A gay story: Intersection It was mid-afternoon, another hot day in the summertime. I was driving from the east side of town to the west, to run some errands.
My city is a large metropolis with several large, urban universities. One such institution with over 40,000 students straddles one of the major roads that I use often. It’s a large but not necessarily sprawling campus with much of what one might expect of a large university — oak tree-lined streets, modern and old architecture, a massive sports stadium proudly in view of passers-by, and numerous surface parking lots — with signs and banners of in red and white, the school colors, festooning a long line of lightpoles, seemingly standing at attention.
The drive across campus is generally a pleasant one. It is picturesque, but not in a natural beauty kind of way. It’s an urban campus, so the design decisions are more practical than aesthetic. I like being reminded that such a place of higher learning exists, right in the middle of town.
The campus is, effectively, divided into four quadrants by the two major streets that intersect in the middle of it, both three-lane, two-way streets. It can take two minutes or more for the traffic lights to change, to allow all traffic through. There’s multiple signal fixtures, including left-turn signals, and those pedestrian signals with red-orange hands upheld next to a ticking seconds-only clock.
I happened to roll up to this intersection on one particular hot day. There wasn’t a whole lot of traffic around, as it was between sessions. Mine was the only car at the light. The sidewalks were pretty much deserted.
I was lost in a daydream when a cute guy broke my peripheral vision, starting to cross the street towards my car. He was probably about 5′ 8″, not a very tall guy, but not scrawny. He had wavy brown hair with a decent amount of curl, and fairly masculine features in the face, but with a touch of the innocence that comes with being a young adult. Fairly thin brows, squinty brown eyes and a mouth with thin lips completed his face. Visually speaking, he was the kind of eye candy I always notice.
It was what he was wearing, however, that stirred me. As he crossed in front of my car, he briefly struck a “vogue” pose, directed at me. He correctly figured out I was checking him out. This one guy had a crop-top on, a standard gray football practice jersey. No number or pattern was on it; it was an ordinary crop-top one might see at a gym or in a public park.
His midriff was clearly showing as he passed in front of my windshield. He had a flat, undeveloped stomach on which was centered a lovely oval innie of about an inch in height, with a sensually dark and deep interior. This area, a strip of skin of about three inches in height, was enough to awaken my crotch.
As my eyes were recording this hottie treat I got in the middle of an otherwise unspectacular day, I found myself wishing I’d had my camera to take a snapshot of him as he passed. But I just continued to stare, transfixed, at his general beauty and navel exposed to the humid summer air.
Only one other time I’d been on this campus, I’d seen a guy in a crop-top with his navel showing. I had signed up to run a 5K race on the school’s grounds years ago, and I went by to pick up my number packet. I recall another guy, taller (probably about 5′ 10″), with darker, straight hair in bangs and more masculine appearance — thicker brows and a more chiseled jaw. Sort of like a wrestler, but taller.
That guy, like the twink that I was watching cross the street, was also sporting a gray crop-top that was cut perhaps a bit higher to reveal more like four or five inches of his midsection, again relatively undeveloped, but flat and healthy. This particular guy was fronting a large, round outie bellybutton, easily the size of a quarter.
That guy from my past made my crotch stir, also. There is just nothing like seeing an un-self-conscious hot guy on a college campus, in good shape, with a handsome face and head of hair, wearing a crop-top unapologetically showing his bellybutton to anyone who dared to look at it.
Was this newer hottie I was eyeing an athlete? Was he an engineering major? A drama student? Or did he just throw on a crop-top because it was another hot day in the summertime?
As I was pondering this mystery, he paused at me to wave, big smile, as he neared the curb. I waved back, rolling down my window, then beckoned him over. As this exchange was happening, the light changed back to red. I had two more minutes. No one was behind me.
I asked if he was a model. Amused (in a bashful way) he said he wasn’t. I told him he should have been. I asked if he’d be interested in doing photos with me sometime. He said he was game. (Must have been an Aries or Leo. They love cameras. And the cameras love them, I have observed.)
He asked if he had to get naked to do the photos. I told him no, I wanted to photograph him as he was already clad, crop-top and all. He was fine with that.
I asked his social media account handle. He gave it to me. I told him I’d send him a message. Ryan. His name was Ryan. I introduced myself, then drove off, looking forward to our next encounter.
Later in the day I found Ryan online. He had a couple of pics of himself in the crop-top as well as many others where he was shirtless completely. He had a goofy vibe — playful, even. I really wondered what his major was.
I sent a message to him, proposing what I had in mind, and what I’d be willing to pay him. He was happy to hear that money was involved, students often being low on funds.
I told him we could meet in the parking lot near that intersection at a certain time on Saturday. He punched it into his smartphone. I reminded him of the car I drove and what I looked like so he wouldn’t be spooked. He said he’d remember me. I was flattered.
Saturday arrived. The campus was even quieter than it was when I rolled through during the week, if that was possible, but mercifully not as hot — dryer air, partly cloudy skies, a comfy day for summer. I pulled into the parking lot near the intersection, and parked fairly close to the corner where I had spotted Ryan originally. As I was waiting on him, I played back the whole subtly erotic scene in my mind, enjoying the vision of his bared navel once again.
I heard someone calling my name a short distance away, breaking my reverie. It was Ryan, on an electric scooter, heading towards me, fast. He stopped the scooter and stepped off, extending his hand to shake mine.
We chatted a bit about things in general. I asked if he was ready to do this. He said sure. I opened my wallet and showed him the cash I was prepared to pay him at the end. His face lit up.
I got my DSLR camera out of the car. I had him walk a few paces and stand with the scooter. He looks really hot. I had him vary his poses slightly, experimenting — turn the head this way, turn it that way. I can see his navel the whole time, and I am hard. I was hoping he didn’t notice the growing tent in my pants.
I had him move the scooter aside and took a series of images of him with campus buildings in the background. We turned different directions to catch the sun in various orientations.
We talked casually as I was shooting. He asked if I did photos professionally. I told him no, I was “semi-pro”, a fancy term for being serious and doing public shows, but not making money at it. He laughed. I told him my real occupation, an office job, which didn’t seem to impress him as much. Oh well.
He asked if he was going to be famous. Such a twink question. I told him it depended on who sees what I’ve shot. I told him I’ve exhibited at local art shows, but no millionaire has ever begged me for a print at $100,000 or more. He laughed again. I got a few shots of his infectious giggle.
I did perhaps another three dozen pictures. I noticed that Ryan was starting to look at me with what I thought might be deeper feelings of affection. Something about me apparently turned him on, and I sensed it in his eyes. Was it that I was older than him? That I could fish out a short stack of folding money? My personality? I have no idea who likes me or for what. To my knowledge, I have never been anyone’s wet dream.
We finished up. I got my wallet out again, and produced the promised payment, handing it over to him. He didn’t even count it, shoving it into his pocket. He was just pumped he got paid for his looks, I supposed.
He then told me the battery in his scooter was low, and asked if I could I take him back to his place. Of course, I was thrilled to be asked to do this. We got his scooter, folded the handle down and tossed it in my car’s back seat, and off we went. He told me where we were going, and it wasn’t campus housing — he had his own apartment.
We got there, and I figured I’d do the chivalrous thing and bring the scooter to his door. He thanked me and asked if I want to come in. Of course, I said yes, sensing Something Big And Erotic was about to go down. I wouldn’t be wrong.
He unlocked the door, and I carried the scooter in, setting it near his front door near what looked like a small charging station.
Then I had a wacky idea. I told Ryan, “Wait. Can we go out again, and then can I carry you over your threshold?” He was short enough and light enough, and I’ve always wanted to do that with someone I liked. Amazingly, he said that would be cool. So we stepped outside his apartment, pulled the door back closed, and I scooped him up in my arms. He felt good to hold, kind of petite and cuddly. I pushed the door back open with one foot, and ported him inside. He smiled broadly at me the whole time. It was cute as fuck.
After I set him down, he gently wrapped his arms around me in a very sweet, very warm hug. He said nothing. I said nothing. I felt my dick getting even harder than out on the campus.
He reached up for my hands, which I respectfully kept on the shirt fabric itself, not his bared midriff skin. He lowered them so I felt his supple waist. His back was warm, soft, but gently firm. I heard myself breathing slightly heavier.
He unwrapped my arms from around his waist, gently placed his hands on my shoulders, and motioned me to kneel down to where my face was directly in front of his stomach. In what could be described as a telepathic moment, I sensed what he wanted from me.
He brought my head forward so my face and lips were on his stomach and navel, my lips falling right on the oval opening, enjoying his body heat. I instinctively began kissing him there. He didn’t smell at all. I could tell he knew how to clean his bellybutton and stomach.
With my hands, I grasped his sides, getting fully into kissing his stomach and navel. I could hear him panting quietly, with pleasure. I could tell he was enjoying it. I absolutely was. I was almost close to coming.
I went deeper, licking the sides of his navel, enjoying the mild taste of a hint of salty sweat there, my tongue working its way around the shape of it, and back onto his stomach, pausing occasionally to let my eyes enjoy this vision of sexual loveliness. I got slobbery on his stomach, leaving a coating of my own saliva on his midsection.
By this point I noticed that his pants had now developed a bulge. I stroked his shaft gently through the pants with one hand, fingering his innie with my other hand. A moment later, I unzipped his pants and fished out a rather healthy penis, of decent girth, and began to masturbate him with my right hand as I fingered his navel with my left.
I kept this up for several minutes, only occasionally pausing to tease him a bit and kiss him on his innie, which made him grunt for more. When I began to see precum on the tip of the crown of his penis, I knew he was about to blow.
I pressed down more firmly in the deepest part of his innie, doing vertical strokes rather insistently. Within a few of these strokes, he moaned aloud, and I felt his penis give way, with semen jetting out fast and hard, making my hands immediately slippery, scattering globs of his jism on his floor and my T-shirt, even catching my chin with some of it.
I released his shaft, his member still wet with thick, clingy gray-white semen, one string of which dangled defiantly off the underside of his member, the strand a good couple of inches long. I just love guys whose semen is this thick, opaque, clingy.
Now I needed relief. While kneeling, I reached down with my cum-coated hands and pulled out my own dick, fully hard and with its own precum slowly ebbing out. Ryan bent down without hesitation and began masturbating me. For someone who looks like he knew how to handle a gaming console controller, he had surprisingly good technique, not madly twisting my member around like a joystick.
I continued to finger his bellybutton as he stroked me, slowly increasing his strokes. I continued gazing at his bared midriff, his navel, his beautiful overall form, building steam toward an inevitable climax.
At the point of no return, I blew my warm load into his fingers, squirting way more cum than I expected, scattering some on the floor. It felt absolutely amazing, the combined sensation of my fingers on his navel and his fingers around my slippery, now sloppy penis.
I breathed out and let out a brief laugh. “Wow,” was all I could manage.
“You’re really hot,” he said.
“You’re hotter,” I replied.
I had to ask him now.
“What’s your major?”
“Athletics.”
So I was right.
“I love your crop-top. I love your navel.”
“I love it, too. I’ve always had a sensitive bellybutton. You’re the first dude I’ve ever met that got it.”
“But…how did you know I’d be, like, you know…?”
“Oh…” he chuckled. “Um, I have a minor in psych.”
A pause. Our penises were still hanging out, dripping from our lust and desire. There was cum on the floor from both of us, a glorious erotic sight.
He reached for my shoulders to pull me up to standing. And then he pulled me into a hug that was even more snug and warm than the one when I met him to do photos. And we stayed in that blissful, sexy, messy embrace for at least ten minutes, me feeling his arms around my back, me feeling my hands again around his waist, and feeling his wavy brown hair brushing under my nose and lips, his head resting against my chest.
I had never felt so alive.