Distraction

Speech 235 was the last required class in my humanities sequence in my Bachelor's degree program. I wasn't the best at public speaking, so I figured taking it might help me in the business world, if not socially. As a sophomore, I was still trying to figure out what I should major in anyway, so something people-oriented seemed workable.

Class met in one of the newer buildings on campus -- a steel and glass creation of about three stories with floor-to-ceiling windows, charcoal-colored carpeting, and ample wall space. The faint smell of construction materials was still present, that's how new it was.

"Public Speaking A" was held in the middle of the afternoon, at around 1:30 -- not right after lunch, but close enough that my eyelids could get a bit heavy at times, especially if a speaker wasn't riveting. There were about a dozen of us. The instructor was what you might expect for a 200-level course -- middle-aged, laid-back, and thankfully not fusty.

In the third week, another student joined the class. I normally notice hot guys on campus, and this guy was my type. He was about 5-10, just shy of 6 feet, with a thin but not scrawny build. A short-sleeve, pattern print tee, colored jet black, hung off his upper body with the logo of a local punk band on the front. Completing his outfit were faded jeans with holes dotting the leg at random points. He had dirty blond, wavy, kind of frizzy hair, hazel eyes, and a lean build.

Something else I noticed as he was walking to the vacant seat to my right -- his shirt was just a wee bit on the short side. The lower hem was just high enough to expose the slightest sliver of his lower belly, which called to me as he made his way past me. I wanted to stare but resisted.

"Sorry, didn't get the name?" the instructor said to this new guy.

"Oh, Jory. It's Jory. Just signed up late last week."

The instructor surveyed his class list, slightly furrowing his brow. "I must not have an updated list," he said.

"It might be on the last page," Jory responded.

The instructor flipped to the last page of the list. "Oh, yes -- there you are," he said. "Welcome."

I gave Jory a sideways glance and nodded hello. He nodded back, with a slight smile.

It's a funny thing about me and Scorpios. I swear, my body could be a full-size detector for them. Scorpio energy is all about sexuality, but it's not always the kind of sexuality that's out of control like a wildfire. Sometimes it can just be subtle, pinpointing my shaft even as I feel my skin crawl with anticipation. This was the energy I was getting from Jory and he'd been in the room for just three minutes.

Presently, the instructor started the class, talking about the value of public speaking, and its history -- how it started, how it's changed with media, the entertainment world, everything.

Perhaps 15 minutes into this discourse, Jory decided this instructor's discourse wasn't sufficiently fascinating. As the instructor was strolling the room, writing on the chalk board, Jory rared back in his chair, arching his back and stretching...stretching until his slightly too-short tee rode up, revealing his stomach and a lovely, oval innie bellybutton. His navel was an inch wide vertically, and was just wide enough to be able to hold a full liquor shot of brandy.

He held the crest of his stretch for a good half-minute, long enough for me to give a side-eye glance at his navel. I wanted to give a full-on look, but I didn't want to be obvious.

For the rest of that class, I wasn't really tuned in to the instructor. I was quietly watching Jory, hoping he might stretch a second time. It didn't happen.

The end of that hour came, with the room rising in a sort of scattered unison, and all of us leaving the room. In the hallway, Jory approached me.

"Hey, what do you think of this class?" he asked me.

"Oh, it's okay so far," I replied. "I need this for my humanities credit, but I also want to get better at public speaking."

"Cool," Jory said, simply, nodding.

With us facing each other now, rather than sitting side by side, I found myself stirring even more in Jory's presence. He had the kind of build that just...invited hugging. He wasn't an ogre, he wasn't a bone crusher. He was very guy-next-door. And, while he didn't exactly strike me as someone studious, he wasn't a jerk, either.

I found out that he was a senior, which surprised me. He took the class to fill out his electives and to get his full 15 hours for the term. This was probably a "blow-off" course for him, which explained his very casual demeanor. But, of course, he might have been that way with everything in his life anyway.

Speech 235 met three days a week -- Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays. People being creatures of habit, I usually sat in the same seat, as did all the other students. We didn't have assigned seats -- this was college, not high school or grade school. Thankfully, Jory chose to sit in the same seat next to me, on my right, each time class convened.

We got our first speech presentation assignment about two weeks in. We would each need to select a topic from the list the instructor provided, and prepare a 3- to 5-minute presentation on it. The topic of modern technology caught my eye, so that was what I chose.

I'm usually pretty good at putting structured presentations together. I always have been. But this go-round, I found my mind straying a bit, thinking about Jory -- about how cute he was, how hot he was, and how I wanted to be intimate with him, and that lovely, flat, navel-adorned stomach of his.

The week for our first speech presentations arrived. I was slated to speak on Wednesday, and my speech would come just after Jory's. Jory, interestingly, chose cars -- as in racing cars -- as his twist on the transportation topic.

Jory stepped up to the front of the class. Today, he was in a dark blue tee, V-necked, with no pattern, and coffee-colored khaki slacks. The light wrinkling of both gave him a very relaxed look, maybe too relaxed for giving serious discourse on anything. But he spoke anyway.

And, again, his just slightly-too-short tee gently swayed as he spoke and gesticulated, slim flashes of belly animating his speech, showing, then not showing, then showing again, then hiding again. I'm pretty sure I was the only one watching Jory's subtly gyrating waist, and I felt my crotch area stir.

We were allowed to bring one or two index cards with us, to speak from, and to serve as reminders for our topics. My turn came, and I got up and began speaking...about computers. About how they started out as mechanical adding machines, and how they advanced to electric circuitry, and then large-scale integrated circuits, and so on.

The other students were generally polite, and politely watching. Jory was listening also, but at one point, he couldn't help himself, and quietly leaned back in his chair, pulling his arms up and behind his head, and stretching so his shirt rode up and his oval navel showed.

For a split second, I hesitated, but not enough to be embarrassing. It was, however, long enough to register Jory's lovely navel in the video camera of my mind. I was able to continue, but I found my eye gaze darting furtively back to him. He had a faint smile now.

I managed to finish. The written critique I got from the instructor said my general presentation was good, but to be sure to spread my eye contact around the audience. I knew that, but I also knew what -- who -- took me off course.

Jory caught up with me a week later after class.

"Can we study together?" he asked me. "I feel just a tiny bit lost."

"Oh, of course," I answered. "But from your first speech, I'd say you're doing just fine."

"Aw, thanks, I appreciate that," he said back. "I'm actually a little bit uptight in front of people."

"I never would have guessed. I like how...animated you are."

Jory chuckled.

"Yeah, I guess I'm a bit on the energetic side. Scorpios are kinda intense."

I knew it. I smiled back at him but I didn't say anything.

The lead-up to the second speech involved techniques more suited to sales presentations -- very pro-capitalist. We learned about what's called the "motivated" sequence -- get the listener's attention with a "grabber", describe the issue, present a solution, paint a picture of the solution in the mind of the listener, and then finish with a call to action.

I chose something prosaic again for my presentation. I made my topic fire ladders -- the kind of device one might keep on the second floor of a frame house, that can be hooked over the side of a window sill, and in the event of a fire, allows you to fling the ladder to the ground and safely escape.

My turn came to speak, and I began talking about fires, home destruction, and painted a rather dire picture of how fires claim homes and lives every year in this country. Despite such dire visuals, Jory again wasn't riveted. This time I caught him stretching twice -- once about midway in, and a second time near the end. Maybe he was trying to telegraph to me to shorten my delivery?

This time I didn't have the same split-second pause that I did the first time. I was able to get my entire body under control even as I was noticing his soft, warm, deep bellybutton exposed to the classroom air each time. No body hair No tattoos. No rippled abs. Just a simply pretty bellybutton on a pleasantly and slightly rounded stomach.

I must have done better, because the post-speech critique from the instructor praised me for keeping focused, and also said the topic was informative.

This time, Jory spoke after me. His would be the last speech of the class, after two other students. His topic was about selling a season's subscription to ballet at a performing arts center -- men's ballet, to be more specific.

He began speaking, again in his slightly short shirt, this time gesticulating and imitating the grace that male dancers exhibit. Jory wasn't as graceful, but seeing his belly and his navel occasionally flash as he spoke and moved around was far more fascinating to me.

He finished his pitch by saying that with all the awful things going on in the world, wouldn't it be refreshing to see men doing something other than killing each other? I almost involuntarily nodded my agreement.

After class, it was my turn to catch up with him.

"You know, that was...amazing," I started.

"Thanks!" he beamed.

"You have this really unique energy. I wish I could describe how, but I can't. I just know that I feel it."

"My critique said the same thing," Jory said. "I guess maybe I have something after all. And I have you to thank for that."

"Me? What did I do?"

"Well, studying with you has helped me. I've seen your speeches and I think you're a natural. You have this...kind of stately thing going. Dignified. Serious, but not somber. It's a good look."

Wow...I made an impression on this hottie? Maybe I'm better than I thought.

"Those are very kind words indeed, Jory. Thank you."

The home stretch was coming. We had one speech left to give, and it would count for 40 percent of our grade. This time we had the freedom to choose any topic we wanted, and any style of speaking we wanted.

Jory and I, in the final weeks, spent more time studying, and also began to just hang out, to socialize. He liked my brains, I liked his beauty. In retrospect, it might have been kind of a funny thing, this senior hanging out with an underclassman.

Jory also liked talking with his hands. Consistent with his high energy, he'd give me gentle taps, we'd shake hands, he'd bump my shoulders playfully. I felt the energy. It was really warm, but subtly intense.

The week of our final speeches came. Once again, Jory's speech would precede mine. My speech would be the very last one of the class before the final.

Jory decided to go for the funny bone in his last speech, talking about explosions -- all kinds, physical, emotional, political, everything. We had a 7-minute time limit for this one, and he managed to fill it all, getting snickers and titters from the other students, so I'd say he did well.

True to form with his other speeches, his slightly too-short tee -- this one bone white -- gyrated about his waist, revealing his pretty belly but -- at one point where he thrust his arms in the air -- his shirt rose, completely exposing his stomach and navel.

I could have come right then and there, but I had to give my own speech, to once again find my composure.

My final topic was the menace of allergies -- whether due to nature or chemicals, we all suffered through them at some point, was my main point. I started my speech, and things were going pretty well -- was making eye contact around the room, was managing to move about to keep myself visually interesting, all that.

Jory, once again, didn't find my topic to be fascinating, at least not for him. As I was working up to my closing points, I saw him rare back in his chair once again, his shirt rising to reveal his oval innie bellybutton on his perfect, flat stomach. But this time, he held it. He held his arms behind his head, kind of half-scratching the back of his wavy locks as the shirt remained parked above his navel.

The sentence I was saying was supposed to use the word "nasal".

I said "navel."

I heard a couple of snickers. I think the students thought I seized up with a case of nerves. I stuttered for a moment, corrected myself, and then continued.

My eyes fleetingly caught Jory's. He was sitting forward again. And he had a big smile on, looking right into my eyes. My heart melted a little bit.

I finished. I sat down. He playfully punched me on my upper right shoulder.

We met up after class. I made light of it.

"So..." I began. "That happened."

"I thought it was cute," Jory said. "Not the worst flub anyone could make, by any stretch."

I tilted my head at him, giving him a mock scowl.

"Yeah, I said that," he said.

"Very clever," I playfully retorted.

We looked at each fondly for a couple of beats. He spoke next.

"So, ummm....wanna hang out tonight? Come by my place? Get a leg up on studying for the final?"

I knew he was totally bullshitting about studying.

"Yeah," I said with a playful smirk. "But I think I'm gonna leave the textbooks at home when I come."

I kept my word. I didn't bring any books at all. Jory's address was off campus, in a nice little four-plex of one-bedroom, single-story apartments.

It was Friday evening, after dark, perhaps around 7 o'clock. I knocked, waited a moment. I heard him walk up to the door, then open it.

"Hey, superstar," he greeted me, "come on in."

As was the case in class, he was sporting a short-sleeve shirt that was a little on the short side, revealing a bit of that tantalizing belly he visually teased with. This one was a light pink, with the blue and yellow logo of a local punk band across the chest. Blue denim jeans completed the outfit.

He closed the front door, then went and sat on his couch. I sat in an easy chair across from it, a coffee table between the two. If he was going to stretch again, I wanted a front-row, head-on view of it.

He offered me an iced drink, which I accepted. I watched the lower edge of his shirt ride tantalizingly above the upper hem of his pants, with the skin of his lower back flirtingly darting in and out of view. I was getting hard already.

He came back, handed me the drink, then sat back on the couch. We started talking about the class in general. Stuff we liked, stuff we didn't, the hardest assignments, all that.

While Jory was sharing his thoughts, he got to a point where he was talking about how the instructor could drone on a bit. It was during these thoughts, that I watched him rare back on his couch, just like he did in class, arch his back, and stretch hard enough that his shirt rode up and his lovely oval navel came into view. My eyes went right to his midriff. I heard his voice, but I felt a sort of low-grade hypnosis coming on.

"My bellybutton tripped you up," he commented, still stretched, looking at me, forearms behind his head, snapping me out of my reverie.

"Ummm, well, it is a pretty one", I said, looking up at his face. I was leaning forward in the easy chair just a bit at this point.

"Yeah, I think so, too," Jory responded before pausing. "Why don't you come sit over here, get a closer look at it?..."

I felt myself involuntarily exhale at the prospect, but I didn't want to seem overly eager. "Sure," I said, trying to look nonchalant. I walked around the coffee table carefully, and sat to his left, the same seating position we had in the classroom.

I looked down at his still exposed navel. His forearms were still above his head. He was looking at me with a slight smile. My dick was hard now.

He made a brief motion with his head, a quick nod downward towards his bared midriff, a silent invitation for me to do...something. Then he looked at me again. There was just the slightest touch of feminine coquettishness in the vibe he was sending me.

"Um..." I started, looking at his navel.

And then I slowly leaned over, gently bringing my face to his bared stomach and bellybutton. In my eye's periphery I could see he had brought his head back, he was waiting for me to begin.

I pressed my lips to his navel slowly and gently, loving his body heat and the feeling of his navel's skin on my lips. I heard him moan softly as I made first contact.

Then I felt his right hand on the back of my head, gently stroking my hair. Oh, it felt so good.

I moistened my lips and pressed them against his bellybutton again, pushing down a little harder. His flat stomach was lovely -- no blemishes or anything, no body hair, just a supple, flat surface.

He moaned again. I wrapped my arms around his midsection as I sat, supporting him in my hands from the lower part of his back. I was now spearing his navel with my wet tongue, licking the edge of it, and peppering it with kisses. I dragged my tongue through the deepest part of his navel several times, which elicited moans and grunts from him.

He drew back after a little bit of this, laying himself flat on his couch, pulling his shirt up a little bit so it would stay up, and his bellybutton would stay exposed for me to service. I was able to lean over and kiss his stomach area while gently stroking it with my hands, loving how soft and warm he was. Then I fingered his innie, tracing the edge of it with my index finger, alternating how fast I went -- slower, then quicker, then slower again, then quicker again.

"I have so been wanting this," he said quietly.

"So have I," I almost whispered.

In his on-his-back state, I continued to ogle his navel and the general beauty of his entire upper body, wet it with my mouth, and massage it with my fingers. His arms continued to remain above his head, with the kind of posture one might see from someone at rest in a hammock, and just as relaxed.

I noticed a bulge in his crotch area. He was horny, too.

"May I?" I asked.

"Oh, absolutely," Jory said back.

I undid the buckle of the belt on his pants and slowly unzipped the fly. Gently, I put my fingers through the fly and fished out his hard penis which had started to ooze precum.

Jory sighed in ecstasy. I continued to gaze at his bared midsection.

Then I decided to be a bit of a tease myself. I began to finger his navel -- softly at first, but with increasing pressure and strokes until I'd built up a steady cadence. The head of his penis bobbed up and down as I worked his bellybutton over.

I dug my index finger into the deepest part of his navel, amazed at how soft and firm it was at the same time. I continued pressing right there, hearing him moan with increasing intensity. He was about to come. I put my eyes on "high alert" to watch what was about to happen.