“It’s not. Or at least doesn’t have to be. I mean, I’ll be the first to admit that emotions can be a bitch and they can complicate sex, sure. But sex itself? Not complicated. Two or more bodies doing what bodies do best. It’s fucking glorious.” Canaan spoke with the ease of someone who had probably had way more sex than Renzo and probably never once had an awkward encounter. Lucky fucker.
“Bodies are the problem.” Had he really just said that aloud? Apparently so, because Canaan laughed.
“Okay. You’re really going to have to explain. Because you’re ripped, fit, and I’m able to picture you easily getting into about a dozen—”
“You picture me having sex?” Despite everything, heat rushed south at the knowledge that Canaan fantasized about him.
“Dude. I pictured you having sex like four seconds after you walked into Smoothie Palace the first time. And lemme tell you, my images are good. So spill. What’s wrong with bodies?”
“It’s...weird.”
“Try me. And remember, I’m about to be a medical professional. You’re not going to shock me if something’s unusual with your particular body.”
“It’s not medical exactly. More like anatomy...”
“Which is a class I have this term. So yours is...different?”
Renzo sighed, wishing the highway would swallow him whole, let him escape this conversation that he’d brought on himself. “I’m big, okay?”
“Yeah, I noticed. Pretty sure you could bench-press me, but your size doesn’t scare me.”
“God.” Force of will kept him from turning his eyes heavenward and kept his vision glued to the light traffic ahead of them. In the right lane, semis jockeyed with RVs for position, the Thursday morning traffic easy to manage. Which kind of sucked because he wouldn’t mind an excuse to exit this train wreck of a talk. “I’m going to sound incredibly conceited here, but I’m big. Like hung. Like people-complain-about-it big.”
“You do understand you’ve just ensured that I’m gonna need to see your equipment at some point, right?” Canaan sounded downright giddy. He wasn’t getting it, and Renzo groaned, but that didn’t stop Canaan from continuing to rattle off at the mouth. “If only for my medical professional knowledge. I mean, are we talking porn-star big or medical oddity here?”
“Somewhere between the two?” A dry laugh escaped Renzo’s throat. “I mean I’ve seen guys close to me in porn, sure, but porn costars never complain about sore jaws or things not fitting.”
“Prep is a thing. Lube.” Canaan’s tone was conversational, like they were discussing sandwich toppings and not Renzo’s dick.
“I’ve tried. Trust me. You have no idea how much I would love to be great at sex.”
“Ah. There you go. It’s a perfectionist control-freak thing with you. No one’s great at sex—that’s part of the fun. Weird parts knock together. Things get tangled. People fall off beds. Lube runs out. But then you get lucky, and everything works, and it’s... Nothing like it.” Canaan’s voice got dreamy, and warmth spread across Renzo’s chest. He’d give a lot to be one of the people giving Canaan memories that made him sound like that.
“It hasn’t all been bad sex. Just good seems to be a total crapshoot at best and unlikely at worst, especially if penetration is involved.”
“So skip penetration.” More of that practical advice from Canaan.
“That’s what usually ends up happening. But I still don’t feel great about sex. I mean, I love getting the other person off. So I get them off a couple of times and then usually end up jerking myself off to finish, but I’m never sure it’s good. Like did I get them off enough? And are they feeling bad that I had to jerk it and...” He took a breath if only to stop his brain dump. “I have no idea why I’m telling you all this.”
“Because maybe you’d like to have sex with me,” Canaan said patiently. “And you’re trying—unsuccessfully I might add—to get me to lower my expectations.”
Renzo made a frustrated noise because apparently Canaan was the mind reader, not him, and had figured out shit that Renzo hadn’t even managed to sort through.
“So let’s unpack this—”
“Let’s not waste any more time on my stupid issues.”
“Nothing but time here.” Canaan pointed at the desert passing by. “We’ve got plenty of gas and hours of road to eat up. And they’re not stupid issues. Fascinating perhaps. But not stupid.”
“Calling me fascinating like some new species of bug isn’t helping any.”
“Sorry. So anyway...let me see if I’m following. Penetration hasn’t worked the best for you in the past, but you worry that the wealth of other fun stuff available to try is somehow less-than and even when you go all sex god and induce multiple orgasms, you’re not feeling great about what just happened.”
“More or less.”
“So the universe blessed you with giant dong, and really, what you’re saying is that you feel...cheated? Left out? Inadequate?”