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 Beşevler escort 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 – Çankaya escort bayan 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 Escort Cebeci 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.