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Aim for The O

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I have always been a kind of sensitive type. I check many of the boxes when it comes to being a bit on the jumpy side. My zodiac sign is Pisces. My Chinese horoscope sign is the rabbit, one of the gentler creatures. It pains me that I’m not the kind of guy to roar, and haven’t been such a kind, most of my life.

And that manifests itself, often, in anxiety. If someone could watch my thoughts and negative daydreams on a video monitor, they’d see a lot of self-torment in scenarios of being shamed by others, being mocked, being disrespected, even over my brand of sexuality — I have a navel fetish, which is incredibly rare in the gay community. Very few other guys are into this, and I feel like a minority within a minority.

Thankfully, I have someone who believes in me — my main squeeze, Brett. Brett has a quiet confidence about him, and can stand his ground when he needs to. Even though he’s a Cancer, another water sign, he has no problems speaking up when someone comes “at” him (or me). I looked at his chart once and he’s Taurus rising — and bulls know how to charge, when needed.

This confidence Brett has isn’t just limited to his self-esteem — it extends to his body as well. Brett is the kind of hottie who absolutely loves showing off his midriff and bellybutton in what used to be called half-shirts, more recently called crop-tops, a garment that’s essentially nothing other than a short-sleeve (usually) T-shirt, cut horizontally about two thirds of the way down, with the lower section removed to reveal the stomach and navel areas on a guy. Me, having a navel fetish, these are my favorite garments on guys in general, and on Brett in particular. The sexiest “line” to me is the edge of a crop-top where the lower edge of the shirt stops, and the bared, smooth skin of a male midriff begins. Few things are more sublime for me.

And Brett knows all this, too. He knows it gets my crotch revved up when I see his lovely form daring showing off his bellybutton in such a garment. I get even hornier if he dares to wear a crop-top in a public place like outside in a park, or at a shopping mall. It’s a shirt I would never wear for myself. My midsection isn’t nearly as pretty as his. “It’s a privilege, not a right,” one of my gay friends intoned, deadpan, years ago, to me.

I must have a touch of the bad-boy/being caught in public thing as a partial turn on, because I think it’s so … risque, I suppose… for a guy to show off his bellybutton, and the cuter he and his bellybutton are, and the more “inappropriate” the venue, the more aroused I get. Many such guys don’t think anything of unwittingly flaunting my sexual desire object in front of me, and that adds to the allure (and the madness at times).

That Brett consistently pulls it off — even in chilly weather — amazes me. I have seen him wear a sort of sweater crop-top, with long sleeves, cut really low, just enough for a two-inch band of his stomach and deep, sensous, sloping, oval innie navel (think of a long, soft, slit an inch long) to show through. I’ve never come on the spot viewing him this way, but I’m remaining hopeful it will happen.

I am very grateful to the universe that this lovely guy was sent into my life, because for some inexplicable reason, he finds me sexy, too. Being a Cancer guy, he’s all about chests, so he loves playing with my nipples, flicking them, licking them, nuzzling them. The very first touch of his fingers after we climb in the sack and he’s got my shirt off, and I’m on my back, is sheer heaven. I feel a touch of sorrow for guys who have large nipples but can’t feel anything sexual when they’re touched.

Like Bostancı Escort me, also, he has a navel fetish, so we truly complement each other. He’s come on my stomach also, often after I’ve finished on his. In this respect we could not be a better match sexually.

One particular evening, though, he gave me a huge gift. I had just completed a week of work that had drained me. I don’t have the smartest coworkers. I’m thankful I work remotely so I don’t have to be around them, but knowing they’re there is still a bit of a mental drain on my mind.

There were other personal issues that were on my mind as well. My finances were okay, but not where I wanted them to be. I had some fretfulness about my future in general. Could I continue in the career I was in with all the changes I’d observed? I wasn’t getting any younger and a new crop of folks shows up every year in my field.

I had also experienced some drifting in some of my friendships with others I’d known for years. They seemed to be mentally checking out in various ways and forms, the most common of which was silence. I’ve heard people say that some relationships should be “fought” for. I tried that once. It rarely worked for me, and the others usually didn’t change. So if someone was making noises that they wanted out, I didn’t bother fighting it. Unfortunately for me, that left more and more holes in my sense of community, in my sense of knowing others who had my back. And while developing a sense of emotional independence was a plus, there were times I thought, what would I do if things got hard? It’s a good thing I have Brett, at least.

I talk with Brett a lot about my concerns, my anxieties. He’s always kind and I invariably feel better after unburdening myself before him.

I was laying on the bed, face up, not feeling much of anything this one evening. It was close to bedtime, Friday night. The weekend, my time to sleep in and relax a bit more.

He entered the room, wearing a rather racy outfit. It was what could arguably be called a club outfit. It had a long-sleeve top, dark blue, with leather accents on the chest. A pair of black, khaki pants complemented it. It was a simple but stylish outfit, something an Italian clothing designer would have put together.

But there were a couple of features to this look that made my shaft stand up firmly. The first was that the long-sleeve shirt was cut like a half-shirt, making it a long-sleeve crop-top. A two- to three-inch gap from the lower edge of the shirt to the top edge of his slacks’ waistband revealed his smooth, warm, creamy, hairless midsection and his oval innie slit of a bellybutton which I’d always enjoyed all the time we’ve been together.

Surrounding his bellybutton, written in what appeared to be eyebrow pencil, was the word “COURAGE” in capital letters. The letter “C” was to the left of his bellybutton, and the letters “URAGE” were to its right. His lovely navel was the “o”.

For a split second I was breathless, admiring this erotic look.

“You like it?” he asked me, gently.

“Oh, yes,” I said quietly but emphatically. “Is that for me?”

“Yes,” Brett said, “It’s for you. I’m going to use my bellybutton to give you a shot of it.”

“But…how?” I wondered, aloud.

“I’m not exactly sure, either,” Brett quietly responded. “But I just know it’s going to work.”

I briefly exhaled, inwardly delighted by the creativity.

“I am so lucky to have you,” I said, looking at him.

He came over to the bed, where I was on my back. He leaned over and gathered me up in his arms, drawing me to his chest, Ümraniye Escort hugging me warmly and gently. He kissed me on my cheeks and neck as quick pecks a couple of times, and I reached back and held him around his shoulders, doing the same.

He softly stroked the side of my face with his hands, which have always been unfailingly soft and supple. I closed my eyes, allowing myself to fully experience his touch. A moment later, I reached up, and lovingly ran my fingers through his luscious, dark locks. He always loves having his hair toussled by me.

After a few minutes of this, he laid me back down on the bed, and slowly raised my T-shirt on my body, raising it over my head, and removing it, then tossing it aside. My eyes gazed at his bellybutton, with the word “COURAGE” scrawled around it.

I began to feel his fingers grazing my upper chest, with his fingers circling my nipples, teasing me. He had to have done it at least a half-dozen times. His kind face was perhaps a foot away from mine. I could feel some of his body heat. His eyes were on my nipples, almost lecherously.

He dragged his fingers in a sort of concentrically tighter pattern, getting ever closer to my nipples, which were getting harder by the moment in the slightly cool air of the bedroom.

And then both his fingers crossed the center of my nipples, making contact with their most senstive part. I involuntarily let out a moan of pleasure as he dug in with his fingers a bit more, pressing on them, tweaking them, fully playing with them.

He teased my nipples for what seemed like five or ten minutes. I felt my shaft gettnig firmer and harder, the semen flowing strongly into it. Then he sat up briefly, allowing me to see his bellybutton again.

He took my right hand and brought it to his navel, my index finger feeling the warm perimeter of the narrow opening. He guided my finger, pleasuring his innie with my hand. Brett’s told me that if his bellybutton is fingered the right way, he can come from the stimulation. He had closed his eyes and was enjoying using my hand and finger as a sort of sex toy.

I was practically entranced at this point. I watched my finger — being guided by his hand — as he caressed his bellybutton with my finger, pressing it into the deepest, lowest part of it, warm and soft. He seemed to be in a trance also — his head was tilted back and his eyes were closed. He was very into this.

Minutes later, he stopped and undid my pants and slipped them off fairly smoothly, then did the same thing a moment later with my boxer briefts. I was now completely naked in front of him, he was in this visually provocative outfit with his bellybutton showing.

He reached for one of the cock rings I keep by my bed, and carefully taking my scrotum in his hand, slipped it through the opening in the ring, making it snug and tight. It felt wonderful. I maintained a gaze at his bellybutton, loving what I was seeing and experiencing.

Presently, he began to masturbate me the way he’s always done. There is just something about Brett’s stroking that is perfect. I’ve been with other guys whose touch was too heavy, too light, too scattered. Not Brett. He gets how my dick feels and what it wants to do. There’s never a need for him to lube up, either — because his hands and body are soft enough, a pleasant friction turns me on. He has rubbed my cock against his stomach and navel before, with me coming on both. But this time, he was doing the work with his hands only.

“I’m going to give you a bit more courage,” he almost whispered as he was masturbating me. I was breathing more Kartal Escort heavily at this point, and the sensation was wonderful — my guy, doing what he does so well, to me.

I felt semen rising from my scrotum up into my shaft, getting closer to the point of inevitability, enjoying the slow, sensuous ride I was feeling. Occasionally, he would pause, and then start up again, to vary the motions, the rhythms, everything. And the more I looked at Brett’s bellybutton, the closer I got to coming — this beautiful guy, my boyfriend, my lover, with his navel showing.

Over time, Brett and I have gotten pretty sharp at knowing when we’re about to ejaculate. I’m not as good as he is, but I’m continuing to hope I get better. Brett had me getting closer, closer. The crown of my penis was hovering in front of his bellybutton even as his hand was devotedly stroking it steadily and lovingly.

“Aim for the O,” he whispered.

“Hmm?” I said in my half-hypnotized state.

“Aim for the O,” he whispered again.

And I looked at the “O” in “COURAGE” written on his stomach, except it was looking at this thin, oval, deep bellybutton in the middle of his smooth, warm curve of his abdomen, and seeing his fingers working my penis, and stroking the shaft, and massinging the crown of it, and it felt so good, so very, very good, and I was almost there, almost there…

“Aim for the O,” he whispered another time, with his fingers delivering a set of fluttering strokes on the underside of my penis that were unbelievably powerful.

I saw a first blast of semen hit the middle of his bellybutton, changing his dark line of a navel into a gray-white, syrupy mini-stream, completely overflowing the letter “O” he had written around it. A second glob escaped me, hitting his bellybutton a second time, with more cum hitting the other letters scrawled on his stomach, and running down the side.

I had begun moaning aloud by this point. I absolutely could not help it. It felt unbelievable. He did not relent, continuing to masturbate my penis, as another two thick globs of semen hit his stomach. One jetted higher, hitting the chest of his shirt top. I even felt one of the jets come back on myself, hitting my lower chest.

After about a half-dozen spews of my jizz, he paused, but still continued to hold my shaft in his fingers. I looked at this stomach and bellybutton. His innie was totally wet with semen, and it was oozing down his front. The word he’d written around it was now partly obscured and even smudged with globs of cum covering parts of it.

“How do you feel?” he said, with a slight smile.

“Fantastic,” was all I could manage. I was feeling physical ecstasy in the afterburn of a powerful ejaculation. I felt the warm of the power of the coming in many parts of my body.

It dawned on me, then, that the courage he was trying to impart to me through his bellybutton and this erotic gift he gave me wasn’t just about my self-esteem or confidence. He wanted me to the full courage of enjoying my navel fetish with unbridled joy, and my sexuality in general, without inhibition, and with total abandon.

And then, feeling a deep swell of gratitude, I slowly sat up, brought my face to his blissfully sloppy, wet, slippery stomach opening in his long-sleeve top, implainting a long kiss on his bellybutton, in the middle of all the fluid he had jerked out of me, feeling the semen on the inside of my mouth. Then I kissed it again. And again, firmly pressing my lips into the middle of his navel, into the warm fluid I had squirted moments before. I heard his breathing starting to quicken. I kissed his bellybutton again and again, with all the affection, the love, the admiration for this individual who wanted the best for me, who wanted me to know he had my back even if no one else did. I put all my love into my lips on him.

And then, moaning aloud, he came.

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