The Orange (A Fetish Fable)

But me? I was staring at navels. I was enjoying it, but I wasn't finding anyone in person. I mean, when gays go a stripper bar, the dancers aren't about waving their bellybuttons in the face of guys like me -- they're wagging a big dick when they want big tips. They teasingly pull open their briefs for patrons to drop in fives, tens and twenties, but one never sees dancers in full shirts, pulling them up to show off their navels for folding money.

I wondered if all fetishes were like this. Fetishes are intense but, at the same time, kind of isolating. Yes, you might find someone who "gets" you. Even rarer, you might meet someone who has your same exact fetish the exact same way -- that would be like matching six numbers in the lotto.

***

It was starting to get cooler outside as fall approached. People were starting to migrate to indoor activities. Hoops, clubbing, shopping.

I felt the urge to move indoors also. I knew I wouldn't see as many bellybuttons outside, but the neat thing about my fetish, as demonstrated in the weeks since sucking down that navel orange, is that a bellybutton can poke into the open air, "peek-a-boo" style. Such surprises made the moment even more erotic to me, maybe because it struck me as a bit naughty.

Almost on a lark, one Friday, I decided to hit a roller rink. Roller rinks were hugely popular during the 1980's but -- largely with the advent of rollerblading -- fell into relative disfavor culturally. But we had one rink in my area, a place I hadn't been in years, and I decided to go.

The place had two sessions a night -- one that started at 6pm, and a second one that started at 8:30pm and ran until its 10 o'clock close. I elected to go for the late session. Walked up to the admission booth, plopped my money at the window, and walked through the door to the skate rental area.

As I was lacing up, I looked around. It looked like it was going to be a good night attendance-wise, but not overly crowded. That was good because it would allow room for me to maneuver and also reduce collisions. It would also, of course, allow more lines of sight to ogle any hotties that might show up.

The music began blasting over the speakers. 80's hits, some of my personal favorites. I wobbled onto the main floor and began doing loops, enjoying the tunes, the colored lights, the energy of everyone reveling in rolling motion.

As I was making another turn, I saw at the snack bar -- there's always a snack bar -- a hottie with frizzy, dirty blond hair -- some brown, some dark blond, a nice mix. He appeared to be about my height (good for hugging) with an average but attractive build. He was sporting a black half-shirt cut about as perfectly as it could -- about two inches of waist showed, revealing a flat ab area, and a perfect, oval innie bellybutton.

I almost ran into the wall.

I stopped myself in time, and took another look over. He appeared to be chatting up the server at the counter. Were they friends? Was he just nice? I realized I was starting to stare at him, shook myself out of it, and started skating again.

The next lap around, I noticed a little more. He seemed pretty relaxed, approachable. He wasn't one of those pretty boys who thought they were "all that." I directed my gaze at him again. This time, for a split second, our eyes met. He gave a slight smile.

Well, I had to go talk to him now.

So, trying to make it look as natural as possible, I went around a third lap, coasted off the floor, rolled up to the snack bar and...he wasn't there.

Timing has never been my strong suit in life.

"You're a pretty sharp skater! Especially to R&B!" I heard over my shoulder.

I turned around, and almost lost my breath. It was him. And OMG, he was even cuter close up.

I gulped.

"That's my music," I said, certain I had a perverted looking grin on. "I totally needed to hear some tonight."

"I heard that," frizzy dirty blond said. "You come here a lot? I'm a regular; I've never seen you before."

"No," I responded, "I felt like shaking things up -- you know, just do something."

I was trying not to stare at his bellybutton, because I knew if I did, (a) he'd think I was a total perv, and (b) my woody might be too big to ignore and he'd run away. But it was really, really hot.

"You like my shirt?" frizzy dirty blond said in a perky chirp. "Totally 80s!"

"Oh, I absolutely do," I answered, hoping my tongue wasn't hanging out of mouth, panting. "I always liked that kind of shirt. I never would have worn one, though."

"Why not?"

"Didn't have the body for it. I guess I've always been self-conscious."

"I don't have much of a body, either. I have no abs."

I wouldn't say that!, I thought loudly.

Frizzy dirty blond continued, "But it's not about that for me. I wanted to put on something that felt fun, something that would make people steal looks at me. People are fun to fuck with sometimes."

I let out an admiring, brief sigh. "Well...you have that down pat. It took my breath away when I saw you."

"Awwww, that's sweet. I'm Nathan!" He stuck his hand out to shake.

I took it. "Hi, Navel."

Shit! What a gaffe.

"I mean, hi, Nathan. I'm Jack. I'm also tongue-tied."

He laughed gently. "It's okay. Crop-tops are about bellybuttons!"

"Yes...yes, they are, and if I might say so, yours is pretty."

"Thanks," Nathan perked up. "I rather like it. It's kind of unusual for a guy -- this is the kind you normally see on a bikini model, it being so long and deep and all."

I almost came, just hearing him talk about all this. I was hoping he didn't see my bulge.

"Hey," Nathan continued, "I come here all the time, you wanna go somewhere else? There's a cute little coffee place a stone's throw from here."

"Yeah, that sounds great," I said. I couldn't believe my good fortune, meeting this guy. And all I had to do was to have had the courage to follow my attractions, what lured me, from within.

"Did you drive?" he asked. "Can I go with you? I live close to here, so I walked. The place is close, but not that close."

"Absolutely. Let's turn in our skates and go."

So we sat down again, removed our skates, and went to the rental counter to return the skates in exchange for our street shoes. I looked over my shoulder at the still full, still festive rink behind us, the electronic sign over the rink floor reading "All Skate". I hadn't been to this place in years, and now it seemed just a bit magical.

The night air was a bit cool. The humidity that was present most nights was long gone. It felt nice. We got to my car, and I unlocked the passenger side to let Nathan in. I walked to the other side of the car, to see that he had reached over and unlocked it. I've always thought that small gesture was a sign of class, or so I'd been told.

"You'll have to tell me where this place is," I said, starting the car.

"It's real easy. Just turn right and drive, I'll let you know when we're close -- which won't be long."

We turned on the boulevard and headed over the railroad tracks. A coffee place with a neon sign, "Caffeine", was on the right. I found the driveway and turned in. It was a cute little place. Seating for about 20, with a patio out back, and a classic indie coffeehouse feel -- mismatched chairs, sofas, and tables that looked like they'd been pinched from a thrift shop. It was my kind of place.

We went to the counter to order.

"May I get this?" I asked him.

"I was going to get this," Nathan smiled.

"Okay, I'll let you, but next time is on me, for sure."

"For sure." He pulled a debit card out and slipped it in the card reader, whizzed his finger across the touch screen in signing, and we were on our way.

"Inside or outside?" he said.

"It's a nice evening, how about outside on the patio?"

"Yeah, it shouldn't be too crowded out there. Let's do that."

We walked to a back door which led to a small patio with three or four tables with chairs. I walked to the table farthest away from the door. I figured if we were going to get into some rather intimate talk, we should be as far out of earshot from other patrons as possible.

I decided to start, as cautiously as I had with Zack.

"So...you seem like someone who gets out a lot," I began to Nathan. "Have you ever met anyone who has a sexual thing for ... stuff that's non-traditional, I'll call it."

"Not much," Nathan said with a light shrug. "I'm pretty open-minded. I was raised that way, schooled that way, always thought that way. Never dogmatic."

"I'm going to go out on a limb and guess that you've never had your bellybutton complimented before."

Nathan put on a goofy grin and rolled his eyes.

"Actually, I have."

Really?

"From both chicks and guys, it's surprising. Maybe that's why I feel so at home in crop-tops. I'm so used to having people look at it."

"Well, a deep part of my sexual psyche is all about bellybuttons. They've always turned me on. I've never understood why. I just know that I've felt very, very deeply for them. It makes no sense."

"I know what you mean," Nathan countered, softly. "I'm turned on by them, too."

You could have knocked me over with a feather.

"But, like, for real? I mean, there's guys I've run into who say they're into them and they're really into the abs, or pierced nips, or something around it, but not -- not 'it' itself. I mean, for years, when I've seen a bared bellybutton, that's all I've needed to seclude myself and jack off."

"Yeah, for real," Nathan replied. "I love looking at them, too. That's how I get off. I never thought I'd run into anyone else who even might have had the slightest chance of being into it, also."

He paused and gave me a "whaddya-think-of-that" smile. I exhaled hard. I couldn't believe it. This was better than matching six numbers in the lotto.

"I think we're both amazed that lightning struck," Nathan offered.

"I know I am," I stammered.

"So how did you know you had this?" he asked me.

"Well..." I hesitated, thinking back. "I think it was something I ate."

"Huh?" Nathan went.

"Nevermind," I corrected myself, "I had a really deep, vivid dream the other night, and it was a replay of an event I experienced in college, an event I remember really well.

"We had this really rambunctious guy named Greg on our dorm room floor. He wasn't a bad guy, just someone who was always...into stuff. So we were all chilling on a picnic blanket on the grass near the phys-ed facility. It was a nice enough day, mostly sunny, kinda warm. He was friends with this other guy from another floor, Jon. Jon was a bit of an asshole, but that didn't stop me from wanting to be friends with him.

"Anyway, they both knew this chick in the women's dorm named Lila. Lila was pretty and bouncy and peppy. I cannot begin to imagine how it happened, but George decided he wanted to -- get this -- wrestle Lila."

"Wrestle her?" Nathan made a face.

"Yeah, wrestle her. I mean, these are nerdy guys we're talking about. Anyway, all of us were on the picnic blankets and everything, and it's Greg, Jon, and Lila, all talking about this wrestling 'game' they were going to do -- the three of them had this really strange dynamic. I have no idea how he looped her into it.

"And Jon tells me -- since I was nearby -- that he wants me to be the 'referee'. Now, you have to understand, I was one of those guys who got picked last or close to last for just about anything athletic."

"Awwww..." Nathan cooed gently, looking sympathetic.

"Well, Greg and Lila get close to each other like they're ready to go at it, and Jon yells GO, and the other two are going at it, giggling and groping and tugging and everything, and they're down on the blanket, wriggling around and both of them are laughing, Lila making taunting remarks about George's manhood or something....I'm trying to take my role as a referee seriously, even though I didn't say a word, I was just glad to be included in something...

"And at one point -- and I'll never forget this -- Greg pulls Lila's blouse out of her pants, and her bellybutton is showing, this pretty little outie thing, and he points at it with his finger and laughs as if he had conquered her or something. It was apparently his goal to dominate her like that. I guess Jon wanted to see that happen, too. They didn't hurt her at all -- she got up laughing and swatted him a good one on his forearm. They got up a few seconds later; he, the winner and she, the erstwhile loser."

Nathan continued his steady gaze at me, intrigued.

"But in that moment in which her bellybutton was exposed, I got a hard-on. I was turned on. I had seen this navel in a moment of play, perhaps inappropriately, and it had to have to do with how it happened, I'm guessing. I played that scene where her blouse was untucked dozens of times in my head after that day -- I guess because I didn't understand it."

Pause.

"And then I woke up. Couldn't make heads nor tails of it."

"So that was the beginning of it?" Nathan asked.

"I guess. I mean, think about it -- what are the odds that anyone would be turned on by something like that? It's not like he pulled out her breasts or something."

"So how'd you get to guys?"

"Oh, I'm getting to that, stick with me," I said, smiling slyly. "So after that one dream, I had a second dream -- in which when any females had their bellybuttons showing, like when they stretched or something in a chair in the classroom, I'd get hard. I felt guilt about it -- my folks were churchgoers from the deep South -- but I couldn't ever stop looking.

"Oh!" I slapped the table between us, realizing another memory. "There was this one chick who had shoulder-length, caramel hair. She was wearing this blue and white, frilly halter top, and she had this oval innie that just barely peeked out as she drifted down the hall of one of the buildings on campus. I never forgot her, either.

"Well, after college I decided to join a gym. And for the first time, I got to see guys naked on a regular basis. It was a really wild thing, too, because I had these deep, unmet, emotional needs, and I guess a part of me thought guys could somehow fix that. I had zero confidence with girls."

"Hmm..." Nathan considered.

"I'd begin seeing guys with their bellybuttons showing and where I used to be transfixed with females, that completely changed. I even had a fantasy or two about one of the gym pool lifeguards, completely naked in the men's showers after his shift was over. I didn't even know what happened with exposed cocks, it was just hot for me to imagine guys who were naked or had their navels exposed.

"And from that point on, it just built and built. I'd see guys stretching in class, bellybutton showing, and I'd get a raging hard-on. I'd even masturbate in a stall at the gym sometimes, I just couldn't hold it anymore. I felt incredibly freaky and guilty but I just loved it. I didn't tell anybody about it for years."

Nathan sat up and smiled brightly.

"So how'd it happen for you?" I asked him.

"Well, it's funny. You keep mentioning about how you stretched in class and stuff. I guess there was some of that for me also. I was in the school library one afternoon, and I stretched, and something led me to rub my stomach. So my stomach is bare, my shirt is up, my hand is kinda massaging my middle in a circle or whatever, and I my hand made contact with my bellybutton."

Now I was leaning forward.

"And it felt...nice. Like, really, really nice." Nathan giggled. "Like, I didn't wanna stop doing it. It's a good thing I was in a corner of the library where no one could see me, they'd have dragged me out in a straitjacket," and he laughed. I smiled.

"And I took my index finger and started making circles in my bellybutton and it was totally sensitive. It felt so, so good. And I started getting faster and faster, and pressing my finger a little deeper and a little harder, and then I felt...my pants get moist."

I waited with baited breath.

"I had made myself come."

"Wow!"

"Yeah, wow is right. I started to notice other guys' bellybuttons after that, and each time I'd see one I'd wonder, I wonder what his feels like. I wonder if he'd come if I felt it. I was such a little pervert!" he cackled with glee.

"You weren't the least bit mortified?" I asked him.

"Oh, hell, no," he said. "I've always been real open about everything. I guess I got a real gift there, because I could just enjoy what I felt without any inhibitions. And I totally did."

"Did you ever run into anyone else into it? I mean, anyone else at all?"

Nathan shook his head. "Never. Not until tonight."

I inhaled and exhaled deeply. This was too amazing.

"Why do you think I -- we -- got this sexual taste?" I wondered aloud.

"I kinda think it's a sign of genius," he replied, flatly. "We get our kicks almost all the time, almost anywhere, and no one is the wiser. Look how many places we can see bellybuttons. You saw mine tonight!"

"Maybe," I continued, "but don't you ever get, like, frustrated? Like, that you can't find another guy in person that has this? I mean, gay guys love cocks, pecs and ass for days, but try to imagine picking someone up because of his bellybutton."

"Perhaps," Nathan shrugged, "but isn't that what you did with me?" He smiled sweetly at me.

"Yeah..." I admitted, rubbing the back of my neck with a bit of discomfort.

"You haven't asked the big question," he said.

"What question is that?"

"Which do you prefer? Innies or outies?"

"Oh..." I began, "I like them ALL. But I guess I have a slight preference for innies over outies, especially if they're oval shaped and vertical and perfect like yours."

Nathan's eyes blinked a thank-you.

"But I won't kid you, I've seen some outies that have made me want to cream my khakis. Big, quarter-size, round ones, smooth on the surface, no hair, just as big and out there as you wanna be."

"Oh, me, too -- I always imagine what it's like to pull and suck on them. I'm one of the few guys you'll ever meet that likes outies."

"Actually, you're right," I said. "I've run into some folks that think that outies are gross. And in some cases, if they're, like majorly disfigured or twisted, I could fit in that camp. But not usually."

"Good point."

"Outies really don't have the best lives growing up, from what I understand. Because their bellybuttons stick out -- and stand out -- so much, they're always getting picked on just because they're different. I'm sure there's some outies that would rock that to the bank, but a lot of them took it pretty hard."

"I bet."

"There was this one gay beach festival I went to, earlier this past summer, and I saw this guy I thought was -- okay, I'll just say it -- he was hot. My kind of hot. And he had this big ol' round outie. And I asked if I could take a picture of it on my phone, because I told him I liked it. He was cool with it.

"And then I got this e-mail from him thanking me, telling me that he used to be real self-conscious about showing his bellybutton in public, and my compliment really made him feel good. I don't think that was about sexual self-image at all, but I still felt good that I'd told him I thought he was a looker because of that."

"Well," Nathan started, "it could have been partly sexual. I mean, you did say it was a gay event, right? What's a beach-style gay event without some good old-fashioned angst about our imperfect bodies?"

I considered it briefly. "Yeah, I guess you have a point, there."

A brief pause. He went on.

"So, what do you think of piercings, tattoos around a navel? Thumbs up or down?"

"Ehhh, I'm not a fan. I don't like anything that's a visual distraction. Tats and rings get in the way."

"My sentiments exactly. I've seen a few rings I like but I wouldn't front one, myself. Too painful to get."