Lika Starr

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While visiting some of my favorite blogs I found a very interesting article over at See My Briefs. CSCFON, the author, tells of a recent experience on the subway. It involves brakes, emergency power and human sweat. If you get the chance, hop over and read it.

The funny thing is, it reminded me of what happened about 3 summers ago at an office building I worked in.

It was in the afternoon when our power went out. Much like his experience, the generators powered the emergency lights but that was about it. After an hour or so with no A/C it was getting very hot very quickly.

I overheard a female Vietnamese co-worker in the main isle talking to her friend of the same nationality. She said something like, “I love American boys, they smell sexy when they sweat.” As she said this, they both giggled and looked over at me and my friend, another male, sitting in a cubicle with me.

I didn’t really think about it until now (three years later, lol) but neither of the girls were sweating. Yet in the cubicle across from us sat another good friend of mine. She is black and was sweating profusely. She had to go to the restroom and wet some paper towels to cool her forehead and neck.

The two Vietnamese girls were flirting with us as we were chugging water. My polo shirt was becoming soaked and my friend had unbuttoned his shirt down to his waist. He is of Italian heritage but born here in Texas. It must have been a Friday because I remember us also wearing jeans when this happened. Yes, he looked amazingly hot; glistening sweat on his tanned skin against the open white dress shirt that clung with moistened transparency to the sides of his torso and still tucked in his jeans. Oh, the memories! They are worth a thousand words!

Being a young single straight guy and always joking about being horny, the girls attention didn’t go unnoticed. He said something silly about sushi. I think it was, “Too bad we’ve already had lunch, we could have sushi.” He nudged me with his elbow and smiled at them as he said it. I chuckled, flashed a big grin and whispered, “yeah, but… I think I’d rather have Italian sausage.” With a quick glance at his thickening bulge (yes, I noticed) he whispered back, “Dream on. But! If I do ever want a guy I’ll tell you first.” He didn’t ever tell me so I never got the Italian sausage. Well, I should say; not his.

He was only one of a handful of people at the time that knew I was gay. The only reason I told him I am gay is because he was cool about the other gay guys in the office that teased and flirted with him. He loves the attention whether it’s from men or women. We became good friends and still are to this day even though I no longer work there.

The girl’s reaction to his statement was mixed. One was offended and exclaimed that sushi is Japanese! The other girl, the one that made the remark about us ’sweaty Americans’, just giggled, blushed and then grabbed her friend by the arm and trotted off. A few minutes passed and our boss walks up and asks me a question about a project. After I answer, my friend and co-worker is told to button up. I must say I was disappointed but at least it wasn’t long after when the power came back on and it began to cool off. A couple of weeks later he told me that he and the Vietnamese girl went out on a date. He said he got his sushi and she got my Italian sausage — That lucky bitch!