by JO ABI
I first moved out of home when I was twenty-six. My boyfriend and I were setting up a love nest in North Sydney. Everything was romantic – signing the lease, railroading our friends into helping us move our furniture, unpacking our belongings and learning each others’ habits.
It was from this cocoon of euphoria that I made a booking to have Pay TV installed. I imagined numerous romantic evenings at home watching movies and old Seinfeld episodes, sharing popcorn and snuggling up on our lounge chair.
The installer arrived at midday while my boyfriend was at work. He was a young guy, not bad looking and bathed in aftershave.
Struggling to breathe I pointed out where we’d like our service connected. He was chatty and flirty. He didn’t seem in a rush to get to work. I offered him a drink and he asked for water. I brought it to him and once again gestured towards the part of the wall where I’d like our serviced installed, explaining that my boyfriend wanted it there and I really wanted it up and running before he came home from work.
He reluctantly got to work and phoned someone saying, “You can come up”. In minutes, his fellow-installer came through the door, eyeing me closely as he came in. I felt like I had missed part of an important conversation. They shared a look and got to work.
It wasn’t until that night that my boyfriend told me what I had missed. “He was looking for a root, babe,” he informed me.
I was mortified. I had no idea. Had I known his intention I wouldn’t have been so friendly, I wouldn’t have told him his aftershave smelled nice (I assumed he applied too much accidentally). I told him my boyfriend and I had just moved in together and slapping myself in the head I remembered saying, “What’s the name of your aftershave? I might buy some for my boyfriend.”
Sex with repairmen, installers, phone technicians…apparently it’s a frequent occurrence.
My regular phone repairman came today. We both have young kids and always ask after each other’s families. Today I asked him if he’s ever been propositioned on the job. He looked at me like I was stupid.
“Just last week a lady came to the door. She looked at me, asked me to wait a minute and came back to the door wearing only a g-string.”
“What did you do?” I was fascinated.
“I just fixed her phone and tried not to look at her.”
“But what did she do while you were fixing it?”
“She asked me why I wasn’t looking at her. Didn’t I think she was beautiful?”
“And what did you say?”
“I said she looked very nice but I’m married.”
He has friends who don’t say no.
I’ve only ever lived with my family and my boyfriend (now my husband). Would I ever have sex with someone who was fixing something in my home?
I kept pumping my favourite phone technician for stories. He said he once went to a home to fix a phone line and the husband asked for a good price in exchange for sex with his wife.
“What did you say?”
“I told him I can’t and charged him extra.”
Would you ever have sex in this circumstance? Forget reading Fifty Shades of Grey. It seems some of us are living out our sexual fantasies already. I really should have moved out of home earlier!
Jo Abi is the author of the book How to Date a Dad: a dating guide released by Hachette Livre Australia. You can read more about her many and various exploits here.
Sex with the repairman… would you?