A Taste Of Sweat

This is another entry in Kethandra Wilde’s expanding PotErotica series, where marijuana and sexuality combine in intelligent erotica intended to entertain as well as arouse.

A young man has returned to a hated home town for work, hoping against hope to reconnect with his one fond memory: a girl who had stolen his heart with her beauty and intelligence.

The two must struggle against sweltering summer heat, a power outage, and at least one misunderstanding to reconnect. Clever teasing and banter, a plaid skirt and tie that lead to tempting role play, melted ice on sweaty flesh, and a very personal tattoo all weave their sexy spell.

But it is his spontaneous and touchingly creative show of concern for old emotional wounds that ultimately wins her heart.

~~~~~ PG Excerpt ~~~~~

Turning the corner a block from his new apartment, the images of Trixie and her slick-with-sweat, trim and tempting post-workout body, her bright smile and addictive laugh were all temporarily chased from his mind, by curiosity and a sudden rush of boy-sees-girl reflexive hormones. His attention locked in on a very different distraction, though still obviously trim, fit and feminine. One with shiny jet-black hair, bangs cut in a severe line.

She half sat, half leaned against one of the two short squat brick pillars marking his home, her bare legs stretching out from beneath pleats of red  plaid. With her weight leaned back on her arms, a wide swath of tan midriff showed, flat except for the shallow shadows hinting at rippled muscles below.

Multicolored ink formed a swirl of Koi-ed colors trailing down one arm, a sharp contrast to the skirt and the crisp white button down shirt, tied high at her solar plexus. A matching plaid tie, much too small to be businesswear, and bright white sneakers over lace-topped short socks completed the look.

In the time it took him to cover the block, he saw two different men, plus a small boy holding his mother's hand, turn to gape at her as they passed. One of the men, the younger, paused and said something to her. Her reply was curt, without the slightest movement, and he stomped off, shaking his head.

Drawing close, she looked away from his direction, showing him her body’s profile. He could see the slightest curve of a small breast under the white cotton. His eyes dropped, pulled to the silent invitation of the shadows that gathered at the contour of each lean hip where the low-slinging skirt began and smooth belly disappeared. He thought of beads of sweat tracing down from a redhead’s tanned navel, years ago.

Just before he stepped past her to turn up his stairs, glossy black bangs swung out as her face turned to him, blue eyes bright and amused. Eyes that caught his rising too late from their gawking. Wide lips opened into a bright, broad metal-less smile. “Well, hi there. Right on time.”

He stumbled, both his feet and tongue. “T…Trix?!”

“No. I am not trying to turn tricks.” She sent the wig's fine hairs splaying out in a neat wedge when she shook her head. Her upper lip pulled higher, toward one nostril. “Yuck. How do girls put up with the jerks out here? I will never wear this skirt again. In public.”

Turning tricks? His thoughts tried to adjust to her surprise presence, and her comment. 'In public?' Like she might wear the skirt again in private?

“Are you going to invite me in?” Bright upturned eyes flitted between his own, searching for an answer there, showing doubt, needing reassurance. «I'm tired of the leers. And it’s way too hot.”

«Of course. Sorry. I was distracted. Come on up.”

She looked over at him as he held the door for her, near anger. “What gives them the right to assume I'm a prostitute?”

She continued before he could muster an answer. “They prolly wonder what I'm costing you right now. And giving you. But look at this skirt. I might not be a call girl at all.”

She stood, hands flaring out plaid pleats. It showed him more bare leg, calling his eyes back to where the low-slung waist only accentuated her lean, lovely stomach. “Right?”

His thoughts had time to catch up, somewhat. He had no idea what exactly he was agreeing to. “Absolutely.”

“Yeah. I could be a… a student, visiting her teacher to maybe earn some extra credit, raise my grade.”