After five difficult months in an apartment that I had moved to, I was fed up. There always seemed to be one or other problem, and getting it fixed was always an ordeal. I gave my required one months’ notice and decided to move on. Two weeks later when I started panicking, I saw a ‘To Let’ sign on an apartment complex that I had always admired when driving by. I phoned the number and spoke to Costa. That evening I drove over to view the apartment. It was a two-storey block with ten apartments, five upstairs, and five downstairs.
Costa and his son Dimitri owned and managed this block. They lived in the corner unit of the building on the ground floor, and the apartment that I was viewing was next to theirs. Costa attended to me upon my arrival as Dimitri was sorting out a plumbing problem, at one of their other buildings. Costa was a large jovial man in his mid-fifties. He stood around my height, five feet ten inches tall, but that is where our similarities ended.
Costa weighed at least two hundred and fifty pounds, as opposed to my skinny one hundred and fifty pounds. He was almost totally bald and had a beard in serious need of a trim. Although bulky, he was not flabby. He appeared to have meaty moobs which I would have loved to see uncovered. He was attractive and rather hairy if his arms were anything to go by. Above all, he sweated profusely, which turned me on incredibly.
I have to digress at this point my story and admit to having a sweat fetish. At sixteen I attended a school with a guy who suffered from hyperhidrosis. Grant, the boy in question, literally had to bathe three times a day. He changed his underwear and shirts after each shower. He had a huge complex about his condition, and to make matters worse was allergic to most deodorants. Our friendship eventually developed into a sexual relationship.
Off-putting as I found his condition initially, I later developed an obsession with it. When we arrived at his home for our trysts after school, I would beg him not to shower before we had sex. A year later he and his family moved on and we lost contact. Subsequently, I became aroused whenever I found myself in the company of somebody suffering from this condition.
Back to my story:
Costa showed me around the apartment which was beautifully maintained. Regrettably, it was twenty-five per cent more expensive than I was hoping to pay. Seeing the glum look on my face Costa dropped his price by fifteen per cent. Jokingly he said, “We can later find a solution for you to make up the difference, in one way or the other.” I wasn’t sure but could have sworn that he had a horny look in his eyes. He also made to promise, not to mention what I would be paying to any of the other tenants.
Following him back to his apartment to do the paperwork, I ogled the two large damp patches under his arms. His odour was starting to drive me crazy. Inside his apartment, there was a stunning masculine hum that permeated the entire place. When he apologized for his sweaty disposition I told him it didn’t bother me at all, adding, “I actually like it.” His face lit up, and once again there was a lascivious look in his eyes. After signing he gave me the keys to the apartment. Although I was only taking occupation two weeks later, he said he did not mind if I started moving my furniture in sooner.
Leaving elated, I had a good feeling about my new abode. If I could occasionally get a whiff Costa’s aroma, that would be a treat in itself. The look in his eyes during our interaction also played on my mind. Maybe my new landlord would finally quench my thirst, after years of waiting for a new Grant in my life. On the weekend, I began to move my meagre possessions to my new home. Fortunately, a work colleague with a pickup and trailer offered to give me a hand. I was determined to complete the transition by Sunday, and by noon that day was fully ensconced in my new surroundings.
At around three p.m., I heard someone uttering my name, Marius, from the front door. There was no doubt that I was finally meeting Dimitri. Dimitri had a slightly receding hairline, but his short black hair was thick and glistened healthily. He had medium length sideburns and a neatly cropped moustache. He was fairly stocky and of a similar height to his dad, but weighed at least fifty pounds less. Looking at him, one could clearly see what Costa must have looked like at twenty-five years of age. Dimitri had popped by my place to introduce himself, en route to visit a friend. Having just showered and sporting a light-weight jacket, I could not see if Dimitri had inherited his dad’s sweaty condition.
Glancing at a gay newspaper that I had left on a table, Dimitri asked outright if I was gay. After nodding yes, he warned me about his dad. Smiling naughtily, he told me that Costa liked boys and was extremely horny, advising me to keep his dad at arm’s length. He warned me if I failed in this respect, Costa would be all over me like a rash. Laughing, I said that I would heed his advice. Little did Dimitri realize that his words were like music to my ears. Cheekily, I asked if he also liked boys. Grinning, he said that he preferred ladies, but mischievously added that alcohol could sometimes bend the rules. He left shortly after.
At around eight p.m., on Tuesday evening, I heard a knock at my door.