The Docent

The Docent

I.

He was a docent at a local museum, an art space dedicated to modern works. I noted his name tag, "Ethan", as I passed by him the first time I saw him.

He was cute, I must say. With sandy brown hair in bangs on his head, and an open face that suggested he was approachable - good traits for a docent, I would say - he made an impression on me. What separated him from a lot of the guys I usually notice was that he was a little on the short side, petite, even. He was likely 5-8 to 5-9.

I wouldn't call him scrawny, though - just a bit compact. He had flawless skin, hazel eyes, no facial hair of any kind. A flair pin he was wearing had the logo of a local university he was attending, with the year of his upcoming graduation - he was a junior, it appeared.

I began looking at the works in the main gallery, occasionally stealing looks at this guy, furtively. I saw him assisting other patrons, answering their questions about the exhibition on display. His voice was soft and earnest, gentle.

And on his left wrist, a small rainbow band bracelet. He was willing to identity as gay or, perhaps, as an ally to the LGBTQ community.

After having looked at about a dozen works, I decided to approach him and see if he was as friendly as he looked.

He was slowly and idly walking around, with a small paperback book in his hand. A reader. I like guys with brains. I couldn't make out the title of the book, but it was clearly an old volume, the pages yellowed with mildly tattered edges, the kind of item one sees at used bookstores.

"Excuse me," I began in a voice not quite as low as a library whisper.

Ethan's eyebrows rose and his face brightened as if to say, "Ready".

"How long has this installation been here, and when will it close?"

Ethan began explaining, that it had only just opened one or two weeks ago, and would be there for another two months. He continued by sharing another couple of interesting facts about the works, and about the artist. I didn't really care. I just wanted to look at this cute guy up close.

"Marvelous," I countered with a smile. "You certainly know your art."

"I hope so," he said. "I'd like to have my own art space sometime."

"Are you an artist yourself?"

"I am, actually. My thing is digital collages. I take images I see online and put my own creative twist on them."

"Oh, nice. I've never had anything up in a space this grand, but I've participated in group shows at smaller spaces in the area."

"Wow, that's great," he said. Then, extending his hand to shake, "I'm Ethan."

I extended my own hand to complete the shake, warmly, and gave him my name. I started asking him some other questions about his background, about his goals and hopes, lots of stuff. I was curious. I wanted to get him talking, also, to get a better feel for just who he really was.

In the way he spoke, I heard someone who was kind, who didn't seem like he had a huge ego like some artists do. I also thought I heard the most fleeting bit of having been hurt or disrespected by others. My friendliness to him was a nice boost for him, I sensed. We probably chatted for a good 10 minutes.

I looked at my smartwatch, which indicated the museum would be closing soon. "Hey, I notice that it's almost closing time, so I'm going to get going so you can begin winding down, yourself."

"Oh, thanks," Ethan said, "It was really nice speaking with you. I hope we can talk again."

At that point, it occurred to me to get some piece of contact information from him, but I figured if he was here at this museum, he likely would be here for at least two or three more shifts. I didn't want to see overly enthusiastic, because some people write off eagerness as creepiness (or, arguably worse, clinginess). So I played the game as society prescribed.

I extended my hand to shake in parting, and gave him a brief nod with a smile. "So do I. I love smart people."

And then I headed out the gallery, the museum building, and into the street, feeling vaguely euphoric over this find of a handsome guy... with manners and some semblance of depth.

As fate would have it, I would not see Ethan at the museum the next weekend I went by. Or the next. Or the next. Or the next after that.

I wasn't completely bummed about it, because quite honestly, I hadn't invested very much emotionally or timewise. We'd had one conversation, and though it was a warm one, it wasn't overly deep. I wasn't fantasizing about rushing the alter, after all.

Still, I found myself a bit irked, in the back of my mind, that someone or something thwarted development of... something... before it even got started.

I relegated Ethan to the back of my mind, eventually more or less forgetting him, and inwardly scowling at the universe for torpedoing yet another promising beginning to a romantic relationship.

II.

Milan is a coffeehouse in the artsy part of my city. It's open seven days and nights, and has fantastic espresso drinks. Its cozy surroundings draw locals from the diverse, gay-friendly neighborhood in which it sits. It is decidedly not corporate, and only has one location. With large, floor-to-ceiling windows and ample seating, it's a comfy place to read, relax, or chat with others. I often go over my lunch break, since it's the perfect place to clear my head. But I sometimes go later in the day, also.

One particular late afternoon, I walked in to find the counter empty - no one was behind it, or so it appeared. There were just a few patrons in the main seating area, attentively reading or camped out on their laptops, earbuds deep inside their ears, the universal sign for "don't bug me".

I stepped up to the counter. Guess they're in the back, I thought to myself, and I turned around with my back to the counter, looking out the front windows for clues. It was close to closing time on a Friday, maybe the place had started shutting down early.

"Sorry about the wait, can I help you?" I heard behind me. I turned back around.

It was Ethan.

"Hiiiii," I said, unable to contain my delight.

"Hi!" Ethan said back, with a smile. "I remember you! From the museum!"

"Yes! I was hoping to see you again over there, but then you disappeared, to my great chagrin."

"I know. There were some scheduling conflicts I couldn't resolve with them, so we agreed to part ways. It was amicable. They weren't beastly or anything. Do you come here a lot?"

"Oh, yes, several times a week. I work from home and after lunch, come over here for a drink. I don't live far from here."

"Oh, that's cool. Well, what can I get you today?"

I ordered their drip coffee with an amaretto flavor shot. Ethan rung it up, I presented my debit card, and then he set to making my drink. While he was fixing it, I chatted him up.

"You know, you mentioned that you were a digital artist. I never got to ask you more about that. Have you ever shown anywhere?"

"Oh, no," Ethan said with a laugh. "I'm not that good, yet. I'm still carving out my niche."

"Is any of your stuff online? You gotta promote the hell out of yourself online these days."

"Actually, I do." He asked if I knew of a particular image-sharing site targeting developing artists. I had, so he gave me his account information to pull it up.

He handed me my drink, for which I thanked him.

There wasn't much to his account. He had chosen a fairly nondescript name for it, and his page only had four pictures, all collages as he'd said. They were very good. I had hoped to see more than just four, though.

The other thing was that each of the collages had a focus, essentially, on the same thing - a male midsection, bare, with an outie navel - the kind that sticks out from the stomach surface, a sort of fleshy knob. It was at the very center of each image (they were all different males, I could tell).

I happen to be a navel fetishist, so I immediately was stirred by what I saw. But I had to remind myself that some body parts aren't patently sexual to everyone the same way, and perhaps this was just Ethan's artistic "thing", his own perspective on the human body or even just the stomach.

"These are lovely," I said.

"I'm pretty pleased with them," Ethan responded.

"Surely you must have more than these...these would make a nice solo exhibition with a good dozen or more."

"I do have some others..." he started, "But I'm kind of struggling with finding a place." He lowered his head slightly as he said this.

"What do you mean?"

"Well, I mean, the art world is a big tent, but even in a big tent, some things don't fly... very far. You saw that bellybuttons were part of my theme, of course."

"Yes, and rather handsome ones at that," I reassured him.

"Thanks. One of them is mine." I immediately began looking at all four images again, trying to decipher which one might be his. I found it - his face was (intentionally, I'm guessing) partially obscured. He continued. "But there's a lot of folks who don't seem to 'get' these images. They're not complicated. I just think there's a certain natural beauty to the navel on a guy and this is my own spin on them."

"I happen to be the same way, actually."

Ethan looked up at me. "Really? I mean, seriously?"

"Yes, seriously." Lowering my voice, and leaning closer to him, "I have a bellybutton fetish."

Ethan paused for a moment, looking at me, as if he was seeing me for the first time. He spoke again.

"I never thought I'd meet another one."

"Hm?"

"I mean, I never thought I'd meet another guy who's into bellybuttons also. Sexually, right?

"Oh, yes," I assured him, "Sexually. It's not just about 'oh, they're so cute' or anything like that. I'm turned on, aroused, by the sight of a guy with his navel showing."

I felt my shaft stir just saying this aloud to someone else. Ethan's gaze was a little more focused on me, now.

"This is..." Ethan began in an excited near-whisper. "This is... amazing. I feel like I just hit the lotto. Do you realize how unusual this is?"

"I guess I do...?" I half-stammered, a bit unsure, but smiling back mildly.

"No, seriously," Ethan went on, with more of a smile. "I mean, guys are into seemingly everything else on each other - pecs, nips, bulging muscles, legs, asses, cocks, everything. Abs register, but not the bellybutton itself. For most guys it's kind of an afterthought, a useless piece. Wouldn't you say?"

He was right. I'd never seen anyone on sex webcam sites pushing their bellybuttons' attractiveness. The reaction I got from performers varied when I offered to tip them for prominently showing their navels. Some were cooperative, but I'm pretty sure they didn't know why they were doing what they were doing. Some gave me this look through the camera like, "Why are you interested in that? I've got much more lower down..."

Naturally, on sexually oriented sites, I could see shirtless guys with their navels visible all over the place. I could also see similar on male modeling agency sites, where buff, handsome guys' spec cards featured them standing, shirtless, with their lithe bodies on view for inspection. I just couldn't get enough.

I nodded at Ethan. "Yeah, you have something there. It's too bad more guys don't get... 'us'."

Brief pause.

"I'm about to close soon. What are you doing after this?"

I looked at my smartwatch thoughtfully. "Ummm...nothing."

"Let's go to my place after this. I can show you more of my works."

Oh, wow. How could I say no to that?

III.

Ethan's place was in a rather nice part of town, a tree-lined street with a greenbelt and lots of shade trees. It was a short walk from the coffee place, and it was a pleasant evening already - a light breeze, and low humidity.

He was on the first floor of a building at an apartment complex that was probably over 50 years of age. It was old, but in good repair - no broken windows, no clear signs of decay, but certainly from another time style-wise. The building exterior was a mix of metal bands interspersed with tan-colored brick. All the units had floor-to-ceiling windows.

Ethan unlocked the door and we went in. He flipped a switch, and a floor lamp came on, giving off a soft and low incandescent glow.

"Cop a squat while I change," he said, as I sat on a sofa that was clean, but looked like it came from a thrift shop. On a clearly worn coffee table in front of the sofa were several rather nice prints on glossy matte paper, all 8-1/2 by 12 inches. They all featured photos of quite handsome guys, all with long hair - blond, chocolate brown, dark brown - all sporting half-shirts with their outie bellybuttons defiantly uncovered. Their midsections did not center the images, but it was impossible not to notice the stomachs. And yet, the guys in the photos were not what one might consider glamour guys, nor professional models. They were all the classic "guy next door" types. Ethan's taste in guys matched mine, for sure.

As I was sifting through the images, I saw a photo of Ethan, but not in a collage. He was sporting a dark gray, athletic crop-top, and I looked more closely at his bellybutton in the image. It was hairless, soft, oval-shaped, an outie, and quite large, at least an inch high. The photo would have been great in one of those "Men Of..." calendars that feature male models or other hotties at one of those calendar stores that pop up in malls over the winter holidays.

I felt my shaft stir with desire, and in spite of myself, a faint hint of a smile crossed my lips.

"I see you found mine."

I looked up, and there was Ethan, in the very same, dark gray crop-top, his navel exposed to the gently circulating air from the living room ceiling fan, and to my quite now-hungry eyes.

"Yeah...yeah..." I stammered with a little bit of a giggle. "Wow, you are... really photogenic."

"You can say I'm hot," Ethan replied with a slight grin, "It's okay."

"Okay," I said, "Yeah, you're hot. But how...why...?"

"Why?"

"Yeah. They're really amazing. I love 'em."

"Thanks! I'm pretty pleased with them, too. I'm wanting to enter them in some local art competitions," he said, sitting down next to me, so his leg was touching mine.

"Well," I started, "I'm biased here, but I think you've got a shot at a prize."

"Awww, thanks," Ethan said, play-bumping my shoulder against his. "I guess my issue is, I have this nagging feeling that no one's gonna 'get' these."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, I'm assuming you noticed my big, honkin' bellybutton."

"I did, and for the record, I think it's really, really hot."

Ethan gave me an aw-shucks nod and continued.

"This is my...thing. I mean, not just artistically, but also..." He took a beat. "But also, like, sexually."

I nodded knowingly. "It sounds like you and I have the same taste. I have a navel fetish, also, as I said at the coffee place."

"Yeah, but do you, really?" Ethan followed up. "I mean, there's literally tons of folks out there who think bellybuttons are cute, at most. But they're not sexual to the vast majority of people. So while my images are intended to be sexual to me, to everyone else, they're just kinda like...'huh?'"

"I think I can prove to you that I think bellybuttons are more than just 'cute'", I said, with a touch of mischief in my voice.

"Really?" Ethan said, looking me dead in the eyes.

I paused, gazing at him, and wanting him - to hug him, at the very least, because I found him so adorable. For a few seconds, I didn't do anything. And then, I slowly moved my right hand up in the air, and with index and middle fingers together and extended, I brought them close to, but not touching, the soft flesh of his outie.

I heard Ethan breath in, expectantly. I let my fingers hover ever so lightly over the surface of his stomach, letting him sense the heat off my fingertips, in a kind of play-torture tease, now going in circles tentatively and randomly.

Ethan was looking down at my fingers flirting with his navel. It was like he was telling me, with his eyes, "Do it...do it..."

And then I speared my fingers forward into the warm, wonderfully soft flesh of his protruding navel, producing a gasp of pleasure from him. I slowly made circles around it, up and down, back and forth, criss-crossing his lower stomach, loving the feeling of that special, warm skin right there.

"Oh my god, that feels so good," he whispered.

I put more of my hand into it, enjoying the sight of my right hand brushing against his bellybutton over and over, and my left hand resting on the side of his stomach. I put more pressure into my fondling, making him breathe a little harder as I deepened my finger strokes.

I had him lay back on the couch while I knelt down beside him, bringing my face an inch or so from his stomach as I'd done with my fingers. For a moment or two, I just let my breath emanate onto his navel and lower stomach. I was really hard now, and I felt my testicles making semen in overdrive, filling my balls, and it felt so good.

And then I extended my tongue slowly, ever slowly, allowing the tip of it to gradually make contact with the top part of his outie, moistening it with my saliva. A yelp of pleasure escaped Ethan, then another as I pressed my lips on it.

"Oh my god, please don't stop," he quietly begged in a whisper.

I took his outie flesh into my mouth, drawing it fully between my lips with my tongue and a bit of sucking. His bellybutton was so soft, so warm, and so incredibly sexy because it was, well, so vulnerable, so naked. I don't think it's entirely an accident that "naked" and "navel" get me horny because on some level they mean the same thing to me...to me and Ethan, it seemed.

I continued sucking, sucking, adding some licking strokes here and there on his stomach. His navel was completely moist with my saliva now, a bit of glistening in the dim light of his living room.

"I'm gonna come...I'm gonna cum..." Ethan whispered urgently.

I reached inside the leg opening of the shorts he was wearing, and fished out his rather thick penis, which already had precum on the tip. I left it to hang in the air while I continued loving his navel with my mouth.

I kept sucking on his outie as firmly as I could. I was about to come, myself. But he beat me to it. His body writhed as an orgasm and ejaculation wracked it. His stomach and navel shook a bit in front of my face, but I kept locked and focused, continuing to lick and suck.

Two blasts of warm, thick, stringy semen shot out from his penis tip onto his floor, catching a bit of my forearm.

He let out a clearly audible moan and then let his head drop, panting. I licked his navel a few more times, causing several more spasms of cum to spew out. I felt more of it hit my forearm and my upper chest, getting my T-shirt wet.

The sight of him coming was all I needed to lose control myself. I pulled my shaft out of my pants and stroked myself until I came on his living room floor, my cum landing among his. At least three or four jets shot out of me. And then I rested the side of my head on his still moist stomach.

"Do you wanna sleep over?" Ethan said almost breathlessly.

"Oh, absolutely," I said softly.

And so, the two of us, sloppy with semen and saliva, made our way to his bedroom, shutting off the floor lamp in the living room, then the bedroom overhead light, then the nightstand light. I was completely naked by this point; I like sleeping in the nude. He continued to wear only the crop-top to bed which was so fucking sexy to me.

He pulled the sheets back and climbed in, with me eagerly following him. Once we were both in bed, thoroughly under the covers, he wrapped his arms around me and gave me the warmest, fullest embrace I think I'd ever had from anyone, ever, in my life. He kissed my right cheek with a quick peck and rested his head on my shoulder.