Croptop

I was seated at my favorite coffee spot, nursing a brew, a combination of espresso, vanilla, and cream. I love sweet, rich drinks.

I also love sweet when it comes to guys. There's a lot of guys in the gay community who seem to want uber-masculinity. You know the profile - they want closely-cropped hair, bulging muscles, a fuck-you-up vibe suggesting they'd get into a fight at the drop of a hat. I don't have any use for such guys. I much prefer guys who are "pretty".

Some people misunderstand what I mean when I use that term. When I say "pretty", I do not mean womanly. I mean visually appealing in a way that does not suggest danger, menacing, rage, anger. Pretty energy is soft, gentle, approachable, even kind. I cannot get enough of guys who look like guys, but who channel this kind of sweet vibe.

Some might say what I really mean is feminine. They're only partly correct there. Feminine energy can be kind - supportive, affectionate, positive. Whatever it is, when it strikes my psychological palate, it reverberates in a way nothing else does.

And then there's the look that goes with pretty guys. I can't get enough of long, flowing hair. Any texture, doesn't matter - regardless of whether it's delicate or sturdy, if it's long, I'm in.

The body is almost never muscular. It may be toned, but it's never bulky. "Lithe" is a term that fits - that of a tennis player, perhaps, or a long-distance runner. Rippled abs? No thanks, not for me. Strong enough to tear a phone book in half? Nope. Able to handily kick my ass? No way.

It is this kind of guy that I think looks best in a croptop, interestingly. Many such skinnier guys with the soft vibe usually have flat and/or undeveloped stomach areas. They rarely are hirsute, meaning I can see their body parts more clearly.

At my particular coffee spot, at least once a week, one of those hotties strolls in, sporting a top with his navel showing. My crotch bursts into flames almost immediately upon seeing these visions of beauty.

As a professional photographer - for a regional men's magazine - I get to point my camera at guys that are more conventionally handsome. The magazine determines who I'm to work with for any given issue. It's not usually the gentler, sweeter hotties I find myself alluring. It is usually guys who could, perhaps derisively, be called "frat boys."

So it was, on this one particular afternoon, that this handsome platinum blond guy strolled in, fronting a croptop that revealed a stunning, oval, fleshy outie bellybutton. I was seized with lust for two reasons. First, outies statistically aren't as common as innies - the ratio of innies to outies runs about 10 to 1. Second, I think it takes a bit of chutzpah to show off an outie, especially from under a croptop. There's a confidence, even a defiance, that comes from putting a body part out there in public that many people consider "gross". I personally can't get enough of them.

I watched him approach the counter, and place his order, the lower of his smooth, unblemished back facing me. What a lovely midsection. Then, collecting his change, he stepped off to the side to await his order, his front facing the seating area where I could see him clearly.

As I found myself becoming more and more horny, I reached a point where I felt I just had to say something, anything. He was probably out of my league, but I figured I could get a charge just from putting myself on his radar. He wasn't with anyone else, from what I could tell.

I took another couple of swigs from my drink, took a deep breath, then stood to approach him. He was now looking down at his phone.

"You model, don't you?" was my opening gambit.

He looked up and smiled. "No," he responded, "But thanks for saying so."

"I think you have the look to do it," I continued. "I'm a photographer by profession, so I'm a pretty good judge of what looks good in front of a lens."

I paused and eyed his croptop again.

"And what you're wearing is attention-grabbing, at least for me."

He giggled slightly. "Thanks," he managed, starting to blush.

I extended a hand and introduced myself formally. He received it warmly, and his hand felt soft, supple, very warm. His name was Julian. He was an aspiring actor, he said. By day, like so many other aspiring artists, he had a service job. His was in retail.

"I love guys in croptops," I said, stealing looks at his navel.

"I love croptops, too," Julian replied. "They feel...freeing."

"Do you ever get stares?"

"Oh, of course. I ignore them, mostly. I dress for myself. I like the feeling of breezes on my navel."

A younger guy using the term "navel". My shaft stiffened. There's something about hearing the word "navel" that makes me want to come. I love the word "bellybutton" but something in the word "navel" sounds more raw, more naked. Maybe it's that "na-vel" and "na-ked" have the same first syllable.

I have used the term navel with a number of guys under 30. They act like I was using a foreign word. "You mean my bellybutton?" they almost always intone. When did schools stop teaching the medical terms for body parts?

And then some guys can't use either term without sounding like they're somehow disgusted by the body part, or the words themselves. Maybe they overpronounce "bellybutton". Or they rush saying it. Or they say it in a dainty manner, or like they're saying something comedic. It bothers me. When the right hottie guy uses the term, it is one of the sexiest words I've ever heard in my life.

As all these thoughts were swirling through my head, I found my way back to my original intention. I asked Julian if he'd be willing to be a photo subject for me, in the croptop.

"You mean, like what I'm wearing now?" he asked.

"Exactly. I think you look gorgeous and the croptop is just icing on the cake."

Julian gave an aw-shucks shrug of the shoulders with a slightly silly smile.

"I guess we need to do this, then."

Great!

"But I have to warn you, I'm not a professional model or nothin'. I'm just an ordinary guy."

"Ordinary is exactly what I'm looking for, Julian. Well, ordinary with an extra-ordinary midriff."

***

I have a private studio I rent for opportunities like this. A number of other indie artists have their own, as well. It's a bunch of Spartan warehouse rooms in this basic, industrial building in town with corrugated metal walls, but skylights for good natural lighting.

I sat outside the building one Saturday, waiting on Julian. It had been several days since I'd seen him at my coffee spot. I wondered if he'd actually show. I've had too many flakes to count over the years. No-shows happen for a variety of reasons - they're unorganized, they lied about their interest, they scheduled against a conflict, something.

As I was mulling these possibilities over in my head, a fuchsia subcompact car pulled up. Fuchsia. Of course.

It was Julian. He parked and stepped out of the car, then stood in front of it.

"Well, how do I look?"

I exhaled with a mix of lust and delight.

"You look perfect. C'mon...let's go into the studio."

We went through the side door to the building, the nearest to my studio. I unlocked the studio door and switched on the light. It appeared we were the only ones in the whole building - my car and Julian's cars were the only two parked outside.

Julian looked around my studio - the lighting equipment, the backdrops, several completed and framed prints - of several shirtless guys from work, but none with a croptop.

"You're really good," Julian offered.

"Thanks," I countered. "It's a lot easier when you have the right model."

I normally keep a tripod and lighting rig set up, so there wasn't much to do to get ready. I didn't feel like using a solid-color backdrop, deciding instead on an exposed cinderblock wall as a background.

I had Julian stand in front of the wall, running through a series of very basic poses, all designed to show his midriff clearly - no side views, no back views, all frontal views. I altered settings on the camera, snapping away.

Occasionally I touched his shoulders to, perhaps, level a shoulder here, or his head, there. It was the only touching I gave him. I never touched him below the shoulder. But even those furtive touches felt charged to me. I liked the sexual energy I was sensing coming off his shoulders, his neck, his hair. And I loved being so close to someone who had the lovely navel that he did.

He must have caught me stealing looks at his midsection, because at one brief pause in the shooting, he asked me something.

"Do you want to kiss my navel?"

I was so thrilled and shocked that I just wanted to hear him say "navel" again.

"Um...sorry, what?"

"Do you want to kiss my navel? Seriously."

I took a breath. This was one of those Opportunities Of A Lifetime Sexually. Ordinarily my mind's instrument panel would wave me off mixing business and pleasure, but this was different.

"You know what? I think I have all the images I'm going to need," I answered. "So...yes. Your navel is very beautiful, and I've been lusting after it since the very first time I saw you."

Julian paused, looking fondly at me.

In an almost whisper, he said, "Come, then."

I switched off the camera. I took another breath. I slowly walked up to Julian then knelt down before his exposed midriff and his large, oval outie navel, unhidden from the open air.

For a moment, I just looked at it, gazed at it, admired it. I had never been quite this close to an outie before. Some might characterize it as little other than a useless piece of flesh, but I find unlimited eroticism in it. Julian's was at least as large as a quarter in height, probably a little bigger.

Although Julian was mostly hairless, I could make out the finest of blond hairs on his stomach and his bared arms. I don't know how one could sense that skin is soft visually, but I was able to see softness.

To steady myself, I reached up with both hands and placed them on his sides, also soft, also velvety smooth. And then slowly, I drew myself forward, gradually, until my lips could sense his body heat from his navel reaching me.

And then I pressed my mouth on his navel. It wasn't quite a spearing motion, but it was direct and firm. And it felt fantastic. I heard an unavoidable grunt-sigh escape Julian. I could see that he was looking downward at this guy he just met, going to work on his navel.

The skin of his outie was soft, but also firm. The perimeter of it, the edges, were a little firmer. There was an underside to it, a bit of a "lip" effect underneath it.

I hit him a flurry of kisses on the center part of his navel. He didn't flinch, didn't giggle, anything. Just soft moans. He was definitely enjoying my mouth, and the sensation of someone pressing their lips on his stomach.

"I love your navel," I whispered to him.

"Mmmm," he responded.

"I love your navel," I said again for emphasis, the same soft whisper.

"Mmmmmm," he moaned again.

I was ready to get my tongue into the act now. I moistened my lips with my tongue and pressed down on Julian's navel once again, allowing his body heat to warm my spit. Another flurry of gentle kisses, both on his navel, and on the stomach skin on either side of it.

And then I extended my tongue and began to lick his navel, dragging it across the center part of his outie, the part that stuck out the most. I made several circles around the edges of his navel, making him moan a little louder now.

"Your navel tastes so good," I said softly.

"I'm getting close to coming," Julian said almost breathlessly.

I drew his navel - all the skin, the whole thing - between my lips in a slow, intentional sucking motion. I let the center part of his outie rest on the tip of my tongue in my mouth, feeling the sides of his outie on my upper and lower lips, moistening it with my saliva. In and out, in and out, I did a sucking motion on his navel, occasionally letting it snap back out of my mouth. This drove Julian crazy.

Julian's breaths were steady, but starting to get faster. I was still holding him by the sides, still licking his navel and loving it, almost to the point of slobbering all over it and the stomach on either side. I was now emulating the motion of thrusting with one's pelvis, except it was my mouth on his navel - firmly but not overly forcefully.

Julian let out an uncontrollably load moan that trailed off after a couple of seconds. Then it was just silence, followed by his beautiful, soft breathing.

I paused. I looked up at him. His head was back, his eyes closed in sexual reverie. I looked at the now-moistened outie that I'd created. And then I noticed that the fly area of his pants was darkening with what had to be his semen. He had blasted the inside of his underpants so hard that it was coming through his khakis.

I gave his navel another couple of kisses, then stood up and looked Julian in the face. He was almost blushing again.

I reached around him, pulling him to my chest in a full, warm, hug. He received it, pulling me warmly back, our chests fully touching each other, my chin resting over his left shoulder. It was very loving. Then I kissed the lower part of his neck on his left, several times.

"You are hotter than fuck," Julian finally said.

I looked in the face and smiled.

"As I said, Julian," I replied looking at his croptop-framed navel again, "it's easy when you have the right model."