I exclaimed. "How about a beer to celebrate?" I clapped him soundly on the back. A manly man's pat.
      He looked over at the beer. "Well, uh…sure, I guess. If you don't mind, I could have one before I hit the road."
      I was feeling very friendly. "Hell! Have two, three or four, who cares? No one's gonna be home here all weekend! You're more than welcome to join me. It's gonna be a "just us guys night" here at the homestead."
      He grinned sheepishly. "Sounds good, Sir. But I won't stay long. It looks like you're about ready for bed. I don't want to keep you up." He was looking at my shorts.
      I looked down. "Oh, these. Hell no! I'm just being casual, man. And quit calling me sir! The name's Mike. Come on have a brew." I went to the coffee table and tossed a bottle of Bud at him.
      He caught it skillfully and twisted the cap without effort. I watched as he put the bottle up to his lips and drank deeply. For a split second, I recalled the bottle going in and out of my mouth earlier when I was alone. I wondered what he would think about that. Oh, the freaky things we do when we're alone. If only these walls could talk.
      He downed over half of the beer and I stared in awe, watching his Adam's apple going up and down under the smooth, taut skin of his hairless neck. I was feeling good and there was this excitement that I didn't recognize or acknowledged that was lying underneath it all. Just waiting there like a spider. But, hell, I was just high from the beer.