Construction has never seemed particularly erotic before. Neon yellow hardhats don’t go well with most complexions, and sweaty men with beer guts toiling in sawdust isn’t especially appealing.
It’s different with him.
I walk my dog Lola, a loyal, exuberant black lab mix, dutifully throughout the neighborhood every day, sometimes twice a day. There was little fanfare when the house at the end of block finally sold. It was the crumbling, ramshackle kind of place that brought down property values, and a completely overhaul was needed. Instead of a construction crew pulling up with bulldozers and manpower and making a racket at all hours, there was just one man.
I doubted he was one of those house flippers who fixed up a bargain home and sold it for a profit. He was too methodical. They needed to flip houses fast, but he was in no hurry. He worked in the space in the front yard or on his porch as much as possible, crafting something with wood and a saw bench, before disappearing inside for stretches at a time.
I like when he’s out front. His sun kissed skin was hard earned, not artificial from a tanning bed or as simple as just laying out all day and lazing. He started in tank tops and jeans, already hard at work in the morning, but painting or working on the garden. Another sign he was going to stay in the house, he was a conscientious neighbor.
When we passed later in the day, the shirt came off revealing gleaming muscles, also gained by hard work and determination. I was suddenly very interested in home remodeling and renovation. I wanted to run my hands on the raw materials he was working with, feel the grainy wood and then see how he transformed it into something smooth and beautiful. Then, I wanted to run my hands all over him, already smooth and beautiful.
For now, I circle the block, exchange little waves. Lola’s as impatient and eager to meet the stranger as me, though she reacts that way to everyone. I keep her steady when she pulls, walk on the path instead of straying. There’s other single women in our neighborhood, and married ones, who saunter over with baked goods or low-cut tops. His steady eyes seem to see through them.
So, I wait. And imagine. Maybe when the house is finished he’ll invite me in. Maybe I’ll ask him for advice about one of the many home improvements projects my house could use that I haven’t gotten around to. Maybe I’ll just ask if he’s ever wanted to lick every inch of my skin the way I have his.
So many possibilities. I walk, and play them in my mind. Eager to see which one becomes reality.
via Daily Prompt: Grainy