I don't get why so many people hate on outies. I really don't. An outie bellybutton is essentially little other than a round (or oval, sometimes) wad of soft, warm flesh on arguably the most vulnerable part of the male abdomen - front and center, where it can't hide.
Being a die-hard bellybutton fetishist, I pretty much love nearly all bellybuttons. Innies are the dominant ones, of course, and probably nine out of ten guys have innies of various sorts - dots, folds, ovals, slits, you name it. But outies are pretty rare by comparison, for whatever reason. Much has been written about how the types of bellybuttons out there are not determined by the doctor at the time of birth - but a doctor usually can't cause an outie.
If a bellybutton is visually interesting to me, I get hard about it. That includes its size - a larger bellybutton calls to me from a shirtless guy - but it also includes if it's an outie. An outie, to me, is more of a true "navel-ly" looking bellybutton - it's something that looks like a belly
button
. It sticks out defiantly, with a pleasant lack of subtlety. Its visual nature demands attention and almost always gets it, causing some people to steal fascinated looks at it, and the more contemptuous to outright stare at it.
One place I love navel gazing is at outdoor festivals or parties. There was this one fundraiser for a gay non-profit where I live. It's an annual thing in the late spring, so the weather is warm enough for guys to comfortably go shirtless or don crop-tops (my favorite garment in the whole universe, formerly known as half-shirts). Nothing frames a beautiful bellybutton like a crop-top cut just right, revealing a perfect four- or five-inch strip of belly with a lovely navel centered in the middle of the gap between the shirt and the pants.
There were probably about a hundred guys out there, many different styles and clothes, reflecting the diversity of the community in which I live. There were booths all over the place, and dance music was being blasted out of speakers all over the festival site.
I'd been to this festival for years and this one year was probably one of the biggest ever, for attendance. And at one end of the festival site, kind of in a corner, there was what appeared to be a refreshments booth, only there weren't any refreshments, just the booth. And there was one guy in the booth, in a gray crop-top with, in black letters across his chest, using the kind of athletic font one sees in the football world, the words "FREE HUGS".
The guy had beautiful blond hair in straight waves down to his shoulders, friendly steel blue eyes with a touch of the feminine in them, and an upbeat smile that I found inviting. I was a bit surprised that more people weren't crowding the booth of this sweet looking guy who appeared to be in his mid 20's. Maybe that was it - the gay community can be awfully harsh when it judges someone's "sell-by" date. Or maybe they thought his long hair made him not enough like a manly man.
Indeed, as I began slowly walking to the booth, the blond's midsection was bereft of the markers that so-called manly men are generally thought to have. He had no visible body hair. He had no rippled abs, but I wouldn't call his midsection unappealing - there were just no lines of definition, just a sort of smooth tone I always like. No tattoos, either, for the fringe crowd; nor piercings or scars. Just a creamy, smooth, unblemished stomach where a large, round outie - at least the size of a quarter, probably a bit bigger than that in circumference - was the only distinguishing feature on his midriff.
As I got to the booth, the smile on my face broadened, as did the blond's. I exhaled, a bit taken aback at this guy's simple beauty.
"So..." I began, hoping to warm him up with a light touch of humor, "Are they
really
free?"
"Oh, yes, they really are," the blond responded in a surprisingly high voice, what music experts could call a tenor's voice. I love tenor's voices. If they're smooth and nasal I always find myself wondering what they sound like when they come.
My eyes kept darting between the blond's eyes and his beautiful outie bellybutton. I was trying to be furtive about it.
"Are you reading my shirt?" the blond said with a bit of cheekiness.
"Ummm, I am
noticing
the shirt," I said, not exactly lying. Any crop-top is going to get me horny.
I then introduced myself, extending a hand to shake.
"Steven," the blond said, accepting my hand. His hands were slightly on the big side, very fleshy, very soft. They were the kind of hands I'd want wrapped around my penis to give me a hand job until I blew all over the place. It was a warm, cordial shake.
"I do have to say, I like the shirt, Steven," I followed up. "Crop-tops are especially flattering on certain guys, I've observed, in my travels."
"Really? How so."
"Well," I began a bit cautiously, hoping not to sound like any form of creepy, "I think a crop-top looks best on someone with a midsection like yours - with a nice, flat stomach, without a heavy coating of dark body hair or anything, or without heavy musculature, or ink, or piercings..."
"Looks like I qualify," Steven said. He was looking me directly in the eyes now - not in a laser-piercing way, but with what I'd consider elevated interest.
I paused, tilted my head with a smile, then leveled it and continued.
"I...uh...really have to say that I absolutely love crop-tops on pretty guys with outies..."
Steven looked down at his bellybutton then back up at me.
"I like having an outie," Steven said with a slight grin. "It makes me...different."
"Yes," I said, getting hornier by the second, now looking more at his outie.
