Charming Like Us (Like Us 7)

Jane struggled with guys assuming she liked BDSM like her parents, so she often talked about that to me. I listened and recorded the interviews that later would air.

Moffy always said no, whenever I asked if he wanted to talk about sex. What’s it like to be the son of a sex addict? Really, I was happy that he didn’t feel like he had to voice this truth to the world. Maybe this part of his life wasn’t bothering him, then.

But there’s only one person I want to talk to right now. I feel more like a viewer, wishing and hoping to relate to some aspect of another person’s life. And I know that person is Oscar sitting across from me.

“When did you know?” I ask. “I mean, when did you know you were into guys?”

Seriousness draws across his face.

Shit. I scoot forward. “You don’t have to answer if you don’t feel comfortable—”

“That’s not it.” He shakes his head. “I’m fine answering anything you want. It’s just I’m thinking maybe we should have talked about this…before this…” He motions from me to him.

“We didn’t have penetrative sex,” I remind him. “Our agreement is still intact.”

He laughs, one that fades in a softer grin. “I like how you included the word penetrative.”

I smile, leaning back. “Thought it’d help.”

“I’m pretty sure I just penetrated your mouth, Highland.”

Fuck. I take a shallow breath. “No anal sex then?”

“Yeah, but to be entirely clear here, oral sex is still sex. But when I said no sex, I meant anal.” He grimaces at himself. “Sorry, I should’ve been clearer upfront—”

“No, it’s okay,” I assure. “I assumed that anyway.” I summon a brighter smile.

He still looks upset, like he shouldn’t have relied on assumption. “I’m not used to being with someone where this is all new to them. So it’s good if you ask questions because I might forget that you don’t have the answers.” He snaps his fingers. “Penetration.”

Why the hell am I so nervous? I feel like I’m sweating. Like he’s a heartbeat away from calling this off between us, and I’m scared it’ll screech to a halt too fast. “What about it?”

“We don’t have to have it—anal sex. It’s not the end-all, be-all. So if that’s something you never want to try out, that’s cool.”

I haven’t considered that before. Maybe I’m adventurous because the idea of never exploring anal sex bums me out.

But I don’t tell Oscar that. What if he’s saying he’d rather not ever go there with me? I rest my elbow on my knee, my eyes roaming him. “Do you not like it?”

“I love it, but I’d never pressure someone for anal or make it essential.” He scratches his eyebrow. “Alright, honestly, I’ve never been in a relationship without it, but Farrow has.”

“With Moffy?”

Again, Maximoff doesn’t talk about his sex life, but I’m realizing that Oscar knows because of Farrow, and now I feel like a prying fan. Quickly, I add, “Don’t answer that.”

I really don’t need to know.

Oscar nods once, then says, “When did I realize I was into guys?” He repeats my earlier question.

“Yeah.”

“I was fourteen. Every summer, I went to this boxing camp in Upstate New York. There was this guy a year older who I couldn’t get over.” Oscar stares off with a grin and a laugh in remembrance. “We hooked up in Cabin 3 on the last day of camp.” His eyes focus on mine as he clarifies, “We blew each other, nothing further. And ever since then, it was apparent for me that I was attracted to guys. It took me roughly another year to figure out that I was still attracted to girls too.”

A knot is in my chest. “Do you think it’s strange that I’m twenty-seven and just going through that? What you went through at fourteen?”

“No,” he says with raw conviction. “Everyone has their own timeline, Highland. Yours just happens to be now and not back then.”

I ingest his words like liquid courage.

“And if anyone gives you hell for it in your lifetime or invalidates your feelings because they knew their sexuality for longer—don’t listen to them. They can’t tell you who you are. The fact that they’re trying to says more about them than about you.”

I breathe that in. “Were you nervous about coming out to your family?”

He scrunches up his face, almost to say, sort of. “I was more nervous about coming out to friends. I didn’t really think my parents would have a problem since they were adamant about joining the LGBTQ-friendly church. So I came out to them when I was sixteen and asked this boy out from high school—my first boyfriend.”

I nod, but my stomach cramps in a way I didn’t expect. I try to hold onto his assurance about no timelines, but I feel behind. Maybe the overachiever in me is recoiling. “Were they happy?” I wonder.