If I'm ever fortunate enough to have a buddy in this life, he'll never hear me say, “You stink. Go take a shower.”
Being Jock Crazy makes me want to cherish every single whiff of my man. It makes me want to know him every way possible, including when he's ripe, funky and sweaty and his smell is off-the-charts strong.
I dream of my buddy and me working out together until we're drenched in sweat, then heading home and seeing who has the ripest pits and the sweatiest jockstrap. Winner gets?
My fourth novel, Walt Loves the Bearcat, tells the story of a lifelong romance between a college cheerleader and quarterback (who goes on to become a great pro QB). The boys are nothing if not Jock Crazy. The cheerleader collects his QB's game jocks and can identify each one by smell. In the off-season, the boys go “days without showering or shaving, content to enjoy the natural aphrodisiac that is my man and his scents.”
Even in my writing, I gotta take a whiff.