Installing a ceiling fan is something I suppose that I could have done myself, but after I passed 60 I've discovered that getting up on ladders doesn't have the appeal that it once did, so with that in mind I decided to let a professional do it this time.
When the man arrived last Tuesday morning, I was positive that I had made the right decision, because the guy the outfit sent was a gorgeous specimen of manhood. Not only did he have a ruggedly handsome face with long dirty blond hair and an engaging smile, but he had a body that looked chiseled under a blue work shirt with cutoff sleeves that exposed all of his massive biceps.
I figure he was probably in his mid 20's, and for a brief second I thought to myself that maybe thirty years ago I looked a lot like him, and then quickly dismissed it because while I did have dirty blonde hair and briefly fooled around with weights, that was where the similarities ended.
My handyman, whose name was Jesse, was about 6' tall and maybe 200 pounds, and it didn't look like any of it was fat. The man's arms were huge, with biceps the size of my thighs these days, and while he played around up on the stepladder I volunteered my services so he didn't have to keep getting up and down the ladder.
"My pleasure," I told Jesse after he thanked me for my offer of assistance, and it truly was pleasure for me getting to stand close to the hunk while he played around with the wiring above his head.
This gave me a perfect view of the muscles in his arms bulging as he reached and contorted. Even his armpits had muscles, I noted while watching the tendons ripple under the delightful spray of golden hair that sprouted from the deep pockets of his armpits, and even though he caught me staring at him a few times it was worth the risk.
I could always pull the old Uncle Leo routine from Seinfeld, insisting, "But I'm an old man," as a reason for my behavior, but he didn't say a word as I observed, and while I'm sure it was my imagination in thinking that he was taking his time up there on the step ladder, that was fine by me because I wasn't paying by the hour.
So I engaged in idle chatter with Jesse while looking him over as we stood so close that I could feel the heat radiating from his body and could inhale his manly aroma. Not a sweaty scent, although he was working up a little moisture, because odor would have done nothing for me. but a rich fragrance of some subtle body spray along with his natural nectar.
It was around the time that I was staring at his legs after handing Jesse some electrical tape - and since he was wearing khaki shorts that made it all the better - the muscularity of his calves, dusted with more of that sparkling golden fur, suggested he spent a lot of time biking.
Anyway, at that point Jesse mentioned that I looked a little familiar to him, and while I had thought the same thing at first when I saw him and had dismissed it, I asked him whether he went to the track at all.
"I do, but that isn't where I remember seeing you," Jesse said, and after a moment's pause he asked, "You ever go to The Bunkhouse?"
After Jesse said that, I nearly dropped the glass globe I had been holding for him, because when he mentioned The Bunkhouse, we both suddenly knew each other very well. You see, while the bar has good chicken wings and a dandy selection of micro-brews, guys don't go there for that. Guys go there for guys, and while at my age I'm not a regular, I've been there on more than a few occasions, even if I was more of a spectator these days.
"I have from time to time," I replied after swallowing hard. "Seems I would have remembered seeing someone like you though."
Even though I would have immediately dismissed a guy like Jesse as being out of my league at The Bunkhouse, that wouldn't have stopped me from looking, but Jesse explained that he had been in a relationship for a while that had recently ended, but had gone there in the somewhat distant past.
What I would give to be 29 instead of in my sixties, I thought to myself while watching Jesse finish up, because while I had been a guy that liked older men when I was Jesse's age and younger, I could tell he likely wasn't that way, so I was left to fantasize while he wrapped up the job.
"Nice work," I told Jesse after he climbed down from the ladder, and after he gathered all his things together and gave me the invoice to sign, I told him that I would like to give him something for his time.
"Sorry, I appreciate it but I'm not allowed to accept gratuities," Jesse said, but then he mentioned that if we ran into each other at The Bunkhouse, I could buy him a drink if I wanted.
"Be glad to," I said, and for some reason I kept talking.
Maybe it's my advancing age, or perhaps I'm just weary of always having been the guy to hold my tongue instead of coming right out at saying what's on my mind, but anyway, I figured there was no harm in trying.
"I know you've got a bunch of other stops to make," I said as I handed him the signed invoice back, and hoped that he didn't noticed my somewhat shaky hand when I continued, "But I'd like to give you something - something you don't have to report to the IRS."
I then proceeded to tell him exactly what I wanted to give him. It was a toss-up as to who was more surprised when the words came out of my mouth, me or Jesse, but thankfully after he recovered from what I said, a little smile formed on his lips.
"I understand completely, if you'd rather..." I started to say, but he shook his head and stopped me.
"No no," Jesse said, the smile growing wide across his face, but instead of being merciful in declining my rather blunt offer, he surprised me by saying, "It's just that - frankly nobody has ever come right out and said that before."
"Guess I'm getting bold in my old age," I said, reaching over and putting my hand on the rock-hard bicep I had been ogling since we met. "I have been pretty much mentally undressing you since you got here, in case you didn't notice."
"I noticed," Jesse said, clenching his hand so the muscle I had been stroking bulged even larger.
"Glad you didn't mind."
