My neighbor across the street has her trees pruned every two years. Today was the day she hired a crew, and I was dreading the noise their damn machines would be making all morning. All afternoon. When I looked out the window to guess just how big a job it would be, I was pleasantly surprised to notice that the owner of the company looked as if he had stepped right out of a magazine.
He was hot. Super handsome, in a very specific way. He appeared to be somewhere in his thirties, but was styled as if he was living in the 1950s. His hair was cut conservatively, and slicked over the top. His glasses looked like they might have been at home on Buddy Holly’s face. He was lean and muscular and was dressed in a dark polo shirt, dark faded jeans, black boots, and bright yellow gloves.
Perhaps this was not going to be such a nuisance, after all. Leaving the blinds open, I could watch him from my desk, across the room, without him feeling as if he was being observed. Although, more than once I found myself sneaking closer to the window so I could get a closer look at him as he went about his labor.
He kept lifting his shirt. Exposing a smooth, sexy abdomen. He would take off his glasses, and use his shirt to clean them. Holding the pose, as if he were accustomed to being drawn by a school room full of art students. Sitting behind their sketch pads, their eyes studying his shapes and curves, their pencils scratching out the creases on his jeans. The bulging biceps. The beads of sweat on his forehead. Dripping down the back of his neck.
Or maybe he was used to being observed through shaded windows from neighboring houses. Perhaps this was his sales pitch. How he would book his next job. Lift that shirt. Clean the glasses. Linger in the pose.
When he bent over to lift branches off the ground, which he did often, the bright blue of his boxer briefs was revealed. I’m sure he chose his underwear with care each morning. Which bright color would read best from a distance? Wearing a belt would be out of the question, of course. Unless it was a tool belt, the weight of which would pull the jeans farther down his tight butt. Showing off a wider swath of blue.
My grandfather had a set of binoculars, which I inherited somewhere along the way. I was tempted to look for them today, but didn’t go that far. In the past, however, I have not been above reaching for my iPhone to snap a photo of a cute guy working in my own yard.
We had some work done on the gutters last year. The hired helper was a handsome young man, who kept taking breaks to check his text messages. He was fun to watch, while he was up on the ladder. Great body. Nice shoulders. His bare torso exposed under the hem of his shirt. His crotch at eye level through the window. He took plenty of time while bent over, digging around in his tool bag for this or that item. Lifting his butt high in the air. As if executing a yoga posture.
His jeans were sliding down below his hips, even when he was just standing still. While he was moving, or climbing, he had to keep reaching behind himself to grab the waistband and pull them back up to cover his butt. I was hoping they would slide all the way down while he was on the third or fourth rung of the ladder, just outside the window. That would have made a great photo.
We had the tub glazed not too long ago, and the owner of the company came to supervise the work. Then jumped in himself, taking over the job. I guess it was not being done to his satisfaction.
He was short, and must have been adorable when he was a kid. Now he looked liked he probably had a family of his own, but was still pretty cute. On his hands and knees. Climbing over the edge of the tub. Reaching for the far side of the tile. He kept his feet together, as if he was afraid of scuffing his sneakers. The soles of which were already scuffed.
The rest of him looked fairly new. His uniform was white. Clean and crisp. This guy cared about appearances. Did he climb into that tub for my benefit? I didn’t want to disappoint him, so I made sure my flash was off, and my phone was set to silent, then took a few snap shots of the view from behind.
None of these workers ever seem to be gay, but I think being the object of voyeuristic housewives and fantasizing single male neighbors is part of the package. They must know people are watching them work. Physical labor creates a fit body. That’s logical. Of course someone will be tempted to reach for their camera phone, if not a pair of binoculars, while peeking through the curtains to catch a glimpse of bare torso, or brightly colored boxer briefs.
When the tree guy appeared to be wrapping up the job, I made sure I looked okay, then grabbed a broom and went outside to sweep the porch. Might as well give him an opportunity to say hello, on the odd chance that he is gay, and single, and finds me attractive. No doubt, he was not surprised by the move. He probably gets that all the time. From men as well as from ladies.
The one neighbor just happens to be taking out the trash. Fully made up. The other decides to walk the dog. In high heels. Me, I was just innocently sweeping the porch. Shirt on. You kind of have to assume a guy like that is straight, but there is no harm in smiling and exchanging a nod…