My Bua Maa, the woman who raised me, was a force of nature when it came to cleanliness. Our home was spotless, every surface gleaming, every corner devoid of dust. The slightest hint of an unpleasant odour – be it from cooking, damp clothes, or even someone’s natural body scent after a long day – would send her into a fit. “How can one live in such filth?” she’d exclaim, rushing for the disinfectant. This hyper-awareness of hygiene was drilled into me from childhood, an unspoken rule that governed every aspect of our lives. Naturally, I grew up with an almost obsessive need for everything, and everyone, to be perfectly clean and fresh.
My Sweaty Secret: Why I Wasn’t Disgusted by Our Unconventional Intimacy
Published Anonymously
Submitted by a real person and published with their consent. Identity is never revealed.