Today I’m not talking about Bears – a highly celebrated and prized segment of the gay community. A Bear may have a big hairy belly, but many do not. And while you can have a big hairy belly and identify as a Bear, if you are hairless (furless) and have a big belly then you cannot. For the purposes of this post we will just concentrate on those big bellies – hairy or not – and not whether they identify or qualify as Bears. Bears will most likely be a future topic featured here on Acquired Tastes. Today, it’s all about the bellies.
Scope of Activity:
The sexual objectification of a man with a big, round, protruding stomach, known as a belly. May include pot bellies and beer bellies. Does not include slight tummies, pooches, or paunches.
Involves: a male licking or rubbing with his hands or genitals another male’s big, round, protruding belly.
The Official Line:
Is there one? I couldn’t find it, but maybe I’m not looking in the right places. Yes, there are sites devoted to big bellied men, on how to create your own big belly, and how much the big bellied love their bellies, but there doesn’t seem to be anything definitive, like a term assigned or a Wikipedia page devoted to it. So, I’m thinking this Acquired Taste is way on the fringe things – with a small, but devoted following that remain silent. (Maybe they like it and plan on keeping it that way.)
I’ve watched numerous videos on Xtube of men bringing themselves to orgasm by rubbing their dicks on an exercise ball or soccer ball. Rubbing one’s dick on a big belly pretty much accomplishes the same thing; the difference being that exercise balls and soccer balls are inanimate objects with their own psychological associations (sports, fitness), while that belly is very much attached to a man with feelings, needs and desires. Therefore, I feel it’s important not to separate the belly of the man from the man. In a way, this pushes us close to Bear territory, but as mentioned before, not all big bellied men are Bears.
I’m not sure what would cause one to fixate on the belly. There’s a part of me that admires a very pregnant woman’s belly; I like its shape and what it represents. Perhaps I’ve transferred those feelings – an appreciation of the life force and globe-shaped things - to our very non-pregnant male counterparts, but I doubt it. More likely? I just want something hard and round to rub my dick on.
There are two kinds of big bellies; hard and squishy. One is not better than the other, but the one doing the beholding may definitely have a preference. For me? Squishy doesn’t cut it. I equate squishy flesh with fatty flesh, and fat does not turn me on. A hard belly, on the other hand can be a thing of wonder for yours truly. Granted, a lot of my attraction depends upon what the belly is attached to. A masculine demeanor is important to me when it comes to worshipping a big belly. A big bellied queen is not going to trip my trigger and will actually find me scurrying from the room.
When it comes to sex I have always possessed the ability to think outside the box. The accepted norms and practices, while not without their charms, simply aren’t enough to keep my personal fires raging. I view experimentation as an opportunity to explore the confines of my sexual psyche, opening me up to new possibilities, sometimes finding joy in something that others all too easily dismiss. So I’m careful not to knock it until I’ve tried it, which makes for some less than comfortable moments (clothes pins, fisting, spanking), but stretching my whore-rizons continues to remain a passion of mine.
As a teen, my experimentation was completely limited to self-play. Therefore, my penis came in contact with many different substances and surfaces. One of my favorite surfaces? Bean bag chairs. I’m sure I discovered this quite accidently and was always very careful to clean up afterwards. The amount of noise involved somewhat alarmed me, but I kind of got off on how sweaty I got bouncing away on them. Perhaps the enjoyment of that type of frottage transferred itself over to big bellies?
At some point, a big, hard, round belly became a thing of wonder for me. I enjoy caressing it from below as I’m sucking the dude’s dick and marvel at the belly’s firmness and shape. If it’s hairy that is also a huge plus. It’s like a giant beach ball or smooth melon. Even the way the belly button is stretched or protruding is of interest to me. Where did this fascination come from?
Not sure. My maternal grandfather had a huge, round, hard belly… but I never liked him much (hated him) and certainly didn’t think he was sexy in the least.
It could trace back to an issue of Time magazine that featured a picture of Ugandan dictator Idi Amin sitting, wearing a tiny thong. The image of that giant, black belly fascinated me and I certainly, on some level, sexualized that image, probably equating a big belly with supreme power. Idi Amin was a bad man. He had a huge belly in a country where there were lots of people starving to death. Something tells me my adolescent mind didn’t take that into account when jerking off to that picture.
My actual encounters with the big bellied have been few. As I search my mind trying to recall those encounters I am pretty sure that they were all situations where I was horny, there was no one else available, and I thought, “Well, I might as well make the best of it”. Still, they don’t count as mercy fucks, because I do remember getting off on their bellies.
There was that giant trucker I fucked in an outhouse at a wayside rest in the middle of Iowa. I mentioned him previously here: http://wonderlandburlesque.blogspot.com/2011/01/acquired-tastes-chapter-iii-tea-rooms.html
His belly was furry and huge (his dink, not so much). There was barely room for the two of us in that two-seater, but somehow we both managed to get off. I liked his beard and his macho, biker attitude, and since it was a definite first for me, of course I was game. Sexually, I have found that once I start in on something, I am more than likely going to see it to its conclusion. Which helps explain why I hung in there when I met a dude I call Massage Guy.
Massage Guy hit me up on-line one horny Friday evening many years ago. He didn’t have a picture on-line or one he could send me, but this was during a time when I would meet people without pics. In those instances, if I was horny enough, their stats added up to something I might not want to miss out on, and they made for pleasant on-line chatting I was game. He met all three criteria and so we agreed to meet at his place. We both claimed to be really good with our hands and the dude had a massage table, so I was looking forward to a little mutual rubbing.
After driving forever all the way out to some bumfuck western suburb I stumbled on his residence. It was one of those condo units surrounded by a million other units that look exactly alike; a Stepford Wives wet dream if ever there was one. Still in awe at the lengths I’d just driven in order to get laid, nothing could have prepared me for what greeted me at the door. My athletic, muscular, 150 lb, forty-something with a crew cut, turned out to be a slump-shouldered, pasty-skinned, melty-looking man sporting a spiky, weird eagle’s nest on his noggin. It seemed the only muscles he had ever worked out were the ones lining his stomach. There, in the middle of his somewhat slight frame, sprang one of the roundest tum-tums I have ever laid eyes on. He invited me in, and since I’d driven a good distance I decided I might as well at least get a few kinks (no pun intended) worked out and a happy ending before heading back into the night.
Massage Guy took me down into his lower level where his massage table was set up. I remember feeling really cramped, but that could just be because his belly kept pushing at me as he was bent over working my back with his hands. It probably also had something to do with the length of the massage table being flush against a wall. Given these special limitations, the massage ended up being quite good. The combination of the feel and scent of the oil, the mundane new age music that played, the glow of the candles, and the warmth generated by his hands got to me, rendering me relaxed and… much to my surprise, hard as a rock. As I rolled onto my back I kept my eyes closed, not wanting the sight of my host to spoil my mood. His hands roamed over the length of my rigid digit and explored the depths of my ass crack without much commentary on his part, which is a good thing, as it would have negatively impacted my horny.
After a point, I realized this dude had no intention of just getting me off… he wanted more. I wasn’t into the dude physically, so I had to get off that table or remain in a compromising position not to my liking. As I sat up and prepared to swing my legs off the table, Massage Guy managed to wedge his way between them, causing my fuck stick to come into direct contact with his magic belly melon. This caught me totally off guard, first of all, because I felt trapped and secondly, because when my dick came in contact with his bulbous tummy it sent a jolt of sexual excitement running through my body. Further attempts to get off the table only caused my dick and balls to rub up against him even more and that sort of sealed the deal, for me; I knew exactly how I was going nut. Frottage can be a wonderful thing.
Grabbing his upper arms, I pulled him into me, held him there, and began up gyrate up and down on that hard, round surface. I felt like a 70’s female porn star, generating heat by writhing about while becoming vocally orgasmic. It wasn’t all an act, for after about ten minutes, I blessed his chest and belly with a generous rain of hot spunk. After luxuriating in the smell, sight and heat for a bit, a switch flipped to the off position in my head and… I was done. Moving swiftly, I began shoving my legs into my jeans in order to make a swift exit. He asked if I planned to make good on my promise of a mutual massage. Shooting him a tight grin, I begged off, explaining that he had done such a good job on me that I was just absolutely spent and had no strength left. Thanking him, I fled to the safety of my car as quickly as I could.
I felt a little bad about my hasty exit, but not much. If a dude lies about their physical stats I figure they get what they deserve – sometimes that means a door slammed in their face, sometimes a polite rejection, and sometimes a torso full of cum with no reciprocation.
Since then, I have been with several hot, big bellied dudes. Generally, they each have something else going for them besides just their belly; they’re masculine, charming, have a handsome face, a great smile, a twinkle in their eyes and a nice sized dick. They also tend to be over 6’ 2” – dudes taller than me? Rare. So it tends to be something I’m drawn to. The size equals power equation comes into play and the part of me that likes to be dominated gets an opportunity to ride the wave, or, in these cases, ride some big bellies.
But it’s a rare happening.
This year, I’ve run into a bevy of guys sporting big, round, hard bellies at the warehouse parties. I look, but don’t touch and if they try to touch me, I scurry away. Why? Well, and I know the lighting is not good, but even so, I don’t appreciate their faces. There’s nothing charming to be found there. They wear leather and jock straps, most sporting tantalizing fur – so the macho thing is definitely there, but it just doesn’t add up for me.
Maybe because it’s in front of other people. Maybe if they dragged me away to some dark, back corner, I’d let them do me. Maybe I’d get into it… but I doubt it. I think it’s because an environment like the warehouse lacks intimacy and that’s needed, for me, for this particular kink. Kissing and cuddling play an important role. Warmth is also an important ingredient and the warehouse tends to be rather chilly.
Or maybe I have just not been in the right mood yet.
On occasion one of these guys will come over to me as I’m lounging in a chair or busy going down on some other dude and I will pay a bit of lip service to their cock, but after a few minutes I spit it out, like a bit of beef not to my liking. They always wander away a bit bewildered, as do I. I’m not sure what that’s about. They fit a kind of gay archetype, but something is lacking. Who knows… maybe I’ll surprise myself. Also, I should point out that not all of the big bellied dudes at the warehouse are all hot to get with me. A good deal of them ignore me – I’m not their type. In those cases, I walk among them like a shadow as they get busy with something more to their liking. Perhaps, because they are a type, they only respond well to their own.
Big bellies are sexy, in a way. I admire those that just stick theirs out there for all to see. Their pride is definitely kind of sexy. As I mentioned previously, they have websites devoted to them, so they definitely have a following. There is something symmetrically appealing to them, but for me a belly alone isn’t enough. For me, there’s got to be more going on – a personality, a situation, a manner of speech… something. Otherwise why not just use an exercise ball, or a soccer ball or… a bean bag chair? I’ll tell you why not… because I’m not stuck in adolescence. My developed, maturing mind demands more than just a surface to get off on. I need warmth. I need a smile, some charm and atmosphere.
As for my own stomach, I hate it and do a minimum of 200 crunches a day to try and keep on top of it. It’s a constant battle, one I’m never sure I’m winning. So while I admire them on others I know having a big belly is not for me. As I mentioned previously, there are a number of websites devoted to how to get one – as in, diet tips on how to develop your own big belly. I find them a tad disturbing – just as the idea of getting sexual gratification from force feeding someone to certain weight strikes me as something that is fundamentally wrong. But, hey, that’s just my opinion – to each their own.
I guess it all comes down to fat and how you view it. Or, in this case, rub your dick on it.
Next week: Bondage