Rewind to the pipe fixin’
Ok, she says, imagine you’re the plumber, and you’re coming over to fix my pipes.
We both laugh, because that’s what people do. Don’t you?
But she’s intent.
- I’m a bored housewife, and you’re a big buff Black plumber guy..
- I am? I say, tentative, before taking a sip of my tea.
-Yeah, and you ring the bell, and you’re wearing your big tool belt. C’mon. What do you do next?
I smile, not sure she’s serious.
-C’mon. Just make it up. Tell me what you do. Tell me what you do to me, big beefy plumber man.
I look down at the table. It’s elaborately painted with swirls of yellow and bright pink and green. With my forefinger I play with the crumbs.
- you can do this; right? Make me a story. C’mon, how do you start? What do you say to me? Or do you just bend me over the table and fuck me?
- can’t this wait? I mean, it’s.. I mean.. I don’t know what I mean.
-c’mon, don’t be such a killjoy.
- sorry. It’s just that, I have to think about it.
- No you don’t. You have tons of imagination.

I stay silent for too long.
She was intent, she is now getting angry with me.
I can’t deliver. I’m being such a killjoy, such a let down.
I try to meet her eyes with a half apologetic, half amused glance, to try and not lose face completely. I try to make light of it. Too late, I won’t play the game, I’ve blown it. I’m such a disappointment. Again. As she stands up and piles up the breakfast plates, I wonder how I can make up for it later.