We returned to silence a moment more. I was happy to talk about sex — gay sex, even — but only if Leo brought it up.
“And, uh,” Leo continued, “the other guy is a bottom, right?”
“Mm-hmm. Some guys can switch. And some guys don’t like intercourse at all.”
“What do they do instead, then?”
I raised a brow at him. “I’m sure you can guess.”
He wouldn’t meet my eyes. “You don’t mind talking about this stuff, do you?”
“No, I don’t mind. Why, do you want to talk about it?”
He didn’t react in a flustered way like some straight guys might. Instead, he shrugged one shoulder. “I guess I’m curious. A lot of the time in straight relationships, it’s kinda obvious what each person will do.”
“Maybe, but not everyone does it that way,” I pointed out. “Some guys like to be pegged by their girlfriends.”
“Right,” Leo said. “But… how did you know you were a top? Trial and error?”
“Pretty much, yeah.”
“Then what kind of guys do you like?”
“We already had this conversation, remember?”
“Yeah, but…you’d really top guys taller than you. Bigger than you?”
“Why not? Like I said before, I like all types of guys. But I have to admit, something is thrilling about having sex with a guy who’s bigger than me.”
Leo glanced at me, his eyes big in the lamplight. “Yeah?”
I nodded. “It’s like…a power rush, sort of? Like if we were in a fight or something, he could totally beat me. I’m not that strong, not compared to other guys.” I gestured to my arms to prove my point. While I tried to keep fit, I didn’t have a habit of lifting heavy iron circles. “So I have this guy who’s bigger and stronger than me, and if he wanted, he could throw me around or pummel me to a pulp. But instead, he’s willingly bending over —” I cut myself short as Leo’s shoulders locked up. “I’m being vulgar.”
“No!” he said. “You’re not being vulgar at all. I asked.”
“Yeah, but.” I shrugged. “It’s hard to speak politely about sex — or should I say coitus.”
Leo cracked a smile. “Copulation.”
“Fornication,” I replied.
“Reproduction,” he said.
“Ugh. That sounds too scientific.”
“True. Love-making?”
I flinched. Lovemaking was kind of an old-fashioned term, the kind of phrase that any of my past hookups would laugh at. But suddenly, it seemed…kind of sweet. Even worse, I realisedI’d never made love before. I’d had sex — all kinds of sex. Intercourse and oral and handjobs. But I’d never made love because, as the word suggested, you had to actually be in love with the person you were having sex with. Right?
Something even worse occurred to me: I’d never slept with someone I liked. Sure, men had been charming and flirtatious, but to really like someone, you had to know them. I didn’t know the men I’d slept with. Not really.
Last year, when I was messing about, I’d avert my eyes in the heat of the moment. Even if the guy was handsome, had a perfect body, or was eager to please. I knew it was rude to look away or close my eyes, but I did it without thinking. Maintaining eye contact with someone who was ultimately a stranger felt like…pretending. Like I’d fast-forwarded through a film to watch the exciting climactic battle scene, but with no understanding of character motivations or stakes.
Some of my friends I partied with last year liked that. I used to like that. It was…convenient.
But now I wanted something different. I wanted to be intimate with someone, someone who I could look into the eyes of as we were stripped, raw and vulnerable.
“Honestly, you’re not vulgar at all,” Leo said, jolting me out of my thoughts. He was still focused on his model, so he hadn’t seen me have a tiny freak out. “Other guys are way worse. It’s all pussy and tits and a whole bunch of other graphic language. So trust me, the way you talk doesn’t bother me at all.”
