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 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".
