Closing Time

One thing about managing a coffeehouse is that you get to be a pretty good judge of character. If you're gay like I am, sometimes that judgment can be clouded by good looks. But if all works out, a hottie can turn out to be a great add to a place.

Evan strolled in one afternoon when it wasn't busy. I was sitting at a table in the back, reading a magazine. My place had a "help wanted" sign in the front window, which Evan was holding.

"Hey. You looking for baristas?"

It was a high, nasal, "homosexual" voice, the kind of voice that marks a gay man who could never be anything but.

I looked up, and there was this kind of wiry, svelte guy in front of me, wearing a pink button-down shirt, blue jeans, and very large-rimmed, round glasses. He had thin lips and hazel eyes, kind of a narrow face. My cultural ignorance suggested to me that he might be from Swedish lineage.

Me being gay, he didn't strike me immediately as the kind of guy who turns heads in a night club, but there was a kind of nerdy appeal he gave off. I like nerdy hottie guys.

"Ummm, yeah," I kind of stammered. "What's your name?"

"Evan," the blond said, extending the skinny hand to shake that wasn't holding the sign. I reached back and took it in mine. It was surprisingly soft, almost what one would expect of a woman. But there was no nail polish anywhere.

"Oh, I can take that for you," I said, holding a hand up to receive the sign. Evan handed it over.

"So....ummm...what were you looking for? I mean, like, how many hours were you wanting?" I asked.

"I don't really need that many. I'm in college. Just wanting to make a little extra money."

"Nice. What's your major?"

"Speech communication."

"Hmm...what's that?"

"Anything involving speech or speaking," Evan mentioned. "Teaching, debating, presenting, all that. It can be used as a foundation for other fields like law."

There was a bit of tartness in how Evan spoke. Some people can't hide who they are. Still, it didn't bother me.

"Very cool," I replied. Then I told him when I could use him most, and it was several nights a week, the last hour of operation. Essentially, closing time. Basically from 9pm to 10pm.

"I could start tonight if you want," Evan offered.

"You have experience?" I asked.

"Yep. I was a shift leader at another coffee place, one of the chains. Got tired of the bullshit so I got myself in school to learn something else, but I still like coffee. I'll pick up whatever you've got."

That was encouraging.

"Sounds great," I said, extending my hand to shake, again. Ohhh, that soft hand of his. "See you around nine."

Simply put, Evan was pretty amazing. He got along well with customers, took orders and requests well, and always seemed to have this kind of studious vibe about him, even though this was "just" coffee. He was a big flirt, too -- something that seemed to charm customers. At a couple of points I thought I didn't deserve to have him.

But as I worked with him over the nights that followed, I would notice something else about him. I found that he wore loose-fitting shirts that often billowed loosely in the currents of the AC system, revealing fleeting glimpses of his skinny, slender body. Perhaps I'd see a little strip of his lower back once, a bit of his front belly another time. If he wore a button-down shirt, he'd often undo several buttons, allowing a portion of his creamy, flat chest to show.

As I saw these flashes of eroticism, I found myself developing a carnal hunger for Evan. I'd watch him furtively when he'd reach upward to a cabinet or upper shelf, just to see his shirt rise -- he never tucked in his shirts, I noticed ... and appreciated.

Again, he was a big flirt. He was sassy, but in a good way, funny, occasionally self-effacing. He'd kid with me about me becoming his sugar daddy (if only I had the wealth to do that), or running away to Las Vegas on a weekend trip (again, if only). He had the kind of vibe that loved big money and glamour, and believed he could work any room or score on any hookup site or app handily. I could only laugh at his chutzpah. Where did all this confidence come from, for a 25-year-old guy?

One evening when it was slow, he told me I should follow his social media account, and gave me the link. I made a mental note, then looked him up after getting home to my apartment. Laying in my bed, in the quiet darkness of my bedroom, I looked at the photos he had posted.

In some of them, he was shirtless completely. For someone with a skinny build, he wasn't going to set any records for musculature. And yet, there was a simple beauty to his form. No tattoos, no piercings. No body hair, either, at least not visibly. Just a smooth, simply creamy complexion. And nice, pert, hard nipples, too -- always erect in them.

In other photos, he was in a crop-top. These were the old-school kind, not the kind that screaming "club kids" wear, although with his sassy personality at times, he could have pulled those off. I love crop-tops because it allows cute guys to show off their navels, and navels make me hard...make me want to come. It's a fetish I've never understood, but a while back just decided to stop questioning it and just enjoy it. Who knows why the universe gives different of us different traits?

His bellybutton was a rather pleasant, small oval innie. It sat in the middle of a flat, but not scrawny, abdomen. It appeared to be deep enough that it could accommodate the first full joint of an index finger, if the finger poked, tickled or was inserted therein.

Laying in bed, in the dim light of my phone, looking through these images, I felt my shaft get hard. I found myself with the want to kiss Evan's bellybutton and stomach, to make love to that part of his body with my lips, my mouth, my tongue.

I found myself fantasizing about what it must feel like, the warmth of his stomach, the crevice of his navel under my lips. As I did so, I found myself reaching for my penis, beginning to stroke myself as I gazed on a photo of him with his navel showing.

After several minutes of this, and building to a climax, I came, scattering semen all over my fingers and the bedsheets.

My fantasy needed to happen.

Evan was a step ahead of me.

It was a Friday night in the fall. Kind of a cool night. Apparently everyone was out enjoying the cold weather or a playoff event which had captured local media's imagination. One of the nearby universities had a kick-ass year and was in the hunt for the division title. So the place was nearly empty most of the evening.

I had gotten to the point where I didn't need to monitor Evan. I just knew he'd show up, take care of business, and that would be it.

Figuring no one else would be coming the last half-hour, I switched off the "open" sign in the window, and locked the front door, then turned most of the front seating room lights out. Then I walked into the prep room in the back.

There, leaning against one of the food prep counters, was Evan, clad in a red crop-top that was very pretty, the lower hem stopping two inches above the very innie navel I had lusted after so many times. It looked even better in person than in his photos.

A gasp of delight involuntarily escaped my mouth.

"Slow night?" Evan asked.

"Ummm...yep," I said, hoping to exhibit composure.

A pause.

"You know, I've seen you stealing looks at me," Evan said softly, without the slightest bit of malice or accusation. "I don't know why, but that really turns me on."

"Really?" I ventured.

Evan nodded thoughtfully. "I gave you my social media profile because I wanted you to see me."

I glanced at my watch. It was 9:34. It felt like a half-hour had gone by.

"Well..." I cautiously added, "I'm sure you're probably aware of it, but you're pretty attractive. In an unconventional way, at least for us gays."

"What do you mean?", Evan asked.

"I mean, you're svelte, slender...but not the slightest bit scrawny. A lot of guy guys like bulging muscles or even visible tone or definition. Not me. You're the kind of skinny that I think is pretty hot."

Evan playfully shook his head, appreciating the compliment in an "I don't believe I'm hearing this" kind of way. He looked up at me again, smiling softly.

"And you've been just...amazing around here," I continued. "I mean, you deserve to be...rewarded for that."

Evan cocked his head ever so slightly, and then in his sassy voice, but softly, said:

"Then...reward me."

There are times that everything just seems to line up in a moment. I don't know if it's the stars, bravado, or just my own plain foolishness. I've always been the kind of guy to just go for it in moments like this. Sagittarius rising, or something like that.

I slowly walked over to him, taking his upper shoulders in my hands and just holding Evan there for a moment. He was looking at me with what I'd arguably call adoring eyes.

And then with both arms I just drew him to myself. I heard him exhale with pleasure and, perhaps, relief. He was petite in my arms, on my chest. He was soft, but not delicate, not breakable -- just pleasantly thin.

I felt one of my hands graze downward, feeling the back of his exposed midriff. It was warm, soft, incredibly supple. Maybe my hungry mind was idealizing what I was feeling, but it was simply amazing.

The next words would be Evan's, in an almost breathless whisper, even though we were the only ones in the partially illuminated room.

"When I show off my navel like this, I want to come. I want to come when someone looks at it. When I know someone likes it. When someone touches it..."

I drew back from him, and pulled a work chair to myself, sitting in it, so that his waist was at the same level as my face. I leaned forward to his stomach, slowly, allowing myself to feel his body heat before making contact. He was looking down at me, I could tell.

Pursing my lips outward, I pressed them onto his bellybutton, eliciting another exhale of delight from Evan. I felt the oval shape with the moist inside of my mouth, giving him a flutter of quick kisses in a kind of circular pattern. Oh, did his navel feel good against my lips. I'd wanted to do this with someone forever.

Evan now had his hands on the back of my head, in a sort of caressing fashion. His hands' gentle massaging seemed to say to me, "Take your time...we're both enjoying this. I like it, too."

I stuck my tongue out and began to lick his bellybutton, around the oval-shaped rim of it at first, then around on the stomach surface area. I drew my tongue into my mouth, moistened it thoroughly with my saliva, and then speared the deepest part of his navel with my tongue. He gave off a gasp that was half yelp, half cry.

I speared it again, a moment later, then went back to kissing his stomach, his lovely and flat stomach, occasionally pausing to admire the bared midriff form that lay before me, that had been so generously presented. I sucked the soft skin of his stomach between my lips, moistening it, feeling it with my tongue tip.

I laid the side of my face along his stomach, allowing my right cheek to feel the soft depression of his bellybutton and stomach. Evan continued to stroke the other side of my head, clearly loving what was happening.

With his hand holding my head against his navel, and with me attacking it with kisses and licks, I felt his pelvis begin to rock back and forth, occasionally making contact against my upper chest. I continued kissing his stomach and navel for several minutes, hoping I was making him generate semen so fast that he'd just explode.

And in a moment, he let out a soft moan, even as I continued licking his now completely moist navel. He'd come. A darkening wet spot was slowly appearing in the crotch area of his pants.

I leaned over and kissed his penis through the wet spot. And then I reached over with both arms and pulled him toward me in a face-to-crotch embrace that lasted several minutes. It felt so, so amazing.

I stood up, walked to the prep room light switch and switched it off. The room was almost completely dark now, but I could still see Evan. I took him by the hand and led him to the back door, where we both exited.

I turned back and locked the door to the coffeehouse. And then I scooped Evan's skinny, lithe build up in my arms, exchanged a kiss on the lips with him, and treated him to a bridal carry, over to my car.

I would come just as hard as he did, back at my place.