It was my first job after graduating college. There had been a terrible windstorm that blew one of our big satellite dishes halfway off its mount. A crew of us volunteered to help lower the damaged dish so it wouldn’t fall and make things worse. My boss’s son, around my age, was one of the volunteers. He was up at the top of a ladder leaning on the dish, and I was at the bottom of the ladder, holding it steady for him. I never wanted that moment to end. His muscular, round bubble-butt looked so awesome in his tight jeans as I stared up at him, purportedly holding the ladder steady.
This picture brought that memory rushing back to me. I would hold this guy’s ladder for hours, if he needed me to. Or even if he didn’t.