Date: Sat, 28 May 2011 22:58:13 -0400
From: tommyhawk1@aol.com
Subject: "A Study in Sweat"

			     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