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My New Life, Chapter 3: Sandy and the walking mess of oily rags

Maybe you're like I used to be. You've got a decent life. You're middle class, have a nice place to live, have a car, and you've got some respect from the people around you. If you're reading this on UMD, you're ahead of where I used to be. You already know about the joys of mud or grease or water or slime or pies splatted in your face or just drenching yourself alone in your shower. If so, you're better than I was, or smarter, or luckier. Maybe all three.

Me, I was a middle class kid who followed all the rules and did the right things and stayed clean. Oh, did I stay clean! Never a spot of dirt on me. I went through college like that. Then I got a good corporate job. It was great for a while. Until one day, I realized it wasn't the life I wanted. It wasn't where I belonged. So I became a grownup who ran away from home

In chapter one of this story, I told you how I met Luke and how he showed me a different life, a life of freedom to love mud and grease. In chapter two, I told how oil liberated me. Oh man, did it ever liberate me!

Sandy says that when we met at the lunch table that day, she never saw anything like it. She's spent her life around messy men. Not middle class guys like I used to be, not guys who get messy in their spare time but stay clean otherwise, not guys who get messy for fun, but guys like Luke and Walt, and Luke's dad Mac. Guys whose work is messy. Guys whose life is spent in mud or grease or some other mess, guys who have to clean up for fun. That's the world she grew up in. And she'd never seen anything like me that day.

She still loves talking about what I looked like. I'd been drenched with four gallons of old engine oil from a Ford Powerstroke 4WD truck. Four gallons! Four gallons of drain oil is a whole lot of mess. She said I was dripping drain oil as I walked. Drain oil was running down my face. My hands and my arms under my rolled up sleeves were glistening black with old engine oil. My oily tee shirt was sticking to my skin. She claims she could see my cock bulging under my fly. Today, she loves to tease me about it. When she's in the mood for sex, she'll rub it. But that's today. Back then, Luke hadn't introduced us yet. I was just this walking mess of oily rags coming to the lunch table.

She still laughs about how before Mac would even let me sit down, he put down an old drop cloth on the bench and another on the table so I wouldn't smear them with oil. She said that covered with oil that day, I was the most beautiful man she'd ever seen. I've never cleaned those clothes. I keep them hanging in a closet. Every now and then, when we're in the mood, I put them on. They're slimy and messy and feel so good, to her and to me. She has her own messy clothes now that she'll wear for the occasion, and we'll embrace and kiss and love the feel of oily messy clothes coming together, rubbing against our skin, before we finally strip, shower, and go to bed for what's almost always great sex. Sometimes we don't shower first. Out in the shed, we have a special bed covered with drop clothes where we make love covered in oily slime. Nothing's better.

Those oily clothes are just for special occasions for Sandy and me. Most people just see me just wearing my usual work clothes, dirty and greasy and often wet, but not dripping oil as I walk. Middle class people like I used to be probably look down on me, but they don't know how good my life is, what a wonderful lover Sandy is, and they don't know the joys of being messy, really messy, most of the time.