When I first started my job, a friend asked why I chose it over something I was more qualified for. Instead of sitting in a cushy chair before a console, why would I want to deliver pizza to college town stoners? I answered, but I guess I didn't answer well enough, because her boyfriend James chimed in.

"Yeah, and don't forget about the porno angle!"

She needed a better explanation, but James was too busy broadcasting his smarmy grin to give one. I volunteered.

"Well, it's like this. In porno movies, the guy is always some kind of itinerant worker, like a plumber or a vacuum salesman -- I'm sure not a few pornos have been made about boinking the pizza guy. I think giggles there is insinuating that I'm in it for the anonymous sex."

I then reminded James that pornos were actually make-believe, and assured both of them that nailing housewives was the furthest thing from my mind when I applied for the job. Which it was. And that was the last I thought about "the porno angle" until last night.

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At 8:30 I took a couple of deliveries out, first to to one of the larger apartment complexes and then to the dorms. I've always thought of that complex as a student place, but there are a few middle-aged types there too. As it turned out, it was one of them who ordered a beef and banana pepper pizza.

She opened the door quickly, glancing between it and the jamb at me before inviting me in. Her apartment was well decorated, doubly so her face. The former with flowers and wrought iron, the latter with red lips and blue highlights. But while the apartment wore bare white walls with strength and solidarity, it's tenant wore only a blue silk nightgown, flimsy and hiding little.

It was obvious that she cared a lot about her appearance, she was 45 but would've described herself as looking 32. Big enough that her curves were obscured, but she carried her weight in confidence that she was still sexy. We made small talk about local townie pubs, I was out of my element having only experienced the student bars. To write the check she bent to her table, exposing an unclothed fold of skin between belly and upper leg. I turned my head away quickly, but before I did I noticed that even there her tan was unbroken by lines. To hand me the check she came well within my personal zone, not quite touching me but filling that space with feminine lavender and gardenia.

Now, I know you are expecting some nice graphic details right about here, but I'm going to have to disappoint you. I am a blatant and unapologetic tease. I took the check and she thanked me for the pizza, then I was on my way.

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When I got back to the store after the dorm delivery, a fellow driver was grinning right at me really wide, positively beaming. I asked him what was up, and he said I'd received a call. He handed me a slip of paper that said BLUE HAIR IS HOT!, and told me it was a phone message. Further, he mentioned that the caller wanted me to come over after work, and said that I'd know who she was talking about. Evidently she'd kept him on the phone a long time, it must have been pretty amusing.

I explained the situation to him and the few other drivers who were listening in, watching out for my own reputation. We all got a good laugh out of the great age and class differences, the utter impossibility of anything happening between us. I made sure to point out that she was twice my age and that I was already taken, making clear to everyone that I found it as funny as they did.

Which, at the time, was the truth.

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It wasn't until later that I realized how bad off she must have been to do what she did. Lonely enough to offer anonymous favours to a random pizza boy, somebody so low on the conventional social scale. Lonely enough to give her most private gifts, just to have some human contact.

Was she a divorcee, a widow, a permanent bridesmaid? A mother? Would a simple hug have made her feel better and reassured her of her humanity? Or would only fucking, raw and animal, give enough physical/emotional feedback to satisfy? I don't know, I don't want to know, I'm unwilling to provide either one. I'm in an extremely valuable relationship which I wouldn't jeopardize for any reason. I wasn't even attracted to her; temptation was never present. Our interaction was virtually one sided.

Still I couldn't help feeling terrible for her that night, sitting alone watching TV, probably with a drink. Waiting for a knock that would never come. Waiting for someone to touch her and bring her to life, make her real again for one night. Looking for a temporary solution to, in her mind, a permanent problem; probably the only kind of solution she'd ever known.

Every man's porno movie fantasy.

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