Sweat is fascinating. Its smell might appear unpleasant, yet carries so much information about potential mating partners. Pheromones. Nature relies heavily on them. Just think of the birds and the bees – literally.

As far as I am concerned, I crave the stench of sweat; hell, I get off to it! What really makes me cream my little knickers, is the infamous summer musk. A girl's used panties drenched with her mixture of crotch sweat and hot summer's pussy juice. The imagination alone makes me – and my own pussy – drool.

So, yeah, that's me: a young lesbian and sweat aficionada.

It was the summer nonterm when it happened. I was twenty-four at that time, in the middle of my master studies in sociology with a major in human sexuality. Stereotypical, is what might come to mind. Think whatever you like but I was a proud, young woman, determined to make a change.

There had been times in my late high school years when I thought making a change consisted in provoking these hillbilly retards who participated in those homophobic rallies with their 'God hates fags'-banners by canoodling with my then-girlfriend in front of their eyes. What a surprise, during these little displays of female affection, the male protester's voices faded in favor of the dripping of their uncontrolled salivation on the asphalt – or cheering even. So much for their hatred towards homosexuals. My ass!

Fucking hypocrites!

Most of them solely felt an irrational hatred towards homosexual men but begged their wives and girlfriends into anal. As if sticking it into a female poo hole made that much of a difference. Ugh!

At one point, still, I had to realize that my little acts of provocation only validated their point of view – in their limited world anyway. Had to be. It was just the same with me: all the voices that I'd always heard yelling against my natural orientation did only make me stronger – and prouder of myself. I took pride in being different, going against the grain, rebelling against my strictly religious parents.

“Two men who lay together shall be stoned,” they used to cite Leviticus until I presented them a doobie and explained to them what stoned meant in the age of sexual and drug liberalization. “It is only a sinful phase,” was their next attempt at curing me of my illness until I introduced them to my first girlfriend. And the indescribable scene my father made when I revealed them my study plans... A girl? Going to college? To study such a dangerous major? Welcome to the twenty-first century.

I remember him yelling that I shouldn't waste my time on pipe dreams and I should come to my senses. There would still be time to find a decent boy who could father grandkids and provide for a family while I stayed at home and did the chores as a decent wife should. Sure, duh!

That was the day I moved out at the tender age of twenty.

I nonchalantly replied that I needed someone who knew what a clitoris was good for, grabbed my suitcase, and left, ignoring his inarticulate rant about how he wished he'd had a son.

College was a dramatic change of scenery: for the first time, I could openly live my sexuality without being judged by anyone. All people I frequented were very supportive, regardless of their age, gender or sexual orientation.

Much to my surprise, I got laid more often than I had ever imagined, given my looks. I had the physique of a thirteen-year-old boy: slender legs, narrow hips, small butt, no midriff to speak of and a chest so flat even a padded push-up bra didn't help. Tough genetics, might spring to mind but not from my point of view, no. Guess I was considered somewhat unusual among my fellow lesbians – maybe exotic, even. To round the image, I wore my hair cut to a fraction of an inch – spared me the hairdresser and therefore a shitload of money – and got me laid big time.

Needless to say, I felt well in my body and was thriving in this environment where sexuality was displayed openly.

I eventually came to realize, in our times, more often than not, people in my environment did things out of curiosity – or the sheer unwillingness to die without having savored new experiences, maybe? Most people were straight, sure, straight as spaghetti – until they were hot and wet.

This rule of thumb, alas, did not apply to my roommate. You can't say I had a crush on her, really, more that I simply craved her odor, her smell, the stench of her sweat. She emanated an exquisitely strong and rich aroma and perspired abundantly. My mouth watered from the mere imagination how her sweaty pussy would smell like after a long, hot day.

We had started our studies the same year and met through a craigslist-type ad for a two-bedroom, 350 square feet apartment with kitchenette off campus. We went off very well but soon, yet, to my great chagrin, she had quickly found herself a boyfriend – a good one on top of that, judging from the deafening multiple orgasms he seemed to be giving her all the time.

Okay, he was a great guy, I'll give him that. I wouldn't tell them I could hear her moans through the thin walls since I preferred to picture her riding my face to her orgasm. All these countless times I masturbated to her sweet screams, imagining how her sweat and pussy juice would cover my face...

What made me so attracted to her is that she would often hit the campus gym but chose to shower at home. Every time she came back from her workout, I would almost drench a pair of panties by the mere smell she spread on the short way from the door to the bathroom. Winter was bearable but in summer, when she sweat like tap and the warm air carried her pheromones more easily, I simply couldn't keep my fingers off myself.

Now this specific summer, was a particularly hot one. I had, much to my displeasure, found my hidden stash of chocolate bars had spread all over the place in a gooey brown sauce. I was standing in the kitchenette, cursing about the weather, looking at my best companion during finals melting away.

I also noticed that my throat was bone-dry. Pissed, I tore open the fridge for a chilled, refreshing drink. The only thing I found was a single can of beer. Oh no! Poor me! I have to sacrifice myself and down this beer. Too bad! Yeah, alcohol on a hot, lazy Saturday afternoon. What could possibly go wrong?

Holy cow, I thought as I started feeling dizzy just a couple of minutes later. This time, the booze hit hard and fast.

I had hammered down about half of the can in a single sip. I really needed this. Without second thoughts, I greedily swallowed the second half as well. I was losing quite some water through perspiration although only walking around in panties and a loose tank top. Although dressed like that, I showed no cleavage – the virtues of virtually nonexistent boobs. I loved this part about being flat-chested; made it easier for most men to listen to me.

I wanted to take a nap in hopes to sleep off my tipsiness. On the way to my room, however, I threw a glance into my roomie's room where something caught my attention. Why hadn't I seen this before? Her worn laced panties were hanging over the backrest of her chair. The white salt crust testified she was indeed sweating a lot in her crotch area.

Before any what-ifs popped in my head – let alone weighing of risks – I found myself in her room, leaning against the wall, holding her used panties to my nose. The intoxicating aroma had my free hand unconsciously wander into my own underwear. I gasped as my finger brushed my clit to the imagination of her wearing those panties while I made her come several times in a row. I pictured her aching cries of pleasure when two of my fingers probed my pussy to find it was completely drenched.

My self-pleasuring found an abrupt ending when I heard her familiar voice gasp just a few feet away from me. Shocked, I let her undergarments fall to the ground and removed my hands from my crotch. Both of us stood there, unable to speak, staring at each other; she at her boyish-looking lesbian roommate with an unhealthy weakness for the stink of female sweat and I at this beautiful, feminine girl whose stench I craved like an addict who's gone cold turkey.

I had lost track of time and she had come home from her usual workout. Her entire body, glistening with droplets of her sweat, was just as soaked as were my panties from my freely-flowing juices.

I slowly stepped towards her. Still in her shock paralysis, she tried to speak as I grabbed her wrist and gently pulled her into her room.

Only as I pinned her to the wall, both her hands over her head and my face came dangerously close to hers, she managed to form a few insecure words with a low, shaky voice, “What are you... Stop it.”

I silenced her with a gentle kiss. To my surprise, she returned it more willingly than I had expected. She let my tongue penetrate her mouth and slightly brush hers before I broke the kiss and looked into her eyes, finding confusion and a pair of flushed cheeks. I heard lust in her gasp when I licked a drop of sweat from her neck and planted a trail of kisses down to her collarbone. I thought I even felt her squirm ever so lightly upon my delicate touches.

At her armpit, I inhaled her strong female odor. I couldn't resist pressing my body against hers.

She tried to speak, yet her words were interrupted by lewd moans as one of my hands caressed her neck while the other disappeared into her tight shirt, seeking for her sports bra.

“Please... Don't... I don't... want this... Stop...” came her pleas which were the opposite of how her voice sounded and her body responded.

She half-heartedly tried to push me away when my hand traced the outline of her breasts while I planted another kiss on her lips – a kiss which she now returned with more fervor. She didn't fight me removing her shirt; she even resumed the kiss willingly before remembering who she was making out with.

She looked at me with her eyes half closed in her heat. She was still trying to fight her desire for release, for my touch, for my body.

“Jamie, I can't,” but the moment my thumb brushed her erect nipple through the fabric of her sports bra, her voice gave way to another moan.

I lined her belly with kisses, past the waistband of her boyshorts, heading to where I knew her pussy was hidden behind.

“Nooo,” she whined, more in pleasure than in reluctance. “Not there! It's dirty!”

She had no idea how this specific objection encouraged me to proceed. In contrast to her words, her pelvis moved against my face. I took her trunks by the waistband and pulled them down to her ankles. While doing so, she again tried to push me away, yet in such an unfavorable angle that she rather helped me removing what kept her crotch concealed.

As I came up again and wanted to press my face against her soaked panties, I found her hands covering that specific garment and her body tense in fear. I stood up, placed my hands on her hips and kissed her again, softly at first; then, more daringly. After three kisses, I felt her body relax and heard her breathe laboredly through her nose. This time, she darted her tongue into my mouth. I felt her body relax as she put her arms around my neck.

When we broke the kiss and looked at each other, I could see most of the confusion in her eyes had made way to unmet desire. Her eyes erratically inspected my face without finding anything to lock onto. Although she was slowly shaking her head no and her lips mouthed a desperate 'please', I slowly knelt down. Again, her arms around my neck spoke a different language than her lips as I felt her push my head into her crotch.

I took a deep breath to savor the smell of her crotch sweat mixed with her abundant vaginal secretions. She was in heat, lusting after a girl and found these unknown sensations bewildering, puzzling, failed to fathom what to do with them or where to place them.

As I had already done with her shorts, I freed her from her knickers, exposing her pussy and releasing a wave of her rich summer musk that came from her magnificent, hairy pussy. She covered her mouth and pressed her legs together in shame as the smell got to her nose.

I slid one finger between her thighs and looked up to her, reassuring her with a nod and by gently caressing her waistline with my free hand. She almost sobbed in her embarrassment of revealing her raunchy stench to me but opened her legs enough for my finger to find the source of her slippery nectar.

I covered my finger in it and let it trace her slit and lightly brush her love button. She moaned but kept her face buried in her hands to hide her shame from me. Only as I sank my face into her pubic mound to gather more of her smell and let my tongue travel through her folds, her claws dug into my scalp.

Her shameful sobs slowly became moans when I let one finger disappear into her dripping pussy while slowly licking her clitoris. She was deliberately grinding her pelvis against my face. Before long, her body started tensing up as though electric jolts were running through her spine.

“Nooo,” she whimpered, pausing to gasp for air after almost every word. “If you... keep... no... stop it... please...”

With that, convulsions ran through her entire body. My head was clamped between her legs right at her crotch as she cried the expression of her climax into her room. My face got splashed with her clear fluids which squirted from her pussy uninhibitedly.

After her orgasm subsided and she was still panting in its afterglow, I stood up and dried my face with my tank top. I kissed her, letting her taste her own secretions on my tongue.

Suddenly, she pushed me away; this time, with determination. For a brief instant, I didn't know what this meant. I couldn't make out what I was seeing in her eyes. Was she mad at me? Ashamed of herself? Ashamed of her smell? Ashamed of squirting on my face? Ashamed of receiving an orgasm from a girl? Did she think I had abused her?

She pushed me again and I fell onto her bed. She stepped out of her crumpled heap of shorts and knickers. Without a word, she grabbed my panties on both sides and pulled them down. I eased her access by lifting my butt. I also removed my tank top, leaving my body naked. Her actions left no doubt about her intentions.

Once my most private parts were displayed openly, she threw herself beside me. With no warning, she shoved two fingers into my dripping cunt. Her rough touch made me moan in surprise. I chuckled in delight when she locked her lips to mine and began tongue-wrestling me while stroking the sweet spots in the depths of my pussy.

...until she was hot and wet, I thought, and she was a particularly wet one.

When she let go, a mischievous grin flashed over her face.

“Since you like that stink so much, you perverted slut,” she said, her voice heavy with a lewd undertone and sat on my kisser.

I had the source of her stench right over my nose and couldn't breathe without overwhelming waves of it filling my nostrils. While grinding her pelvis into my face, she reached out to place her middle finger on my love button while I eagerly licked hers. In this position, we kept stimulating each other's little nubs until we were both writhing in mind-numbing orgasms.

As our climaxes subsided for the post-orgasmic bliss, we lay on her bed in each other's arms. She licked her own secretions off my face and kissed me without hesitation. All her anxieties had left her. We remained cuddled up like this, exchanging kisses and hungry, yet satisfied looks. We savored the moment while it lasted as we knew this was not likely to happen again.

After a while, she said, “I'll have to take a shower. Jacob will be here any moment.”

We got up and walked the few steps to the bathroom, holding hands. Before entering, she took both my hands and pressed her lips together as if too shy to pronounce the words that she wanted to get off her chest. Her eyes seemed seeking for something to look at.

I cupped her face and whispered, “No need to be embarrassed now. The awkward part is behind us.”

She smiled the sweetest smile I had ever seen and replied, “Thank you. For everything. For opening my mind.”

We exchanged one last deep, wet kiss before she locked the bathroom.

We never talked about it again. Nor did she, to my best knowledge, ever engage in any further lesbian experience whatsoever. I did hope, however, that she would keep our fling as much a treasured memory as I knew I would.