He arrived Tuesday at noon to inspect my pipes. I opened the door, and instant attraction pulsed through my body. I didn’t expect such a good-looking plumber. He was young, with long dark wavy hair pulled back in a loose ponytail. A trim beard grazed his smooth, pale skin. His accent (lilting, vaguely Mediterranean) sent me over the edge. Whatever it was, it was sexy.As I watched him tinker with my faucets, I felt as though I had stepped into a film scene in which sexual tension dominates the interaction between two characters lost in erotic ambiguity, unable to act on or even express their desire. Every line we exchanged smelled of subtext. “What are you doing?” When are you going to do me? “It depends on if it fits.” I think you and I could fit. “I can fix it or you can buy a new one, but that will be more expensive.” Let me fix you, and I’ll give you a discount on the plumbing. “Well, it needs to be repaired.” I’m so horny—fix me now.After the initial inspection, he told me the price would be $250. Then he went back to his van to see if he had the right shower knob. While he was gone, I looked at myself in the mirror: hair up, face au naturel, cut-off jean shorts, ribbed tank top, no bra. I hadn’t showered yet that day, but I felt sexy. And I could see how a guy might find me sexy in this unkempt, slightly sweaty, heightened state of raw lust. After all, he wasn’t dressed for a date either.As I was thinking about all of the dirty things we could possibly do together, it occurred to me that I was in a situation that many women fantasize about: the plumber, the cable guy, the pool boy…Isn’t this every bored suburban housewife’s dream? Yet, I had the power to make this fantasy come true. I knew that if anything were to happen, it was entirely up to me. He wouldn’t dare cross the line. I could have him fired.While he was bending over my sink, I saw myself bending over for him. As he tried different knobs in the shower, his shirt lifted, exposing a bit of slender abdomen and hair creeping from the front of his baggy cargos. I wanted to touch him there, but I refrained. His knobs didn’t fit. I directed him to the nearest hardware store. “You have nice smile,” he said as he walked out. Now that our conversation had leaked into personal territory, all I had to do was seduce him without appearing to be milking him for a discount or a freebie plumb job. Of course I wanted a discount, but I wanted him more.“You have a boyfriend here?” He asked, after he fixed the shower. “No, I live alone. Why do you ask?”“I don’t know…you had a boyfriend who was a plumber?” I told him I had an ex who did some plumbing for me, among other household handy jobs. A tool-belt is so much sexier than a briefcase.He was lingering in front of my door. “I’m really attracted to you,” I said. “I think me more,” he said.“Can I kiss you?” I asked, moving toward him. We plunged our tongues into each other. His breath was stale and he groped like a virgin, but I didn’t care. He was 24, and I probably wouldn’t see him again.After he came, he got up to wash. He peeked into the bedroom with a strained look on his face as I was fiddling with my faucet. “You have to finish your job,” I said. He came back and mechanically used his hand. Then his cell phone rang. He got up to answer it, once again leaving me on the edge. My desire waned. “You have to go,” I said wearily. He nodded.He said he would drive me to the bank, but he was late for his next job. “Can’t you go to a regular ATM?” he whined. I couldn’t shake the feeling that I just got ripped off by a male prostitute. He didn’t return the pleasure I gave him, he didn’t give me a discount and now he wouldn’t even drive me a few blocks to the bank. He would’ve come over that night to ravish me. But that was not an option. I wanted him then and there and never again. I wanted the fantasy.