An Unconventional Sexuality

Alone, I caught my breath. I was so horny now. Not so much that I had to excuse myself to the men's room, but I would definitely think of Martino in bed later that night.

I was, of course, resolved not to be late the second time!

Our follow-up appointment was a little later timewise, as I recall, so I was not out of breath from running back when he came to the office. I was stunned that - again - he was in a crop-top showing his bellybutton. Different shirt, still in shorts, but the same bared stomach.

Proper business demeanor frowns on paying a client or customer a compliment on his looks. In retrospect, I wish, maybe just that one time, that I could have said...something. But, I said nothing, delivered his goods, and never saw him again. I did the right thing and, once again, was empty-handed. Hardly a torrid affair.

The business would later restructure, and I would be moved to another office, then eventually move on to a temp job before finding a real full-time gig that would pay me more than I'd ever been paid in my life. It was white-collar again - no more commission - and would allow me to move from my west-side apartment...right into the city's gayest neighborhood.

6

My move to the gay part of town in 1996 came at a good time. The community was pretty strong, and many gay-themed businesses were well-established.

One of those businesses was a gay bookstore called Wilde's. Wilde's had been around since the original gay revolution of 1968 when the Stonewall riots took place in New York City. The original location for Wilde's was off the main thoroughfare for the neighborhood, a street lined with bars, boutiques and smoke shops. It was a two-story place with gifts and clothing on the first floor, but that's not where things got interesting for me. The second floor was where all the smut was, and there was plenty of it. And there were no swinging doors to hide it, either - this place was openly proud of what it was.

What first caught my attention were the many, many stacks of used gay skin magazines, all out of print, heavily discounted. I had never seen anything like it in my life. And to my relatively innocent eyes, I didn't just get to see guys with their bellybuttons showing, I got to see everything.

Also in the section were X-rated videocassettes from many of the major gay video studios. These, too, were discounted for sale. Over time I would begin purchasing them a few at a time. But unlike the rentals, these videos were mine to keep, so I could keep them as long as I wanted.

Back at my apartment, with all this smut, I was able to enjoy these sights and visions of males as I never could have before. I had never spent any time in bars or night clubs, so picking up guys and bringing them home for sex wasn't anything I had done. And, at my relatively late age of my late 20's, I was still a virgin, and painfully aware of it. One of my big anxieties was thinking I'd go through my entire life never having an experience with another guy. As my hunger and curiosity grew, that anxiety grew with it.

Part and parcel of my wish to get it on with another guy was to find another guy who was into navels as I was. I still felt like a freak because I wasn't as obsessed with "gay sex" (anal and oral) as the rest of the community was. I just liked masturbating and the idea of being masturbated by another guy - which I would later discover had a name (mutual masturbation).

Over time, though, I began to want to go to gay bars or other establishments, to begin to meet guys I thought I might have a chance at getting some action with. The first place I would frequent was a large night club near the downtown area called Ronny's. Ronny's wasn't just my introduction to gay clubs, it was my introduction to clubs, period, and night life in general.

Like most discos, Ronny's had a sizable dance floor, large screens for viewing music videos, and robotically-controlled lighting systems that made beams of color lights flash and move in rhythm with the music. I liked Ronny's just for those features alone.

I started going to Ronny's first for their retro disco nights, where they'd play classic dance hits of the (mostly) 70s, but also some more modern hits. The hit music and video "Back To My Roots" by then surging drag star RuPaul was one of the very first videos I recall seeing there, and it was a hoot to watch. Another more surreal one would be "Justified And Ancient", which teamed the KLF, a Scottish rap band, with country music superstar Tammy Wynette. The video was inexplicable, but it was a hit.

I spent most of two years visiting Ronny's mostly on weekend nights, hoping to score with someone. But having started so late in the game, I had zero skills for picking up anyone, let alone connecting on a deeper level. So I spent a lot of time dancing on the main floor by myself, watching other hotties with their partners nearby. I enjoyed myself on some level, but was still frustrated when my attempts at getting to know others didn't pan out.

I didn't know for sure, at that time, why I wasn't getting any, but in retrospect I have a few clues. For one thing, in the gay community, it always helps to be cute, and that visual attractiveness is largely set by cultural conventions - perhaps a muscular build or strongly masculine vibe, flamboyant dress, or an attitude - none of which I had. I never made a point of "dressing up" when I went to Ronny's - it was ordinary street clothes because I didn't know what else to do.

I did, however, get the chance to see guys shirtless, navels out, from time to time. I especially recall this one redheaded, short fireball of a guy in his mid-20's. He always sweated profusely when he danced, and that had to be part of his appeal.

After many nights of going home alone, I decided to start doing clubs in the gay part of town rather than downtown. There were a cluster of them in a sort of district, all within walking distance of each other. Arguably the largest and most popular of them was called SFO, a two-sided place which was mostly bar on one side, and dance stage on the other. It had more of the feel of a tavern rather than a bar, and had pool tables, lots of barstools, a jukebox, and an outside patio.

As I was not a boozer, my interest was in the dance stage side of the place. The stage was not for the public to use, however - it was for the go-go dancers.

The go-go dancers were a group of guys wearing nothing but G-strings or tight briefs, dancing on the stage for tips. I would find out later that many of them were straight ("gay for pay", doing it for the money). But they were all young, pretty (in a manly sort of way, I suppose) and, most importantly, willing to talk to me.

I decided to start tipping them for two reasons. First, to get myself accustomed to the idea of talking to someone hot without having him laugh, scoff, or say ugly things to me - my self confidence desperately needed this. Second, tippers were usually allowed to touch the dancers (although not in the crotch area usually), so it would give me the chance to feel a guy's body with my hands - his stomach and navel.

I fondly remember the very first guy I ever tipped and felt. His name was Robby. He had caramel brown hair, kind of short, a beefy build with large pecs, a toned midsection and - my favorite feature of his - a very large, fleshy looking, outie bellybutton (easily a quarter-sized in diameter).

I was a little bit cautious in walking up to the edge of the stage where Robby was dancing. He knelt down with a big smile. I began to make small talk to him, and we got each others' names. I told him it was my first time tipping a dancer, and I really liked his body and could I touch his bellybutton? I produced one or two dollar bills, and he happily knelt so I could feel it.

Simply put, it was a mind-blowing experience, and very arousing, if brief. The feeling of touching another guy's beautiful body is unlike anything else. I gave him several more tips a couple of times in exchange for additional feels. And that was it. I was hooked. I was seeing navels up front, live. And I could sometimes touch them for a few bucks.

That was way better than magazines or videos.

I continued to visit SFO usually twice or even three nights a week. I was single, didn't have a tight friend circle, and was hoping to get it on with someone. In the meantime, I could enjoy the go-go dancers, of which Robby was just the first. There were many others, but I was a bit chagrined that so many of them were straight.

But I was increasingly frustrated, even despairing a bit that I might never get laid. The closest I came within almost 2 years was being in my car with a gay guy I'd met on the club circuit. He laid his hand on my upper leg - on the inseam - which felt amazing. But it didn't go further than that. Maybe he sensed my inexperience.

And so it was that on one particular New Year's Eve, I was, once again, out and about on my own, drifting around both sides of SFO, with many festive revelers getting loaded. Midnight came and went and, as usual, there was no midnight kiss for me. But around a half-hour later, something interesting materialized.

I was on the stage side, near the back of the room, headed toward the patio, and saw a guy I thought to be rather handsome. He was easily 6 feet tall, perhaps a bit beefy, with longish brown hair with a few gray strands. This guy was being chatted up by a guy who appeared to be older than him by at least five or ten years, but it didn't appear to be going well. The younger guy didn't seem all that interested.

Somehow, I found the chutzpah to walk up to the younger guy and start talking to him. Apparently he found me interesting enough, or a convenient excuse to excuse himself from the other guy boring him, so we started talking.

I don't know exactly what I said, but I managed to get this guy to come back to my apartment. I didn't live in the immediate area at the time, either, so this was no small feat - it was about a 20-minute drive. Some people might say I was a bit foolish to take home a total stranger, especially on such a wild holiday. But I wanted what I wanted.

We got back to my place and we went in my bedroom. He lay on the bed, belly up. I told him it was my first time, ever. He told me I could do whatever I wanted. I really didn't want very much. I wanted to get his shirt off and play with his upper body. I got to do that and more.

Or...at least I think I did. Somehow, perhaps in the process of getting myself undressed, I had mislaid my glasses. So everything was a blur, but I was still going through the actions with him, touching him here, touching him there, and generally exploring.

The "curse" was finally broken.

I don't recall getting him off, and I want to say I did. All I know was, there was a point at which we were both done, and it was in under 30 minutes. It would not be an all-nighter.

His name was Josh. He was a graduate student. He actually had a partner but, for some reason, was not with his partner at the bar that holiday evening. Maybe they had an open relationship. I never thought to ask, because I really didn't care - I just wanted a cute guy in my bed for a change.

After we finished and dressed, I drove him back to his two-plex apartment in the city's gay area after 1 a.m. And then I drove away.

I had done it. I had finally, at the age of thirty, had my first real sexual experience.

Or, at least, real to me. I would talk to others who would laughingly say that since I hadn't been penetrated, that it wasn't "real" sex. I didn't care. I just wanted to be with a guy. And I had.

From that first experience, I would enjoy a series of other encounters, an average of about one hookup per month. And it wasn't just from SFO, either - the neighboring club, Orbits, a dance club, was also fair game for me, now. And Orbits was a little wilder than SFO.

SFO might have been the first place I hooked up with someone where I lost my virginity, but Orbits was where I got the most action. There was...

This dark-blond guy who was a bit slow who had a thick, stubby, banana-shaped penis. He stayed overnight with me. No chemistry for more than sex play.

A blond-haired guy with long, painted fingernails who had me come to his apartment to fool around. He said he was HIV positive but we never did anything risky.

A playful, brown-haired Scorpio guy who engaged in a flirting dance of sorts at the front bar. I think I was hooked when he removed the cherry from his drink, held it in front of my mouth, and invited me to eat it.

When I got him to my place and began playing with his bellybutton with his shirt up, I asked what he thought of it. He said it was "new" but in a tone of voice that suggested he didn't get it. I imagine that's the reaction most guys have when I tell them I'm into navels.

A guy with kinky, honey-colored hair down to his shoulders who was a Virgo and rather skinny as another encounter. I don't recall doing anything with him because I think he was too stoned or drunk. I wound up jerking off on my own in front of him.

And then there was this one guy who I actually saw for more than one night. It was kind of interesting how it happened. There was another bar in the area called Haunted - because it looked like a haunted house, completely painted black, and a bit foreboding. But they usually had a happening dance floor.

As I recall, I was on my way into the club and this older guy I had seen around was on his way out, with this other guy who was pretty tall, and who had fairly short, brown hair and kind of a skinny build, probably around 25 years of age. Somehow I wound up asking the older guy - who I would get to know in passing, since he was another familiar face in the area - about this younger guy.

The younger guy's name was Mason, and he was staying with the older guy out in the suburbs - since he didn't have a job. And a lot of gay guys would not consider this guy to be hot or pretty, but I was pretty turned on by him. Another night I was at Haunted, I saw him with his shirt unbuttoned to the navel and totally wanted him, his hairless chest and oval innie.

I would see Mason, and talk with him, and - with the continuing "curse" broken - managed to talk him into coming home with me to my apartment.

Mason was considerably larger "down there" than my first guy. His penis was definitely 9 inches long - and this time I didn't lose my glasses so I saw it for myself.

I spent not a few minutes playing with his bellybutton but also working his incredibly thick penis. He had what I would call a "cobra" penis - a shaft that was fairly narrow at the base, gradually flaring out to a large crown or mushroom head. It was just magnificent, far larger than anyone else's I had seen up close.

I want to say the encounter lasted hours, but at my age and temperament, things went fairly quickly. How I finished him was to put his penis under my right pec area and upper arm, squeezing it over and over, masturbating him with downward pressure of sorts. The semen didn't explode out as it does for some guys, because his penis was so long, the cum slowly pushed out. But it was so hot making a guy come.

Mason stayed with me for three weekends until I more or less got tired of him. He had no car, no job, and (apparently) no money. He was fun to play with, but I realized enough was enough. I dropped him off somewhere I can't remember and that was that.

But I'll never forget that penis.

One of my better performances - in flirtation, not in the bedroom - was at a stage play I had gone, alone, to see. I couldn't tell you what the play was about, but I'm guessing it was probably gay-themed in content. I was seeing a lot of stage works at that time in my life, perhaps learning about gay life, but also perhaps living vicariously.

The show wasn't extraordinary. At intermission I found myself chatting up a guy, because I happened to hear him speaking French to someone. But he wasn't French at all - he was a guy with kinky black hair from a small town over an hour away from my city. Small towns tend not to have much in the way of theatre or gay life, so I figured this was his outlet.

I invited him back to my place and I think we only talked a few minutes before his penis was out. He was laying, face up, on my bedroom floor, on the tall shag pile carpet, while I was masturbating him, stroking his shaft with my right hand.

I must have been doing a good job, because at one point he told me with a bit of urgency in his voice, "Stop", which told me he was probably about to come, but didn't want to just yet. (Or, it could have been a "What am I doing?" moment.) But then he told me to go on, and I did. Stroking, stroking, steadily. It was so good.

And then he came. He came hard enough that his first squirt of jizz went past his shoulders, missing his face and landing on the carpet. Unfortunately for me, there was no interest in reciprocating where I could enjoy the same. Most of the guys I had been with up to that point, it had been a one-way affair. I got to play with their bodies and bellybuttons, and jerking them off. But they never did me.

One of the next guys I would meet would change that.

7

I don't remember exactly how I met Jack. I'm guessing, in retrospect, that it was somewhere on the gay bar circuit in town. But somehow we hit it off and before too long, I was venturing to his south-side, single-story ranch house where he lived alone.

Jack had brown hair, brown-black eyes, and was a Scorpio. Scorpios have the reputation for being very sexual. He wasn't all that tall, probably about 5-9, and had an average build, which I liked. I have joked that if I ever brought someone home, he couldn't be so large that he could kick my ass - a personal safety thing.

I couldn't tell you exactly what I said or exactly what he said, but I liked being with Jack. One thing he told me was that he liked guys "like me", which gave me a bit of an ego boost. I was regularly overlooked at the bars and clubs - one of my jokes was that I could go into any club and leave ten minutes later, completely unmolested.

I enjoyed seeing his body. He had an innie and almost no body hair. He also had this nasal voice that was kind of low and sultry - the kind of voice you'd want to hear on a phone sex call (or a bedtime story).

Jack was the first guy who ever masturbated me, and participated in masturbation with me, himself. I recall him grasping my shaft firmly with his hand and sliding it up and down, up and down, a bit like he was operating a butter churn or something. Coming felt good.

And then I got a treat from him, that I've never forgotten, nor experienced since. He straddled me on the couch, and finished himself, sending jets of semen across my stomach and middle chest. I felt these warm strands of white, syrupy fluid hitting me and it...felt...great.

Naturally, after that point, I was hooked on him. I would go see Jack several more times at his place. One time we tried to do a proper "date" but the chemistry wasn't there for an emotional connection - we just wanted to be FWB (friends with benefits) to each other.

I never forgot this one time I was at work. I had a white-collar office job at the time, and I must have called him (I don't think the company's phone system had caller ID or anything). Oh my goodness, the way his voice sounded on the phone - I got hard just listening to it. We made plans to meet up again.

I probably got it on with Jack on and off for probably a year or so before thinking to myself, Is this all I can get? Can't I have anyone else? It was nice having someone to jack off with, but Jack was my only contact, and I wanted to get with others, to have a fuller experience with other guys. So I drifted away from Jack, who never protested my fading away.