Dean of 2625

His work buddy called him Deano, but I would never call him Deano.

So common. i would leave that for his friends.

Today two trucks delivered poles to my work-site. Dean came first and we had trouble because his diesel tank wouldn't clear the curb on the steep driveway.

Dean is maybe 5'8". Has long-sighted spectacles. The kind that go well with a moustache - which Dean has. Dean is round in the face and compact, but chubby and has big, lovely eyes that look out at you and hold you transfixed - while tackling the task of removing huge poles from his truck.

He was wearing a company polo-shirt. Hi-viz to keep him safe from harm. Round, but muscled legs and a delightful belly and a round bum - augmented by his work shorts - the tanned legs fading as skin gave way to cotton.

Fat, short fingers - which, of course, implies a fat, short 2625 - which I love more than life itself.

The other truck-driver was there somewhere as well. I think I heard him speak, but Dean was on all fours in front of me putting some wood under the tire of his truck and I could see almost to the underwear.

He had on some aftershave that I knew was cheap, but it was so intoxicating. I imagined borrowing it before we went out on the town to drive the bears and cubs crazy by being together.

Dean.

Round fingers and a wedding ring that looked like it would never budge over the fingers that were, in all probability, a lot thinner in years gone by.

Dean.

He drove a truck and delivered poles to my site.

Thank you Gods of 2625 for providing me with visual eye-candy today.

There is life.

There is 2625.

There is the quest.