Thursday, July 23, 2009


He was lying face down on my floor, and I was staring at his plumber’s butt. No, I say this literally, and for the first time favorably - he is actually my plumber. And I have a crush on him as big as a Home Depot.

He wasn’t showing crack, just some grey cotton briefs, like a generic Calvin Klein. They were peaking out of his big and tall denim jeans. Well, ‘peaking’ is kind of a diminutive descriptor for a man who probably weights near 300 lbs. He’s a big one, possibly 6’4”, reddish hair, stocky and solid. There he was in my kitchen with his head under my sink, he came right over when I called him. Came over in a flash, with a smile on. Free of charge. He had hooked up my new dishwasher and it was running perfectly, only without any water. He called me two minutes after I left my damsel in distress message, showed up downstairs 45 minutes flat. The electrician had twisted the hose when he slid the unit back into place, my plumber said with a wink as he hopped up to stand like a somewhat cumbersome Jack In The Box.

The first time he came over to give me an estimate I was quite taken. He looked like the kind of guy that you’d see in shop class when you passed by there on the way to Home Ec. Blue eyes, uncombed wild hair, handsome. Denim on top, denim on the bottom. He probably owned a Camaro at one point.

One time I busted him checking out my ass when I turned around suddenly. After that, I imagined him pinning me up against the wall. Putting his wrench down and putting his largeness against me full force. Taking care of all of my plumbing needs, gratis. My leaky shower, the broken handle on my terrace faucet, maybe even installing one of those removable shower sprays and getting creative with it. Then we could order an extra large pizza and watch WWE championships on the tube and cuddle. He looks like he’d be the best cuddler ever.

I do have some more projects around the house that I could give him, legitimate reasons to call him. But I’ll never have the courage to tell him how I feel. How comfortable I am around him, how he makes me laugh with his everyman stories. How it makes me blush when he undercharges me. He’ll never know how I’ve thought about being held by him, wondering what his deep voice sounds like in bed, would he talk dirty, would he talk sweet, or would he be guttural. I guess I’ll never know.

It’s weird. I’m usually not shy. I’ve smirked at bikers at gas stations, flagrantly flirted with Sergeants on duty. Yet this plumber leaves me dumbstruck. How I’d love to make him pot roast. Reward him for changing a light bulb with magnificent head. Order him a pizza with four different meats: pepperoni, sausage, buffalo, and wild boar. But my plumber will never make it to my bedroom - never step naked into my shower stall – at most he’ll fix a drip fully clothed, charge me too little, staying forever frozen in my mind, lying there face down on my kitchen floor.


  1. It is one thing to flirt in the gas station and a whole other level to pull the trigger in the privacy of your apartment. Go for it.

  2. Now is the time to delete.

  3. Ahhhh.... now I get it... close quarters breeds cowardice.... delete, pourquoi? I thought you took your toys and went home!