You were out working in the yard today, some project of building a deck. I worked inside, protected from the warm sun, cleaning the kitchen thoroughly. Every so often, I glance up and see you – shirtless, skin tanning nicely. I hear the faint hum of the saw as you cut another piece of wood, and I see you wipe sweat from your brow. I glance to the rear of the yard and see you are almost finished.
A few minutes later, as I finish wiping down the sink, I see you are carefully cleaning your tools and putting them away. The deck is finished, my kitchen is clean. You close and lock your shed and start for the door. You pause when you step on the patio, thankful for the shade there, then open the door and come into the cool house.
"Looks good. You thirsty?" I offer you a cold Pepsi, and you twist the cap and drink it down quickly. I admire the smoothness of your throat as you swallow, muscles rippling. We have stepped to the middle of the kitchen so you can stand directly under the vent, where the air conditioning has come on and the breeze begins drying the sweat from your skin.
I move close to you and reach to your shoulder. "You have a wood splinter, here; let me brush it off." I pick the offensive piece off and throw it in the trash; you toss the now empty bottle in the recycle bin next to the trash can. It is too much for me – I have been watching you all day, getting more and more turned on as the work finished. Now, I want to play, and decide to find out if you would like to join me.
