Chapter 10: Sweaty Boy


Winter. Friday night at an Irish Pub with a group of friends. What would your attire be? I chose jeans, heels and a gray angora turtleneck short sleeved sweater. After what I thought was going to be a few beers around a table, I quickly saw that this party had somehow turned into tequila shots and grinding on the dance floor.

After a few shots and a few grinds I suddenly found myself sweating like an alpaca wearing a scarf, mittens and a hat in July. And I also suddenly found myself in the arms of a stranger who couldn’t keep his hands off my perspiration-soaked attire. Another little secret about me: I’m a sweater. Generally speaking, I am usually the first one pitting out my shirts when the thermometer floats above 74 degrees.Pretty certain that I looked a lot like this (minus the tie and headphones, of course).

I remember being quite embarrassed when the boy spoke breathily into my ear, “You’re sooo sweaty.” I stepped back in shame but he pulled me closer with a grin. Gradually I came to realize that the sentence he kept repeating in my ear was pretty synonymous with “You’re so hot,” or “You’re so sexy,” or even “You’re an amazing dancer.” For Sweaty Boy, the highest compliment he could pay me was, “You’re sooooo sweaty.” And then he would proceed to rub my stinky and soaking wet angora sweater with reckless abandon as my friends looked on with laughter. I don’t even know how he got to my ear to relay his message of truth, as I’m sure he had to lift dripping wet locks that were stuck to the side of my face. It was love at first sight.

Sweaty Boy and I never did meet up again after that fateful night. He tried many a time to invite me out again. I never went, fearing his disappointment (unless the event was perhaps something like running a marathon in snowpants). Looking back, it makes me smile to think that somewhere out there, there are indeed boys who are deliciously turned on by profuse perspiration. I’m curious though…how exactly would that question be phrased on


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