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|My Sex Life As A Fire Hydrant - March2011|
|Written by Jeremy Monroe|
My Sex Life As A Fire Hydrant
By Jeremy Monroe
One day I became a fire hydrant. Sounds odd I suppose, but really not so different from Gregory Samsa.l Surprising, yes, but less disgusting. And, we never learned about Gregor’s sex life as a bug. Probably we had preconceived ideas about that too. My sex life has been quite satisfying, as you’ll see.
You ask how can the sex life of a fire hydrant be satisfying? Well, to begin with, have you ever had a rough, tough, handsome fireman come to ream your pipe? First, they put that big two-foot-long wrench on the cap nut and begin to lean on it, really put the pressure right on the nut. It begins to turn, first slowly, then, finally, it comes lose, and those big gloved hands take the cap on either side and give it a spin, then, spin again, and again until the cap comes off and falls away dangling by its chain, lose and free (except for the chain holding it so it won’t roll away).
Next, as if that weren’t enough, he takes out his sturdy reamer and inserts that shiny thing in as far down the pipe as then can get it, and he turns it, slowly at first as it scrapes off the crusty deposits from the inner walls of my pipe. Then, when he’s done, he gives it a final spin. Let me tell you! That’s the feeling I’d been waiting for.
But that’s not the end of it. Next, with my cap off my pipe, dangling by its small length of chain, he takes that strong, sturdy length of wrench and fits its female part over my valve nut on top and begins to turn. I can feel it releasing pent up pressure from my most inner places, places way down, below street level, where the sun never shines, where the real power lies. Slowly, the water begins its surge. First a trickle out my valve, then surging faster, and faster, until I am spraying a four inch column of water five feet across the whole damn sidewalk!
The reassembly is nice too; turning off the valve and shutting down the spray a little at a time, until finally the water left on the wet threads serves as a modest lubricant for replacing my cap. At this point, I am S P E N T!
You think that’s it? No! Have you ever had a big, strong, fireman, decide to paint your entire body with a rich, thick, viscous, fire hydrant red, enamel paint? Your entire body? Leaving no spot un-painted?
Well, I thought I’d died and gone to heaven. First, he scrapes off all the flakey paint, rubs me down with a stiff, steel brush, and maybe a light tickle touch with an emery cloth. I’m pumped and ready now! Then, get this, he takes a three inch paint brush with soft, dense bristles, dips it in the can of flaming red paint, and begins to spread it over my body. He begins at the bottom and works his way around and up, up to the tippy top nut. He pokes the bristles in here and there getting into some of the narrow parts of my casting. Always, as he works his way over my body, he works the paint out to a glossy smooth finish with no rough spots. Now, I look like a million dollars, and feel smooth, mellow and hot for a fire.
So, don’t tell me that being a fire hydrant doesn’t have its rewards. Sure, those goddamned dogs...But, wow! Ain’t nothing like a work-over by a big, strong fireman!
1 The Metamorphosis, Franz Kafka