Fact And Fiction

I’ve just completed two new works of erotic gay fiction. One of them tells the story of a young impressible, hardly-out-of-the-closet kid from NYC who inherits several of the most successful gay bars in Fort Lauderdale from his uncle and becomes pulled in to the town’s wild sex and drug scene. One of my main characters, who the kid meets and eventually falls for, is actually based on a real life buddy here in Lauderdale who I’ve bedded down with a few times and whose kink is sweat …

Marcos – that’s the name I gave my character – is a hot, short, thirty something Puerto Rican with Latin bedroom eyes, wavy hair, a trim beard and the kind of tight, smooth, lightly muscular body that looks like it was sculpted. But what makes Marcos different from other guys I’ve played with is that he likes his men sweaty and smelly, and lives not only for stenchy armpits but musty feet as well. And while I realize that this not everybody’s cup of tea, I found both him and the experience super sensual.

I first met Marcos in one of the bathhouses, but was hesitant to give him the nod when he kept passing and staring into my room since he looked like a toughy who wanted to fuck the shit out of me. But nod I did and the first thing he dived for after giving me a “hey bro” were my feet. Before long his tongue and nose were all over my body and I was mesmerized enough to get into it with him too. While we sucked one another’s twitching dicks – the arousal was supreme – sex was secondary to the sweat and scent and taste of one another’s bodies.

We exchanged numbers, and the next time I connected with him it was late one Friday and I was drunk, sloshed by one of the local bars’ three dollar ice teas, and Marcos, or I should say his nose, could tell. After all, alcohol is excreted from your body through your pores and the smell of my drink on my breath and on my skin turned him off and I was politely asked to leave. It was the first time I was rejected on account of not being raunchy enough.

We hadn’t been in touch for months when, out of the blue, up pops a message from Marcos on bear411. You see, smelly or not, Marcos also dug my fur. I cautioned him to let me know in advance if he wanted to connect so I didn’t wash, but wouldn’t you know it, the next time a week later when he texted me to come over I had just showered after a day of cleaning my house and working out at the gym when I would have been super ripe.

Then, one Sunday, after baking on the beach all day, I got a text from my sweat-obsessed buddy. “Wanna play? Haven’t cum in three days,”’ and after I responded “Sure,” his next question was, “Didn’t shower, did you?”

On my drive over to his apartment, I wanted to make sure I was Marcos-ready. So, in South Florida temperatures hitting 90, I not only left my windows up without the ac on, I turned on the heat!

Now for all his kink, Marcos is a very private person and he asked that I wear a shirt walking over from my car since he had “nosy neighbors.” I compiled but my T and shorts and smelly sneakers I had worn on the beach were off in a New York minute, Marcos standing there in only his bikini underwear, and we were soon rolling around naked on his bed, licking almost every inch of one another’s flesh from armpits to chest to abs to the crack of our butts, in between sucking cock, of course. Not much was said.

We didn’t have to.

After almost an hour of tonguing and kissing and sniffing, Marcos shot his load so high it hit my beard. But having had a nice guy the afternoon before, I wasn’t so concerned about cumming, just enjoying the moment.

After all, when you make love to a guy’s big toe in your mouth, everything else is old hat.

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