Page 27 - The Scent of Armando

Are You Being Served?

In need of some extra money for the holidays I took a part-time job one year at a trendy men's boutique in the mall.  It was located in a popular, tourist town in Texas, so we sold slacks and dressy shirts to lots of traveling military men and guys from other countries who were looking for clothes to go clubbing.

One lazy, winter afternoon a rugged and dashing, Mexican tourist named Armando came into the store looking to buy a leather jacket for the evening.  (Since I was the only employee who spoke Spanish I elected myself to assist him.)  The hunky foreigner wore a thin, tight t-shirt to accentuate his muscled body.  He knew how attractive he was and no doubt how attracted I was to him.  He was friendly and flirty as I helped him try on several of our best looking coats.  His favorite was a beautiful, brown lambskin jacket.  Armando kept trying on other jackets then slipping his first choice back on to compare fit and style.

The heater was running so it was rather warm inside the tiny store.  Trying on all that heavy outerwear was making my handsome client sweat.  He apologized profusely for perspiring and possibly smelling up the jacket, but I told him not to be concerned, since it was more important that he be happy with his choice.

A couple of his buddies stuck their heads into the store entrance and reminded him that they were suppose to meet up with other friends at a nearby restaurant.  I encouraged Armando not to rush to a decision, instead I would put his jacket on hold in the stockroom until he returned.  Unfortunately, I was leaving in an hour so I would not be there when he picked up the coat, however I really wanted him to get it, since it looked so good on him.

After we said our goodbyes, I walked the jacket to our barely lit stockroom, located in the back of the store.  Usually an employee or two could be found there taking a break, but not this time.  It was a small store, so we had no security cameras, therefore I was totally unseen.  With trembling hands I took the jacket off its wooden hanger and slowly unzipped the front.  As I opened the garment I could smell his sophisticated and dreamy cologne.  However, just a sniff wasn't enough.  I craved for more,... much more.  With no shame I pulled the jacket wide open and buried my nostrils into the pits of the lining and inhaled the scent of his perspiration and entered armpit nirvana!  The smell of Armando's manly, yet charming sweat lingered in the silk-like material and lucky me, it left behind small damp circles with which to wet my happy nose.  ---  It was an arousing aroma I will never forget.


(All 3 photos for the collage were found online.)

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