*

 

 

"He Knows"

28 May 2003

I had another amazing, even whirlwind, date with Kevin, and now he knows...

Last weekend he suggested we play tennis. Now, I enjoy tennis but haven't played in years, so to say my game is rusty is being kind. There are some public courts near where he lives, so I met him at his place. We batted (and chased) the ball around for over an hour on a mild but very humid day. I was wearing shorts and a white cotton shirt which quickly became soaked with sweat and unpleasantly heavy.

I also had the white chest stripe. You ladies with HH know what I mean. My shirt was darkened by wetness pretty much everywhere except there was a dry stripe across my chest where my sports bra was. By the time we were done, however, even that dry area had pretty much gotten soaked. As if in sympathy, I noticed Kevin was sweating quite a bit too, but I didn't say anything.

As we drove back to his place, he commented off-hand, "That's one of the good things about tennis. You can sweat all you want and no one expects otherwise."

For a moment, my mind worked defensively and I thought, "What did he mean by that?" I was too timid to reply.

When we got back to his place, as soon as we were inside, he pulled off his shirt and said he wanted to take a quick shower. I was distracted by his naked chest (nice!) and didn't clearly hear him ask me if I wanted to shower too. For a moment I thought he might be asking if I wanted to shower _with_ him, and I was surprised to find myself actually considering the idea. Then I heard him say "Why don't you go first?"

Fortunately I had planned for this possibility and had packed a fresh outfit in a bag in my car. He brought me a clean bath towel and offered to get my clothes while I showered. I was sticky and sweaty all over, and it felt good to peel off my still soaked tennis outfit and undies, and climb into the cool shower, even if I didn't have my usual array of soaps and body lotion.

Kevin was a complete gentleman. When he heard me climbing out of the shower, he knocked on the bathroom door and told me he had left my clothes hanging on the opposite side, along with a small gift. A gift?

I pulled the door open and found my bag of clothes, plus a box. The box held a small shirt, a red sleeveless stretch shell. It was a nice shirt, certainly, but I knew my underarm spigots would create half moons on it quickly. Oh, well, I guess if he bought it for me he wants me to wear it. Then panic set in: I realized I had not packed any fresh underwear! My sports bra and panties were still very wet, so wet their sweat would probably soak into whatever I wore over them. Houston, we have a problem!

I paced around the bathroom for a few minutes, feeling trapped, and finally just gave in. I pulled on the shirt. The stretch fabric fit snugly, making it very obvious I was braless. Then I pulled up the skirt, took a deep breath, and walked out of the bathroom.

Kevin's eyes went to my chest immediately. "Hey, you look great in that! You, ah, you, um, have the perfect body for that shirt." Yeah, I knew what he was thinking.

I figured I'd simply admit it and get it over with. "I forgot to pack some fresh under things to wear..."

"You won't get any complaints from me!" was his answer.

"It's just that I don't usually, you know, leave the house without wearing a, um..." There's more bounce to the ounce now than when I was 16, and I've grown used to wearing a bra when I'm not at home.

"Oh, I see, well, if you need to leave that's OK, I'll understand, but I was hoping you'd stay for dinner. If you have to go home that's fine, but don't do so on my account. You look fine to me." Then he paused, and added, "If it's OK, I'd really like to shower now." Kevin's offer sounded genuine, and that made me feel comfortable about staying.

By the time he had showered, damp half circles had formed under my arms on the new shirt. Fortunately I wasn't sweating as much as I had expected. I've learned that if I exercise, I seem to sweat less for a period later, almost as if all those little sweat factories are exhausted.

I was uncomfortable about going out to dinner (half) dressed as I was, so I was glad when he suggested we bring back some Chinese carryout and open a bottle of wine. I accompanied him on the drive to pick up the food, and when I got in the car I noticed he was looking at my armpits. On the spur of the moment I decided to risk commenting. "I'm afraid I've already 'annointed' the shirt you gave me," I said as I looked down toward one damp pit, "I don't know why I perspire so much."

His reply floored me. "It's called hyperhidrosis, or HH for short."

OMG, he knows about HH!

He continued, "That's just a way to say some people perspire more than others. My sister has it, not as bad as you, but..."

Not as bad as me? He noticed me react.

"What I mean, Janet, is she sweats a fair amount, but you do more. She gets all obsessed about trying to stop it, but I don't see why. It's no big deal really. It's just a natural function. That's one of the things that attracted me to you. You seemed so comfortable dealing with it that, well, your confidence was, well, it made you appealing."

"You mean you noticed I was sweating?"

"Well, no offense intended, but you sweat so much it would be impossible _not_ to notice. I admire that it doesn't stop you from wearing all sorts of nice outfits. You are one of the best dressed women in our office building. My sister is constantly hiding under layers of black clothing. Why?"

"Don't you think it's, well, excessive?"

"Well, you sweat more than others, but so what? What's the big deal? I sweat a lot too, it's probably something genetic."

"You do too?"

"Yeah, but I make sure to shower often and don't smell bad, at least I don't think I do." He smiled and looked over for my implied agreement. "And, I don't like using antiperspirant because that blocks the natural function of the sweat glands. Sweating doesn't make anyone a freak, you know."

Wow, someone who feels like I do! There was a lull in the conversation while I absorbed what he was saying. I had never had a discussion like this with a guy, and it was a bit overwhelming. The big HH secret that I'd lived with for so many years had been exposed, and nothing bad had happened! It was like a huge weight had been lifted from my shoulders. He was cool about it. He related. He understood.

The conversation paused for several moments, then three words just kind of squirted out of me by their own volition.

"I love you."

When I realized the apparent non-sequiter I had blurted, I blushed.

He looked over. "Janet, you're blushing." I felt silly. I felt like I was a 12 year old who had been caught doing something wrong. "I love that about you, Janet, you're, you're so _real_."

When we parked the car at the restaurant, he turned to me, and we kissed. "I love you, too, Janet."

My mind was spinning. This relationship was now moving so fast, and so out of control, it was like I was caught in a whirlwind, but it felt great. I don't remember much of what we talked about over dinner back at his place, but there was wine and candles and lots of staring into each other's eyes. I knew then there was no way I was going home before morning...

For prior stories, see the archives.