An Unconventional Sexuality

Years later, I would befriend a guy from England, but with no trace of an accent, he was thoroughly Americanized. His name was Billy. He had long, straight, brown hair down to his shoulders and glasses. He had a nerdy vibe to him, but was completely approachable.

I saw Billy at one of the bars that had a leather theme. I was not into leather myself, not in the slightest, but he often dressed to the theme, with a leather vest open to the navel, revealing some chest hair. We sometimes played billiards at a table in the bar, sometimes talked.

One day I invited him to come by my place. I had gone on a trip out of the country to a major swimming & diving tournament, and had shot videos from the stands of many of the competitors - with lots of bared stomachs on view, of course.

He came by and I put the video on. The two of us laid on the floor in front of the TV, watching these hot guys in their Speedos. We probably watched about a half-hour of this when Bobby edges closer to me and starts to seduce me. It might have been blowing in my ear or on my neck or something, but something signaled to me, clearly, that yes, that was going to happen.

We retreated to my bed in the bedroom and got undressed. I started masturbating him with his big, thick, pale, girthy penis. I can't recall if I got him to come or not, but I loved looking at that fat member of his. Again, I don't recall getting serviced myself - I wasn't very demanding in those days, I was just thrilled to have anybody.

Navel spotting would be something I would continue to do at outdoor events, mostly in the city's gay area. Three major events where guys went shirtless or showing skin were a popular outdoor street festival, Halloween and, of course, Pride. The street festival was absolutely one of my favorite events because it brought out so many guys eager to go shirtless in the warmth and heat. I never knew which were gay and which were straight, and it didn't matter.

I recall having eyes for this one guy with brown, fairly long, straight hair, a dark ballcap, dark shorts, and a dark crop-top which revealed a quite large, oval outie. My cock was very hard on seeing this.

I had a point-and-shoot pocket camera with a telephoto setting and was lining up the camera to point it at this guy from a distance, hoping to have a sexual souvenir from the event, when this girl I knew from the club circuit interrupted me to say hello. If this happened later in my life, I would have said "just a minute", gotten the picture, and then said hello. But because I had a bit of weakness in standing up for myself, I hurriedly took the picture, not really checking the camera settings or anything.

After getting the film developed, I was crestfallen to see that the camera had been on the "wide" setting instead of telephoto. I got the guy, but he was at a distance, without much visual detail, particularly of his midsection. I would spend months after that asking around if anyone knew this guy or could ID him, but no one ever could. Another lost opportunity, although he was probably straight anyway - he was with a chick at the time.

For all this activity, I was still undersexed. I still wanted someone I could be not just sexual with, but also more emotionally intimate with. The universe would answer my longings with Cody, who I met through a mutual gay friend one afternoon, at this local coffee place with one or two of his other friends.

When I laid eyes on Cody for the first time, I was very impressed - he had pretty features. Rust-brown, shoulder-length hair, a few freckles, dark blue-gray eyes, and full lips. I'm not going to say that Cody was model material, but he was nice to look at.

I approached Cody about getting together and had him over to my place. I think our minds were both in the same place, because we got down to sex pretty quickly. And Cody had a pretty huge penis - nice and thick and long, curving a bit like a banana. He was pretty proud of it. And a cute bellybutton, of course, but this would be my first time dealing with one with a piercing.

I am not a fan of piercings, tattoos, or anything else that interferes visually with the appearance of a navel. I think the navel itself is a beautiful body adornment that requires no improvement. And Cody was a bit reluctant to remove his, so I had to relegate myself to that.

Cody liked playing in bed. The first time we got it on, he lay on his back, naked, belly up. I don't recall the particulars but I enjoyed hugging him, holding him, fondling him, but he absolutely refused kissing - not sure why, I didn't ask.

When he came, it was a decent amount of spunk, enough to pool in his innie - which I had to marvel at as he lay there, eyes shut, relaxing from our tryst.

Cody would be my next consistent sex partner after Jack. But Cody and I had more of an emotional connection. We would go do things together, like the parks or a museum. We'd grab meals together. And we shared affection - not PDA or holding hands walking, as that would have been a bit risky for both of us - but a decent amount of hugging, more privately, or in my car.

I probably got masturbated a few times with Cody but, as with many of the others, he was the center of the action. I remember one time I was on my back and he was straddling me with his big ol' penis suspended over me, and he was fingering my nipples, just a little bit. It felt good and I wanted more, but he lost interest and switched positions.

I saw Cody on and off that way for several years. At the time of this publication, he was still the guy I've been the most intimate with, and I enjoyed many of those times. But eventually the two of us "broke up" - even though we weren't formally dating - and I moved on.

8

After separating from Cody, I moved to another city within the state. I needed a change. Things were getting stale where I was. So I pretty much up and moved. I really didn't know anyone there. And it was a bit of a risk - I was solidly into middle-age at this point and couldn't do the things younger gay guys do. As comedian Joan Rivers once put it, "They all know."

My new city beat the rest of the state in terms of gay visibility. They were one of the first to have a Pride parade and a politically active group of citizens. As the city was a bit of a gay mecca, they also had the reputation for being snobby, even catty.

Generally, I personally never ran into such folks. I did go out to clubs and bars while there, but never scored. Middle-age is hard for gay men in America, because the stakes are so high, and men judge harshly. It doesn't mean guys who aren't hot can't score, but they have to work harder at it. I wasn't into playing such games so I'd go out, but I'd usually come home alone. And I was never approached by anyone.

But I didn't leave my sex life on ice. I made a point of visiting several "adult" shops, many of which sold sex toys and other accessories, and, of course, videos (even though online smut had been a thing for decades now).

With my advanced years, I found myself less of a dog in heat, and more philosophical and experimental about my sexuality. My core enjoyment never changed - shirtless guys with their navels showing was still at the top of the list, and I got to see some here and there. There were not a few occasions this came into play.

The city had an annual Halloween outdoor festival where the main drag was closed to motor traffic and the streets were stuffed with revelers, many in outfits.

I recall making my way through this absolutely packed crowd and came up on this handsome, brown-haired guy dressed as a baseball player. He had the full outfit - ballcap, button-down striped shirt, pants, the whole nine yards - but with a twist: his shirt had been cut off above a rather nice, oval bellybutton, his bared stomach visible for all to see.

Since smartphones with cameras were practically everywhere by now, I had the ability to capture this really hot guy. As I my way to within speaking distance of him, I asked if I could get a photo of him. He declined.

I was offended, and tried to imagine all the reasons why someone would dress "that way" but be camera shy, especially in a such a busy, public venue. Maybe he wasn't out yet? Maybe he was ageist (I'm guessing he was about 30)? Maybe I wasn't hot enough for him? Maybe he doesn't trust social media?

Another guy I happened to spot through a front window of a restaurant. A thick head of longish, straight black hair, and a 5-10 build. He was a waiter there, I found out. Naturally, I began patronizing that place.

The guy was in his early- to mid-30's, wore glasses, and had some facial hair. I had the good fortune to be seated at his station one time when I went in and we started talking. I liked him.

Too bad he was straight.

That, of course, made we wonder a different set of questions. Why would a straight guy work at the gayest neighborhood in the city, voluntarily? Was he curious? In denial? He was married, but that's never stopped other guys from doing something on the side.

I "cyberstalked" him once he told me his name. I looked him up online and saw a photo I liked - him in a cut-up shirt with a very large, round outie.

Great guy, but zero chance at anything. Just more eye candy.

And then there was a red-headed hottie I saw at the most popular bar on the drag. It was a busy night, the place packed with guys out for a good time. One guy's outfit caught my attention immediately - a half-shirt. That's all I needed to get hooked.

He was very pretty (not in a femme sense, just visually appealing). But, as usual, there was no "click". He was nice and approachable but there was nothing on which a relationship could be built. And he was with a couple of other friends of his, anyway.

I gave that city a chance, over a year's time. I wasn't meeting the kinds of people I wanted, and not just guys to get sexual with - anybody. The place moved too fast for me. So I made the inconvenient decision to move back to the city where I was before, without a job in place. My previous city wasn't perfect, but at least people were more approachable.

Overlapping this time frame was visits I would make in the interim, ahead of moving back. I suppose it could be said it was a bit of homesickness, except it wasn't that so much, because my new city was still interesting to me. But on my visits back, I went to a suburban branch of a major coffee chain.

There were two guys who worked there that I liked. One guy, a barista with short, dirty blond hair, noticed we had the same name and chatted me up briefly about it. He seemed to have an open vibe so we got to know each other over the counter. I was hoping for a deeper friendship with him, but on at least one occasion it came out that he was a bit homophobic.

He would be replaced by another barista with shiny blond hair and, interestingly enough, also wore glasses. His vibe was different - still friendly, but more of a surfer-dude kind of thing. He was from out of state and, I guess, was looking for a change of pace of his own. And, again, straight.

I stink at picking available guys. But that's another book.

I would succeed on a limited basis with a third barista, a flamboyant, nice-looking guy with an upbeat temperament and a fairly high voice. There was something familiar about this one, though, and it took only a quick look through some photos I'd taken at a previous Pride parade to make the connection.

I had met this guy before - 10 years before. He was, like many other partygoers, out in the streets, shirtless, and just living it up. It really was amazing that our paths would cross at a coffee place so many years later.

While nothing "serious" happened between us, I remember one very nice afternoon I spent with him. He was off from work, and suggested we go hang out at the local mall, a few minutes away. As I was between jobs at the time, I had the time to do it. So he gave me an address to pick him up, and I went there.

It was the middle of summer and pretty hot, and humid also. My car had AC, of course. I pulled into the parking lot and texted him that I'd arrived.

I saw him emerge, shirtless like he'd been the first time I'd seen him at Pride, but he was more handsome - his hair was longer, and I ogled his large, oval, fleshy outie of a navel. I was so taken with him that asked for a few shots of him on my smartphone. Being the outgoing guy he was, he agreed, and I got several pics of him. And then we went to the mall.

All we pretty much did at the mall was walk and talk, we didn't really shop. He had time to burn and so did I, so we talked about random things. At one point, the subject of sexual turn-ons came on. I told him I was into bellybuttons - something I never would have done when I started coming out years ago - and he seemed to get it. He didn't share it, but he never shamed me. It was just another subject to talk about.

9

The year 2020 would change everything. A major presidential election, and an international pandemic threw life as we knew it up in the air.

I had resituated to the suburbs by this point. I was working remotely, but I had always liked working remotely. But since my neighborhood wasn't the most social, I wound up driving into town regularly, just to have something to do. But it wasn't easy. Between lockdowns, closures, and reduced business hours, it left me with less human interaction.

And I'm a pretty social person. I like seeing people in person. If I'm emotionally close with them, I like to hug them on greeting and parting. I just like having companionship. For not just me but many others, that largely evaporated. With the economy also on the skids - from so many places playing the wait-and-see game - getting a new job (I was between jobs again at this point) meant I had a lot of time on my hands.

Something must have shifted in me during that time. Between the fear, the frustration, the confusion, and all the other feelings - while trying to keep up with whatever media and government were telling us that week - I developed a sort of, perhaps, fatalistic "fuck it" attitude. Consider where my life had gone up to this point:

I was a responsible adult. I had a job when I was able to get one, in a white-collar industry. Morally I was a decent person - not a user, not an abuser, not physically violent. I was intelligent and educated. I kept up with the news, and other people I cared about. I didn't have a criminal record of any kind. And I could hold an intelligent conversation.

None of that was getting me laid. Not. One. Thing.

I had experience sexually, but it was getting further and further back in my rear-view mirror. I was getting older and deeper into middle-age. The universe didn't seem to be doing its part to, as I often thought within myself, "intersect" me with guys of quality, of education, of a good head on their shoulders (and, not insignificantly, looks). And I resented it - I heard stories of others who had what I wanted, and my reads of self-help articles and literature led me to believe that what I longed for was theoretically possible.

This led to two shifts in perspective. The first was that I was going to enjoy my sexuality in any way I could, conservative thinking be damned. The second was that if I was going to continue to be denied the kinds of guys I thought I should have access to, I would make them up in my mind myself. Sure, it was the equivalent of having an adult "imaginary friend" but I was pissed enough at Real Life that if it wasn't going to get me what I wanted, needed, I'd just have to sole-source it all on my own. (As of the date of publication, that hadn't changed.)

I don't remember precisely when I started buying sex toys originally. I was sent a huge dong as a sort of gag gift one year as a birthday present. Since I wasn't into anal sex, it wasn't much more than an amusing curiosity object.

I occasionally bought simpler toys, as I recall - cock rings, mostly. If it seemed like it would feel good around my shaft and balls, it came home.

Since then, my taste has become more sophisticated. One time I ordered an adjustable, stainless steel cock ring with two rings, to stretch the ball sac down harder. The idea turned me on but, like many things when you try it in real life, it didn't work so well.

Then I tried vibrating masturbatory toys, many of them. They were inexpensive and kinda fun to play with. But I couldn't get off by using them alone. And since I didn't have a partner, one thing I wanted badly was a way to ejaculate without using my hands. Then I could fantasize that I was being jerked to orgasm.

I visited various adult toy shops, looking around. I began to notice toys that rotated, that were motorized and could stimulate my penis with some kind of friction. Friction, I found out, was key to my getting off, not merely vibration. One benefit I gained from playing with all these toys was that I was getting to know my sexual body better. My body was not as young as other guys', but it still delivered amazing sensations.

I ventured into one independent place south of town, on a two-lane highway. It wasn't one of those run-down, cheap-looking video stores, it was a brightly-lit store with lots of merchandise. I had been to places like this before, but not on the mission I was on. I wanted a better toy. I had seen banner ads on X-rated sites showing images of various offerings.

And then, at the back of the store, from a company called CalExotics, I found what I will call here a twisting masturbation toy. Put four AA batteries in, move the switch to one of three positions, watch the barrel rotate and pulsate in and out. And the price was right - under 100 dollars.

I took it home and tried it, but eventually came up with two improvements, engineer's mind that I have. The first was to somehow suspend it over my crotch. Because the thing moved in and out, I thought it would be more titillating to have it hanging over me in a sort of quasi-torture situation. So, with a large, plastic storage bin (the 20-lb. ones you can get at big-box stores for putting stuff in closets) I cut a hole in the bottom, and with two elastic straps (like you'd use to secure something to a car roof) and two 5-lb weights (to hold them in place) I had my apparatus.

It took about 90 minutes for me to actually come, but oh, what a great trip! I had never had the sensation of having my cock twisted like that before (I did use lube to prevent friction burns), and it felt wonderful. I had two cock rings on my ball sac (not around the shaft itself) to create pressure "down there".

I lay in my bedroom with a tablet computer showing images of many guys' bellybuttons I wanted to fantasize about that night, while this sort of awkward thing sat on top of me as I lay face up. I began to learn the feelings and sensations of my lower crotch, penis, thighs, legs, everything. Shifting my hips here, stiffening my thighs there, it was all like trying to crack a safe - all finesse, trying to find the right combination to blow sky high - or to make a huge mess inside the toy.

After several tries, one night - after laying there, fantasizing, feeling my nipples up, straining my shaft, I felt myself come. It was absolutely amazing, arguably as good as or better than the orgasms I had when I was in college. But it was a lot of work - satisfying work, but still work. I wanted to tweak the formula just a bit.

So I went back to the same place and found a half-height masturbatory toy based on the now-popular Fleshjack. It was called the Quickjack and ran about $50. It was clear plastic - some kind of soft plastic compound - that was open at both ends. It was supposed to be used manually - the guy slips it over his cock and strokes it. The friction from the toy against the shaft produced pleasurable sensations such that the guy would eventually blow. And the design of the toy with the open top allowed it to shoot straight into the air.