A STUDY IN SWEAT
By Tommyhawk1@AOL.COM
WWW.TOMMYHAWKSFANTASYWORLD.COM
I watched as the neighbors moved in next door. A common enough practice, I know, but my eyes were not upon the husband and wife who were moving in, I only noticed them when they got in the way. I was watching Paul.
I knew his name was Paul because I heard his boss call his name a few times. Paul was one of the moving men, and the boss was giving him all the hard work on this hot, so very hot and humid, afternoon. Paul was tall, over six feet I was sure, and heavily muscled and brawny, with oversized biceps and massive chest barrel and thick legs, his face was florid, round and hairy with mustache and beard. But I wasn't watching his muscles so much as what they were doing.
Paul was sweating. Heavily. His body was gleaming where the bare arms touched the outside air, the clothes he wore (blue shirt and pants) was soaked dark, from light blue to dark blue shirt, and from merely dark blue to a near-black navy pants. At one point, carrying a large box, he shook his head and the sweat flew from his face and hair in a silvery spray that I followed longingly. That fling of his hair was what made my decision for me.
I went outside and braved myself to speak to him. "Pardon me, sir." I said to him as he wrestled another box from the far inside of the truck.
"Huh? What do you want?" He asked, roughly but not entirely unkindly; I was distracting him from his labor.
"I was wondering if you were open to another job when you finish here?"
"You want us to move you, you have to call the main office. Phone number's on the truck." He threw one beefy thumb at the side of the truck, the inside of course.
"No, no, not to move." I said hastily. "I have an...independent project I need your help on."
"Paul? Paul?" came the boss' voice from inside.
"Yeah, boss?" Paul called back and when he did, he moved his head toward the house and the sweat sprayed from him and sweat beads flew and splashed me on my left arm and chest. I shivered as I felt the hot pearls as they touched me, closed my eyes in sudden faintness.
"Need your help in here. Got to get the big chest of drawers upstairs and the bed."
"But I'm unloading the truck."
"Never mind that. Get in here now!"
"All right. Be right there!" and then, softer. "Shit."
"I live right next door." I said quickly, for he was about to leave me and the truck was nearly empty. "Can you come over when you're done and we can discuss it?"
"Maybe." Paul said. "Only...I'll need a ride home when we're done, you'll do that?"
"Certainly, certainly, I can either drive you or hire a cab for you, do you live nearby, no, I don't suppose so." I said. "But never mind, I'll get you home when I'm done." I played my trump card. "I have beer."
"Paul! Paul, get your ass in here, now!"
"Okay, I'm coming!" Paul called out.
"You'll come by when you're done?"
"Yeah, yeah, sure." Paul grabbed one of the four boxes he had been pulling over and piling next to the edge of the truck-bed's rear, and took off indoors. I followed him with my eyes until he went inside, then went back to my place; I had some preparations to make.
When Paul knocked on my door, I was ready for him. He walked in, sweatier than ever if that was possible, and blinked. "Jeez, it's hotter in here than it is out there!"
"Yes, I know, my air conditioner is out." I said. "They'll come repair it in the morning, I'm told."
"Shit!" He pulled at the front of his shirt, fanning himself by pulling it in and out. "You got that beer?"
"Yes, yes." I said. "Come in and sit down and we'll get started."
"Sure." He followed me to the main room and sat on the large couch which I gestured toward, and I sat down next to him. Not right close, but a few feet apart, and....
"You said you had beer?" He repeated.
"Oh, yes! Sorry!" I went and got it. It had been sitting out on the cabinet for nearly a half hour. As I hoped, it was merely cool but not at all cold.
Paul got it and quaffed it, and grunted. "It's warm."
"Yes, I'm sorry, the refrigerator is out."
"That, too?"
"The electricity is." I said. "Was, I mean, the air conditioner, I tried to turn it on and it blew the electricity, and I only just got it back on."
"I ain't no hand with electrical stuff, or air conditioners."
"Huh?"
"I can't fix your air conditioner, if that's what you're thinking." He took another drink and grimaced. "Christ, I'm so damned hot."
I licked my lips at that. "You can take off your shirt if you'd like." I said. "Get more comfortable."
"I might." Paul said. "It's fucking hot in here."
"I know." I comiserated. "Please, take off your shirt."
His hands went up to his buttons, and I watched hungrily as his arms, all hairy and coated in sweat gleaming like gold and diamonds, moved to part the shirt front. His chest was as hairy as his arms, hairier, and my heart went into my throat as he moved down, and then I saw that beneath the shirt was a tanktop. He unbuttoned the rest of the buttons and then stopped. "That feels better."
"All that sweat." I said.
"Wha?"
"All the sweat your t-shirt has soaked up." I said hastily. "You'll feel better if you get that off, wring it out. I can...." my eyes cast around, lit on an oversized shallow tray intended for fruit and bearing at present only an ink-pen, a loose key and a bolt from the couch, I suppose, for I had found it under it while cleaning some time ago. I dumped those articles onto the coffee table and held it out. "Take it off and wring it into this, you'll feel better."
"What about the job you said you had for me?" He finished the beer and belched, openly and loudly. God, how thoroughly and completely male he was! All the sweat the shirt, the tanktop, held, I wanted it, all of it. My hands twitched toward his shirt.
"I want you to be comfortable before I tell you of the job." I said. "Please take off the shirt and the tanktop, you can wring it out in this." I waved the tray like a charm before this demon of a man, trying to entice him into cooperation.
"All right, all right." Paul moaned and tugged his shirt out of his pants. "God, let's get this over with, I'm tired and hungry and I'm covered in sweat."
"From your head to your toes, yes, I can see that." I said. "It's why I wanted to speak with you."
"Eh?" Less a query sound than one of suspicious animal sensing danger. Paul paused with his hands on his tanktop, released it to remain upon his body.
"I am a professor studying human sweat." I said quickly. "I need to get test subjects that perspire heavily so that I can collect the specimens I need. I saw you working and I hoped that I could collect some from you."
"This is the job you offered me?"
"Job? Yes, a job of a sort, I suppose." I said. "I need you to supply me with your sweat."
"Huh!" My explanation mollified him, some. "Is that all you want? To collect my sweat and put it in a test tube?"
"In a way." I said. "I also need to study how it is produced, how it varies from one part of the body to another, the way it beads up on your body parts, how it runs in rivulets down your muscles, how it shines and glistens on you in various lights, the way it tastes and smells and feels upon my fingers and my lips...."
"Huh? What the fuck is this?" Paul demanded. "You want to taste my...? You want to lick my...? What the fuck is this?"
"I'm a scientist." I nattered on. "You have to realize that in the study of such an intimate part of male anatomy, it is necessary to insert oneself completely into the process, become a part of the study subject, to accept the closeness and worship the source of this vital and important body fluid."
"Fuck!" Paul said, but it was said not in anger, but in soft, slow wonder. "You don't say?"
"You can see how important it is, can't you?" I went on, almost hopelessly. "How can I give your body and the sweat, the beautiful, salty, succulent seeds of your labor and your vitality, the worship it deserves unless I am willing to abase myself into careful and considerate attentions to your vibrant, glistening, sweat-dappled form?"
"So this is what you wanted me over here for?" Paul said. "Not to work in your yard or haul your junk? You just want to rub your face in this skanky tanktop all loaded up with my sweat and stinking like hell?"
"Yes, yes, oh, yes!" I babbled, heedless of the consequences, not caring anything at all what happened next if I could but get my hands on that tanktop, that beautiful, beautiful cotton, white originally but now a delicate beige from the load of hot, heavy, salty sweat it now bore.
Paul pulled the tanktop from his body, over his head and he held it in a ball in one massive fist. "You want this? You want this sodden lump of tanktop?"
"Yes, please, please, yes." I moaned. "May I have it, please, please, oh, please?"
"Here!" Paul threw it at me and I caught it in my hands as it struck my face, held it there and inhaled deeply. Oh, God, it was so rich, so wet and smelled of heavenly male musk and labor and toil and pain! Oh, God, to take this into my mouth and suckle out the nectar of nirvana, the golden globes of human essence, the ambrosia of angel's wings that swept over this majestic body and coated it with this marvelously musky muscle-juice.
I sucked at the tanktop and all that wonderful man-mead it contained and could have done this for some time, but Paul's voice interrupted me at my labors. "You don't have to settle for that tanktop, you know."
"Uh?" I grunted as I lifted my eyes from my trophy to Paul.
His chest was laid out in all its hair-laden, sweat-sodden glory. The hairs were glistening rows of midnight stars with his sweat hanging in orbs from every strand. Beneath this black-velvet tapestry, his skin was deep gold, and I watched as one line of glorious delight wove a weaving, wavy path down his chest and over his ribs, aiming for the lush plush of the couch.
Amazed at my own derring-do, I dove to catch the errant blob of salty sweetness before it could escape, and my face smeared upon Paul's body, and the sweat from his side dotted my forehead, nose, cheeks, lips and chin with its salty beauty and my tongue pressed against Paul's side and the sting of the salt and the mellowness of the musk and the tang of the taste was a symphony in my brain.
"Lick it off me." Paul growled to me, huskily. "Lick me clean, you filthy sweat-whore! Lick my chest, suck those hairs dry, and hurry up, I'm filthy and stinky and I ain't going to lie here forever, you skank-pussy!"
I moaned and sank my lips onto one broad breast and my tongue wove a path through the tangled thicket of hairs that surrounded the bald knob of his nipple. I didn't have to limit this to the delicate licking that I had given the armpits of the men I'd been in bed with, them with their scanty ration of masculine malt liquor!
Reminded of this bountiful source of my desire, I moved to lift Paul's arm up so I could plunge into that well of deep, dank pit. Only to have Paul's hand land on my head and pull me up to look into his eyes, my own glazed and my mouth open, helpless in my lust for his manly liquids, his perfectly fluid-dabbled form.
"Wait a minute." Paul murmured. "Something's not right here."
"What? What is it?" I blathered, nearly hysterical. I was being kept from my feast! I was being denied my unending splurge of hot musky man-love! "Whatever it is, I'll get it, I'll buy it, I'll pay it, I'll use it. Just tell me what, please, now, please, just tell me!"
"It's these clothes." Paul said.
I immediately got to my feet. "Yes, sir, yes, sir, I'll get rid of them right now!" And I slid my shoes off, stepped on my socks' toes to yank them loose while I fought the pullover over my head and doffed them nearly simultaneously. I had my pants undone and was about to push them and my briefs together down my legs, when Paul said, "That's not what I meant?"
I froze. "It's not?"
"Get those trousers off now." I immediately skinned them and the briefs down and was standing in front of him and he looked at my body and laughed. "You look like a plucked chicken! One they threw off the block into the dog food barrel because you were too skinny!"
"I know, I know." I said. "I'm scrawny and weak and small."
"Shut up!" Paul ordered. "Now get the clothes off I meant. Mine."
"Yes, sir, yes, sir." I hastily knelt again, this time to perform these menial, magnificent duties.
I undid the heavy work boots he wore, and when I pulled them off, the strong aroma of his sweat-soaked feet nearly made me faint. I had to have them, I had to! I tugged off the heavy socks and that just made the smell stronger, and then I caught and suckled the fat big toe, oh, God, it was all of what I sought in man-sweat than I'd ever dreamed could be concentrated in one place! I licked more of that quintessential oils from between his toes and Paul groaned, "Get the rest of it off, me, you filthy lick-pig, you skanky toe-lapper, get these off me and I'll give you a load of sweat you can't ever drain dry!"
I looked up at him, at that nexus of his jeans and the seam beneath and I understood, groaned and my hands fought at his jeans and he helped me undo those steel buttons and when they were undone, he lifted his buttocks and I peeled those chinos from his body and those legs, oh, God, they were as hairy as the rest of his body, he was one gigantic sweat-sponge waiting for me to suckle out the fruit of his labor, the grapes of hot salty perspiration waiting for me to pluck them clean, squeeze from them the wine that would intoxicate me, lift me into the drunken ecstasy that I'd always dreamed of and never, ever, been quite able to fulfill.
But this body, this hairy, hairy body, it would hold all I needed. Addict of sweat, I had an unlimited supply on this man, this big man, this hairy man, and every hair, every pore, of him exuded that orgasmic ambrosia for me to lick up.
And Paul lifted up those beer-keg legs of his and rested the heels of his feet on my back and said, "There you go, dive into that crack and suck it all out, all of it!"
A deep crevice of hair lined that valley of desire, topped by the twin loose balls of his scrotum, and all of it, all of it, was covered in the nectar I desired most. I started with those orbs of masculine energy, sucked the balls into my mouth and one by one, I drained the sac in left and right compartments of its burden of human musk. Done with that, I went after the deep sunken pit beneath them, where the skin lay that was untouched by human hands and undrenched by showers done rapidly and carelessly by a hard-working man who only wants to get clean and get out again, this part of his body lay unmolested and uncleaned for weeks and months, only being washed by the sweat that poured down and into it, and there the essence of man concentrated and developed and intensified until it was everything I ever wanted and ever could.
And it was mine for the taking, Paul held his legs up high and wide and I nursed at the well of life and licked the valley of his legs' joining and it was a heady, intoxicating mixture that alcohol had never matched and never could!
And Paul's legs lowered and he said, "Now make this worth my while, you hungry little sweat-hog, make it worth it to me by licking my shaft, let's see you give it everything you've been giving my pits and my sac, get to working on it, and if you're good enough, I'll come back and you can have some more."
With that inspiration, I couldn't do anything but take his dong and love it as the fount of all blessings which it could be! Paul moaned as my lips clung to his glans and slid down the shaft's length. I bobbed upon him with all the devotion of any worshiper at the altar of the god whom bestows upon the faithful the fertility of the soil and the rains that bring in the crops or, in my case, the body that lavished such a wealth of virile sweat for me to harvest.
Paul's foot came up and nestled under my balls. The hairs on his legs was an untapped source of his sweat, the wetness caressed my shaft. The feeling of it, the sweat of his body upon my own turgid manhood and I grunted and began to hump at his calf with all the grace and gentleness of a rutting dog hunching its master's leg! Only where the master would grimace and curse and thrust the dog away, Paul only laughed and growled, "Come on, you salt-licking hot-dog, get your nuts off, get them off, you stinking spunk-sucker!
I deep-throated Paul's long dong without half trying, it just fit into me so well, and my nose was buried in the musky pubic hair, drenched with the heady power of his body's exertions all day long, and now I was smelling all of it. So I drove him deep and long and fast and Paul groaned, his hands clawed at my back and I hunched at his leg and Paul moaned, and his cock erupted into my throat, hot and salty and rich and full of male flavor! I gulped it down and my own prong quivered, tingled, exploded and spewed hot spunk all over Paul's leg. Done, I panted hard and spent my feeble time of post-climax by licking at Paul's dong, licking it dry.
"Now my leg, suck up what you did to it." Paul growled and I hastily complied, suctioning off my own juices along with his own.
"Shit, that made me sweaty all over again." Paul groaned. "Fetch me another beer and then get to licking me again. I got to stay hydrated if you're going to keep this fucking house so hot on me."
"Don't worry, the air conditioning will be fixed tomorrow." I said as I brought him his beer, this one cold from the refrigerator.
"Doesn't matter." Paul said. "I just sweat a lot, always have, especially with the job I have. A real problem of mine, always coming home sopping wet and smelling like crap."
"Don't worry." I said. "Any time you need it, I'll have the cure waiting for you right here."
Paul took a deep draught of beer, belched again noisily. "I'm a mover. Maybe I should just fucking move myself here."
And my heart dared to hope he would.
THE END
Comments, complaints or suggestions?
E-mail the Author at Tommyhawk1@AOL.COM
WWW.TOMMYHAWKSFANTASYWORLD.COM