Time was when there were things around that made it necessary to rub the upper thighs in a lascivious manner and speak of things involving baby oil and some of the more arcane sizes of tap washer.
Ah, but we were young then and plumbing seemed both exotic and daring. There were times when I lay awake in those long adolescent summer nights just imagining what it would be like to apply my adjustable wrench to you u-bend. I dreamt too of winter nights when I could spend evening after evening lagging your pipes.
My blowtorch got hot just thinking of your touch on my nuts and the first gentle probings of your spanner on them. I thought that one day, maybe one day, when we got to know each other better you would let me install a washing machine somewhere intimate and out-of-the-way.
Of course, when we met we talked of guttering, pipes and taps and strolled hand-in-hand along streets that seemed nothing but thinly-disguised water supply and drainage systems. Everywhere we looked there seemed to be nothing but plumbing and we wondered if we would ever be able to think of anything else again as your hand slowly caressed my standpipe.
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