Outie

I was in college, probably freshman or sophomore year -- can't recall which, exactly -- but I was home for the summer. It was a warm day like any in any large, Midwestern city, and this one was no different.

I had walked down the main street of the shopping district to hit a barber shop, as my hair was getting shaggy. The cut took maybe a half-hour, and I went back into the warm but dry heat of mid-80-degree temperatures.

Coming out of the barber shop, something caught my peripheral vision's attention. The shop was fairly close to the corner, the cross street of which led to a small and popular courtyard of boutiques and eateries. At the corner was a dark green light pole, much like one sees in this part of the neighborhood. But that wasn't what got my attention.

What made me pause was a guy who was half-leaning against the light pole. I'm guessing he was probably in his mid- or even late 20's, probably about 6 feet tall, pretty slender. He had dirty blond hair with waves long enough to nearly reach his shoulders. His eyes appeared to be hazel or blue, with long, pretty lashes -- not women's lashes, but the kind that make a guy's eyes look a bit kinder.

Were I to describe the vibe his face gave off, it was approachable, maybe even a bit friendly. He might have been speaking with someone else, but I didn't notice that so much. It was what he was wearing that stirred me.

He had on a fairly pale blue denim outfit -- a long-sleeve jacket with pants to match. A black leather belt encircled his waist, above which sat a perfectly white shirt, which appeared to be a turtleneck, but with an interesting variation: the bottom edge of the shirt was cut short on the lower hem by about two inches, revealing a lovely, smooth, hairless stomach...and a round, outie bellybutton easily the size of a quarter, probably larger.

This navel caught my attention because outies, statistically, are pretty rare, and I just hadn't seen many guys with outies in most places. I certainly didn't see any guys wearing outfits that so plainly -- brazenly, daringly? - shown theirs.

I found myself in an awkward act right there on the street -- stealing looks at this nice-looking guy with his navel showing, while trying to act nonchalant and pretend I was waiting for someone to pick me up, or to remember where I was heading next.

I furtively looked at his outie once again, admiring how perfectly soft and bulbous it was, how smooth is was, how the afternoon sun shone on it and his bared stomach. No body hair, no ridges, no features that mark other outies. The size of it alone was enough to fascinate me...and get me hard.

Ordinarily I'd take a picture with my mind's camera and just walk on, thinking I'd masturbate to it later at home. But something in me said I needed to do something different this time, something a little daring.

So, with zero preparation and with all the hubris I could muster on the spot, I casually made my way over to him.

"Hey," I offered as a most unoriginal opening to the dirty blond guy.

"Hey!" he replied back, with a pleasant smile.

"I feel like I've seen you somewhere before," I said as convincingly as I could.

"Maybe you have," he responded. "I'm a grad student at the university."

"Oh, very nice," I said, nodding. "I'm in college, myself. Undergrad."

"What major?"

"Mathematics," I said with a bit of pride.

"Ohhh, you're one of the smarter guys," dirty blond guy said. "I'm in grad school for psych. Still thinking of what I'm going to do with it; I just like the course of study so far. The mind is an amazing thing. But outside of classes, I do modeling."

"Oh, really?" I perked up, interested.

"Yeah, it gives me a little extra funny money and I can schedule shoots around my classes and part-time job."

I decided to risk a compliment.

"Well, I couldn't help but notice your outfit. It's pretty together and you look good in it."

"Thanks," he said with some energy, then extended his hand to shake mine. "Oliver."

I eagerly extended mine to receive his hand, shaking it warmly, giving my own name. "Did you just move here?"

"Yes, actually. I finished my undergrad at American U in D.C. and wanted a change of scenery to the Midwest. So I came here. Good school, and lots of opportunities to show off. What are you up to?"

"Just got my hair cut, it was time."

"It looks good. They did a good job," dirty blond guy complimented me.

"Thanks," I gratefully said. A model complimenting me. How cool is that?

"Umm...I'm on my way to the bistro around the corner," he added. "Wanna join me?"

"Sure!"

The bistro around the corner was a trendy place. As it was mid-afternoon, it wasn't especially crowded -- usually weekend late mornings it is, for brunches. But when we walked in and got a table, it wasn't particularly busy at all.

Oliver led the way, taking us to a table in a quieter part of the restaurant, in the back. The booth was cozy and comfy. A waiter promptly appeared and took our drink orders, then silently glided away.

"Do you come here much?" I asked Oliver.

"I've only been a couple of times," he answered. "I like the feel. It's really chill."

"Indeed. It's been here for years," I added.

The waiter reappeared with our drinks. After a sip and a beat, Oliver said the next words.

"So, my outfit. You liked it," Oliver started. "Was there anything about it in particular that got your attention?"

My hyper-analytic mind jumped into action, reviewing two dozen possible responses in a split second.

"Um...yes, actually," I said with a touch of hesitance.

Oliver leaned forward slightly, looking at me with a smile, as if he sensed what I was going to say.

Taking a beat myself, I let loose. Your outfit shows off your...midriff...nicely...very, very nicely."

Oliver's face broke into a broad grin.

"That's what I was hoping you'd say."

"I mean...," I ventured carefully on, "I happen to be a fan of half-shirts, shirts that bare the stomach, and I couldn't help noticing your large, lovely bellybutton..."

Oliver gently grabbed my hands and held them warmly. "Go on..."

"Well, this is going to sound a bit odd, and you probably haven't heard this from a stranger, and you'll probably never hear this from anyone again, but I have a sexual thing for bellybuttons, and I'm very turned on by guys who show theirs off like you have, especially...especially..."

I paused, dreading I was about to make a fool of myself.

"Especially if it's an outie..." I trailed off, waiting.

Oliver was still holding my hands in his. He nodded as if to say, Please continue.

"That's really kind of it," I half-stammered. "I saw you on the corner, I thought you were handsome, and I loved how confident it was for you to wear an outfit that shows off your large, pretty outie bellybutton," I finished with a faint, silly smile, feeling quite vulnerable at this point. I rarely outed myself as a navel fetishist and figured my ego would lay in tatters within seconds. But I just had to say what I said.

Oliver looked into the air as he responded.

"You know, I was hoping I'd meet someone like you someday," he started, then looked back into my face.

"What do you mean?" I wondered.

He paused.

"C'mon. Let's go to my place. It's not far. I'll tell you all about it there."

For a second I couldn't breathe, I couldn't believe my good fortune. I paid the tab and we walked out into the sun, crossing the street to a series of brownstone flats. We walked up the steps where he pulled his keys to the outer door out, letting us both in, then we walked up another short flight to the first level where two units facing each other sat. We went to the one on the left. He opened the door.

Oliver's one-bedroom was pleasant. It was clearly an older unit, probably over 50 years since its original construction. The hardwood floors showed signs of age, but were in good repair. A large throw rug was centered on the living room floor, on top of which a sectional couch from the 1970s sat, facing the window to the street. I figured it was probably acquired from a thrift shop from its visible wear. An entertainment center, also aged, sat in front of one wall. Numerous house plants sat around the room.

I took a seat on the couch. Oliver leaned against the window facing the street, indirect light from the sun coming in. His navel was at eye level to me. I gazed at it lustfully.

"Now that we're in a private place, I can say it aloud...I love your bellybutton," I said.

"I do, too," Oliver answered. "But I didn't always."

His face became more thoughtful as he began to tell a story.

"I mean, you know how cruel kids can be. I've always had an outie. I didn't think much of it at first, but then some of the other guys used to pick on me and even point, laugh, tease, one even tried to beat me up once."

"Well, kids can be assholes," I quietly assured him.

"Yeah...they can. Something happened after I started college, though. As I left the challenges of high school, I began to have ... some kind of awakening. It was partly sexual, as it sounds like you've had..."

I nodded.

"I started noticing that when I felt my bellybutton, or anything brushed up against it, or I felt a breeze blow on it or something, I'd get really horny. Like, really horny. Like, I'd want to jack off right then and there. I knew I was gay already, that wasn't a surprise. But this other thing really was."

"Sure," I said.

"And it was like, I felt this want...this need...to show it off. I mean, half-shirts are pretty popular right now, you know?"

"Oh, absolutely," I replied. "That's how you got my attention."

Oliver smiled again. "Yeah." He paused briefly then went on. "I want to show this off, I want to put this in the world's face. Maybe that's part of why I do modeling on the side -- I can show it off."

"Very cool."

"And," Oliver said, gesturing a bit with his hands, "I get a rise when some guy steals a look at my outie, I really do. I think a lot of guys don't think I see, but I do. And many do, but...you're the first guy...ever...who was kind enough...brave enough?...to take a chance and...say something."

I looked admiringly at Oliver, trying to mentally transmit for him to come over to me.

Luckily, my attempts worked.

He walked over until his bared stomach and navel were inches from my face. I smelled the scent of a very nice cologne, not overpowering, the right amount. I reached up with my hands and placed them on his hips. And I leaned over slowly, very slowly, and planted my lips around his navel, sucking the soft, supple skin into my mouth, and licking its underside with my tongue.

Oliver exhaled, then gave off a brief gasp of pleasure.

I stuck my tongue out and made a series of back-and-forth, left-and-right strokes across his outie, enjoying the sensation of the tip of my tongue spearing the nub of soft but also slightly firm flesh. He involuntarily gave off soft moans of pleasure.

With my hands, I drew his entire stomach to the side of my face, pushing the lower edge of his white shirt up to reveal more of his stomach. I loved the warmth, the softness of it, and feeling of his outie brushing against my right cheek as I held his waist.

By now he had his hands around the back of my head, lovingly caressing me and the top of my hair. It was tender, gentle, very sweet.

I began a flurry of kisses on his stomach, making a circle pattern around his outie, then going in for the middle once again, began licking it anew, my tongue wetter with saliva.

I reached up for the zipper of his pants and quietly pulled it down. I reached my right hand inside the fly and found his thick, long penis, which I drew out of his pants and left to hang in the air, erect. Then I continued working on his bellybutton with my mouth for a few minutes.

I looked up at him. His eyes were closed and he was entranced. I reached up with my right hand and gently pinched his outie, alternating light and firm pressures. He moaned louder now.

I traced around his navel with my index and forefinger teasingly, enjoying the sensation of it. Then I resumed pinching it, pulling it, playing with in my own curious way.

"I'm going to make you come," I whispered as a playfully defiant threat to him.

I watched the tip of his penis as I continued fondling his bellybutton, twisting, pulling, flicking, rubbing, alternating a series of motions in as relentless a fashion as I could.

"Oh....oh...." Oliver moaned.

And then the tip of his penis erupted with gray-white, thick, stringy semen, hitting my chin, my upper chest, and falling on the hardwood floor below. Refusing to give in, I kept working his navel with my right fingers, gently stroking the left side of his stomach with my other hand. Another glob of warm semen hit my lips this time, in a blast nearly as strong as the first. I loved it.

Oliver groaned as another couple of shorter eruptions flew out, this time, dangling from the tip of his shaft, defiantly refusing to break off and fall to the floor. Mesmerized, I watched his still-erect and very wet penis in my face, and his outie with my fingers on it, still massaging it.

Perhaps overcome with affection, Oliver pulled my face into his crotch. I felt his body heat, his pubic hair, his penis, and lots of semen against my face, dripping and sliding off, and I just stayed there for several moments as we held this intimate embrace.

I pulled back and with his semen still on my lips, kissed his bellybutton once again, holding my mouth firmly against it.

He took his arms and pulled me up, taking my face in his, and kissing me on the lips, firmly and passionately. And then he pulled me to his chest in one of the warmest, most loving embraces I've ever felt in my life. His chest felt so good, even through the white top he was wearing. His arms around my back were incredibly reassuring. I felt his upper shoulder under my still-wet chin.

"I am so, so, so glad you spoke to me out there," Oliver said, almost with a cry in his voice.

And we held our embrace for a long, long time.