I needed a new roof. Long story. But the short, more interesting version is, yesterday there were sweaty muscular roofers crawling all over my roof, using all sorts of tools: hammers, shingle knives, electric nail guns. As it happens, my upstairs bathroom offers a nice view of the roof and yesterday of the eight or ten men on it. Now, despite my stories, I'm a particular sort of girl, so I definitely pulled the shade before I pulled down my panties. Even so, it was sort of nice imagining all of them out there, sort of surrounding me really, as I scrubbed up all my most intimate spots. I thought about the old Marilyn Monroe movie, The Seven Year Itch -- it's the one where the subway wind blows Marilyn's skirt up. She's in New York, in the middle of a heat wave, and takes a nice cold bath to cool off. Of course, she's bothered by a drip from the faucet and sticks her big toe up there to block it. And, of course, her toe gets stuck. As she tells her downstairs neighbor later, the plumber who came to help her out seemed especially delighted to be of assistance. It got me thinking about those nice roofers, and imagining what might happen if one of them were to miss his step and come crashing through my bathroom window. I think I know just the one I would have preferred to make that mistake, the one with the longish dark bangs who smiled at me this morning as they were beginning work. I can't help but imagine that all that glass might have left him with some minor scrapes. What choice would I have had but to cut my shower short, wrap my towel around me as best I could and run for the first aid kit down the hall. Of course, it's not easy to apply bandages and hold a towel up at the same time. And clumsy me, I feel certain it would slip out of my hands sooner or later. Would I have touched that bulging spot in his pants as I tried to catch myself? Who can say? Would I have apologized as he looked me up and down, taking in those clean intimate spots? Absolutely. Might he have moved quietly behind me as I reached down for that towel, catching me unawares and given me a memorable afternoon while all his friends out on the roof gathered round to watch? I've said too much. And anyway, I'm the kind of girl who pulls her shades before she drops her panties.
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AuthorMy name's Emily Ashford, and I write literary erotica. Archives
December 2018
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