“Why don’t I have any water?” I yelled at the man holding a wrench in my backyard.
He didn’t respond right away—not that he didn’t have an answer, I assumed, but because he was gawking at my naked body, still lathered up from my interrupted shower.
I had just finished soaping up my entire torso in the shower—it’s a bathing ritual I love, letting my expensive, perfumed body soap soak into my wet skin while the water is off—and tried turning it back on for the rinse.
But I got nothing. Not a drop.
Shit. I recalled that the city was set to do some maintenance on the plumbing on my block. There’s a junction of municipal pipes just behind my property near the alleyway—my house is not in the fanciest of neighborhoods—so I stormed right out to complain.
The man I found there—not the cutest guy in the world, but a well-built young guy, maybe in his early twenties—took his eyes off my shapely form after a few seconds of staring, and politely looked up to the sky.
“S-s-sorry, ma’am,” he finally spit out. “We left a note earlier this week saying that we needed to shut the water off for a while today.”
“Not until noon,” I shot back.
“Ma’am, it’s twelve-fifteen.”
Crap, I didn’t realize it was so late. I didn’t get home until three o’clock from the strip club where I recently started dancing. My bastard boyfriend of several years had ditched me for a younger model and I was desperate to make ends meet.
The plumber raised the municipal badge on his lanyard in front of his face, both to show me who he was and to politely block his view of my body clothed only in soap bubbles.
Well, he used it to partially block his view. I have a tanned and toned body and he couldn't ignore it completely. Plus, he needed to keep at least one eye on me as I slowly advanced toward him. I’m sure he thought I was a crazy woman about to attack.
“And maybe you should put something on, ma’am” he added.
Great, a shy one, I thought sarcastically.
“I will do no such thing,” I replied, somewhat harshly, putting my hands on my hips as I stood before him. “Not until this very expensive French lotion soap is properly rinsed off.”
By now I could read the name on his ID.
“Jeremy, I worked hard for this body, I make my living with this body, I have a very specific ritual to care for this body.”
I struck a pose: one leg bent, one hand on a hip, another on my thigh. “It’s worth taking a little extra time and money on, don’t you think?”
Jeremy looked around and saw that no one was watching. He was on this job alone, and his nearby panel truck, along with the fences and trees around us, blocked the view from my neighbor’s houses.
He relaxed a little, and I could tell by the look in his eyes that he realized that he was not going to get in trouble for talking to a naked woman, as long as he kept it professional.
I could also tell by the bulge in his tan work pants that “professional” was not the status he would have preferred. I smiled and came closer.
“And Jeremy,” I continued, “if you call me ‘ma’am’ one more time, I’m going to have to report you to your superiors for being … overly formal. I’m not that much older than you. They call me 'Cashmere.'"
I touched his strong left arm. "So, what are we going to use to rinse this off, Jeremy? I don’t have any jugs of water in the house, and I’m not using the stuff from the toilet.”
He thought for a second, pulled off his work gloves, reached into his truck, and took out two bottles of mineral water from a cooler. It was a warm summer day.
“I have these,” he said. “They’re not ice-cold, which is probably a good thing.” He handed them to me. I took only one and turned around.
“Thanks for the offer, Jeremy. You can start with my back.”
There was a pause as he figured out my meaning. I couldn’t see his face, but I imagined he was wrestling with the implications, and the propriety, of what I was asking.
“Oh, come on, nobody is around this time of day,” I told him. “They’re all at work. And remember, you’re a public servant, Jeremy. I’m just looking for a little ... service. In public.”