I was just lying there reading, and my hands wandered absently, scratching invisible itches, examining a rough patch of skin, worrying with the blemish on my chin. At some point, my finger found it’s way into my navel, and some suction was created when I pulled it out-odd– It had been a little moist in there. And I came away with a prize, an infinitesimal little wad of something that looked rather like a dust bunny.
This was sufficient distraction from the article I was reading, and I dug around inside my navel again, quickly aware of the irritation I was causing. On a whim, I threw the sheet off me, and went to the bathroom where I dug out a bottle of peroxide and a handful of Q-tips.
Returning to the bed, I dunked the cotton wand into the solution and placed the Q-tip into my navel, twirling it a bit. I could hear the fizzle from up on the top of my body where my ears were, from way down there where my navel was. Bubbling. I knew what that meant. It was cleaning something. Whenever those scrubbing bubbles appear, you know there’s some germ warfare in the offing. I mean, it is a small, puckered, wrinkled, dark and moist place. It stands to reason that it would need periodic purification.
I was pleased that I was taking such detailed care of myself. But during my navel swabbing endeavors, I noticed that when I pushed the Q-tip a little further and moved it around, I got this odd sensation in my private area. Now, I’d never considered my navel as an erogenous zone, and I wondered if I was the first one to discover this. Likely, it has been included in the collective consciousness for some time. Perhaps it was even in the Karma Sutra somewhere, if I could just muster the patience to read it. But there it was, a dubious and unsettling erotic discovery. One which I feel sure I will discover each time the old navel needs a scrubbing bubble or two.