I have always sweated from my armpits, even when i’m not hot, or exercising or even moving around. THERE IS NO SMELL JUST LOTS AND LOTS OF SWEAT! Lately, its out of control i was at a friends, and i had to remove my shirt, (i was wearing a tank top underneath lol) because my under arms of my shirt were so wet!!

This isn’t just Masculine, its disgusting i need a 110% fool proof repellent for sweat!!

I haven’t worked out in a while and i want to start again but i’m afraid that my eye brow piercing that i got 3-4 weeks ago will get infected due to sweating

My hands, feet and under arms sweat a lot at school. It still happens sometimes at home, but its so much worse at school. I’ve tried certain dry and drionic. The drionic did work, but its such a pain to have to buy new batteries all the time and the metal plates rusted. What are some things that have worked for those of you with sweating problems? Surgery probably isn’t something i would concider. Thanks

i post my story on fictionpress, and when i check my stats page i have like 120 hits on the prologue but only 40 for the first chapter, and the hits gets smaller and smaller with every chapter. For starters, could you tell me whats wrong with this prologue?
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April 7, 1485. Toulouse, France.
The street lay empty. The men sat in their favorite tavern, gambling away their earnings, or spending it on their favorite courtesan in the local brothel while their wives lay abed with the children in their cozy warm beds. The moon, along with the outside candles of surrounding houses was all that lit the dark, dreary night. A foul stench of men’s piss filled the air while even a person with the sharpest tuned ears could hear not a soul in the night except perhaps the hooting of a lonely owl, pining for an absent mate. Wickedness ruled the air tonight.
The trees swayed softly above him in a light wind, messing his sweat glistened hair. His movements went unseen; his eyes darted from side to side: careful… patient… deadly. Curls fell in front of his face, shielding the few passersby from his lethal expression. No one noticed the dark red splotches staining his clothes from his arms down, marred throughout the black fabric of his once pristine doublet. His hands shivered. The blood of his victim clung to his fingers like sweat to a well-exercised body.
He did not want to think of her, lying crumpled on the floor, unconscious and possibly lifeless. He did not mean to hurt her, but it was her fault. Every damn thing was that bitch’s fault. Images of her pretty face drifted into his imagination. Her touch still clung to him desperately. Her soul piercing screams reverberated in his memory. The smell of her blood still tickled his nose. He still tasted the bitterness of the word he had spat at her, “whore”. The overwhelming senses were enough to make his body vibrate. He loved her, and she betrayed him.

I try clinical and everything. It’s not like I don’t take a shower everyday.