"You're nuts," Oliver supplied helpfully, with a swift duck as if he was about to be slugged. He shrugged and shook his head. "The earthquake line was cheesy, but also we are in the middle of an earthquake aftershock series. Yes, I do want to have sex with you, but right now isn't the time to do anything for reasons that have nothing to do with either of our mental states."
Oliver leaned an arm on the table when Tommy sat again, adjusting his chair so he was facing Tommy better. "Look, here's what I'm thinking, and tell me if I'm wrong: you're worried about the physical aspects and I'm worried about the emotional ones, both of which are completely different than anything we've dealt with in the past. You know that I love you and always have, but now I like-like you, to use Junior High terms since it's the clearest way to explain it. As I said earlier, this relationship feels natural, which I hadn't expected, and maybe I'm waiting for the other shoe to drop instead of seizing what's in front of me and going for it. I don't really know. I'm probably just being stupid.
"As for the physical, it's weird until it's not, and that's about as accurate a description there is. Your first thought is about cocks in asses, because that's just where our minds go. Then you see a cock, live and in person and right there, and it's the weirdest thing in the world, until you touch it and you find it's just like touching your own. So you do what you normally do when your hand's on your own cock, and there's a rush of power because you can see what you're doing to the other guy, practically bringing him to his knees with only your hand. Then there's a hand on your cock and it knows exactly what it's doing - no gentleness, no tentativeness, no wishing it was just a little bit harder or faster. Kissing falls by the wayside because it feels so good and it also becomes a competition to see who can get whom off first. And then you're coming, or he's coming, and the mess on your hand isn't anything new."
Oliver remembered his first time as he spoke. Flying high on coke, in the car with a blonde guy from a club. It was one of the best orgasms he'd had when he'd been that age, and it led him to seeking out men on occasion.
"I like giving oral sex, even if the taste of latex isn't that great. With women it's foreplay, with men it's the main event, and again its a power trip and usually becomes a competition, unless you're having a lazy high and your mouth is getting fucked instead, which I'll admit got me off more.
"I've topped but I've never bottomed, and I learned that it's a pain in the ass - pun not intended - to have anal sex. That was with the ballet dancer. He explained how much preparation goes into it before you even go out, and he said some of the time it doesn't even feel good making the effort worthless. It seems more trouble than its worth, when a fingering hits the right spot every time, or oral sex or hand jobs are a guarantee."
Oliver was starting to hate the earthquake now, because all this talking about sex was making him hard. "What do I expect from you with regard to sex? Nothing. What do I want from you? To enjoy it. Does making out with you get me raring to go? Big time. I've just haven't done anything about it because... well, I'm stupid. And maybe a bit afraid that it'll screw everything up."