It’s interesting to me how some professions seem to include a certainty of partial nudity. I’m not referring to exotic dancers. I mean the less obvious ones. Plumbers, for example, have as much a well-established precedent for showing butt crack as much as pop stars have for showing… well, everything.
There are positional geometries at work here: plumbers work low to the ground, often bent in peculiar postures focused more on long-term comfort and maneuverability than gluteal decency.
Let me be clear. I don’t fault you men of the pipe wrench revealing your crack (so long as you don’t also reveal a tramp stamp above it). In fact, I applaud you for honoring the traditions of your trade.
And honestly, my eyes will probably linger far longer than appropriate; I want to be able to look away but I can’t, like watching a car wreck in slow motion. But your crack isn’t alone in its magnetism.
If my wife’s ever got a bit of crack peeking, be it from a sagging swimsuit bottom, a low-rise skirt, or that delectable visual pocket that occurs when she sits in jeans and a short shirt, you can bet my eyes will linger. I always love an opportunity for her to show a little crack. Bottom line, plumber butt on my wife is sexy. She doesn’t get it, but I love it.
Then there are my kids. There’s something perpetually cute about kiddy crack — well, you know, provided it’s not glued to a diaper by poo. But it’s hardly limited to infancy. Assuming it’s not deliberate, plumber’s butt on my kids will probably draw a smile on my face when they’re in their forties. May eyes will linger then, too, and I won’t even try to hide my smirk.
Yet you should know, o mighty tamer of the Teflon tape, that your hairy cleft is still special. What is accidental in my family is an art form to your ilk. What requires sexual attraction or parental love for my family, you accomplish all an your own, buddy.
That’s all you.