04 August 2006


I am a woman who sweats. I don't do anything as dainty as "perspire." No, I sweat. I sweat buckets when in the sun on the beach, barrels when working in the garden on a hot day. In the laundry room with the dryer going? Don't even get me started.

I've been thinking a lot about sweating recently. I wonder why? My Google sidebar weather gadget got stuck on 97 degrees (F) yesterday and hasn't budged, even though I downloaded the new version last night. It's been hot here this week.
I've done a lot of sweating this week, even though I haven't done much physically to warrant the perspiration. Thankfully, the city of Philadelphia implemented a credible heat emergency plan and there have been no deaths attributed to the weather that I've heard of.

I sweated a lot when I was in Barbados on vacation this summer and I noticed it. I would wash my laundry and sweat while hanging it out to dry. I would sweat walking down to the sea for a swim and, sometimes, even on the walk back to the villa, a stone's throw from the water. There was humidity in Barbados but I didn't mind it nearly as much as I do here. The temperature and humidity would rise in the afternoon but, most days, as evening approached, the clouds would roll over the island and a rain would come and wash the discomfort away. The heat and humidity never felt overwhelming or stifling. A sea breeze would waft over the island and make me glad for the beads of perspiration on my skin as they evaporated.

Of course, Sean and I sweated quite profusely in the four days and nights we spent enjoying each others' bodies. That kind of sweating just might be my favorite. I like the feeling of slick skin sliding over the skin of a lover, the slipperiness of coming together in appreciation of what we can experience together and the pleasure we can receive from and give to each other. The expenditure of energy and the physical exertion of having sex / making love / fucking each others' brains out....better than any Jane Fonda video and so much more worth sweating over.

As I walked Sadie last night around midnight, I took note of the ambient temperature and
humidity. The night was much cooler than any other in the past week but the stickiness was still in the air. It reminded me, as it touched me, creating a very light glaze over any exposed skin, of the feeling on my skin in the evening at the Jersey shore. After spending all day broiling on the beach, we would go back to our vacation rental and shower then head back to the "boards," the boardwalk in Wildwood.

Most often, the breeze would kick up after the sun went down but the air was perpetually laden with moisture. It was not a sweat you minded, though, because there was sea scent and cotton candy and boardwalk games and, sometimes, air conditioning to appreciate. The salt air would implant itself on my exposed arms and legs but there would be very little dripping-down-the-cleavage, even after I developed what little cleavage I would have. I never minded sweating on the boardwalk, just as I never minded sweating in "paradise" or when slip-sliding along the body of a lover.

Sometimes, feeling the sweat is exactly what you want.

Technorti tags: life / senses / sex / sexy / sweating


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