“Have you ever been with a woman,” Dan asks.
“I’ve had intimate encounters with women but nothing I’d call sex,” I reply carefully.
“How do you define sex?” 
“Depends on the situation,” I pause to sip my beer.  “I guess ideally it’s when everyone involved gets off.  For most, that means an orgasm though it’s not always that straightforward.”
“Do tell,” he teases.
“I’ve had sex where not everybody gets off but that doesn’t mean it didn’t happen.”
He chuckles knowingly, “You mean bad sex.”
I look at him with pity as he wallows in his assumption.  “No.  What I mean is getting something out of sex besides an orgasm.  At times, I walk away more satisfied by someone else’s orgasm than my own.” He scoffs and accentuates an eye roll.  “Granted, it’s not common.  I like orgasms as much as the next person but a dozen sploosh moments for me count as nothing if my partner walks away unsatisfied.  Getting laid might be a passive act for some people but in my mind, sex is a two person activity.”
“So if he pops off in 30-seconds you’re still happy?”
“Not necessarily,” I sigh, my point clearly lost.  Trying a different tact, “Once I went on a date with a sexy guy.  After dinner and drinks, laughing and flirting, we went back to his place.  Things quickly moved to the bedroom and clothes were off before we got there.  He tells me how sexy I am and pulls out a condom with the classic ‘You wanna?’ look in his eyes.  I stood up on the bed, towering over his naked body and purred, ‘Put it on,” without breaking eye contact.  He laid there entranced by my power over him and fumbled to roll the rubber on.  I dropped onto his cock before he pulled his hands away and rolled my hips twice.  A look of sheer terror passes through his eyes as he comes almost immediately.”
Dan winces in commiseration, “Ugh.  No one likes that.”
I smile knowingly.  “Actually, I did.  The energy I got from that power trip was immeasurable.  I’d never had a guy tell me I’m hot and then come because he can’t help himself.”
Dan nods, “I can see that.  But that doesn’t excuse premature ejaculation.”
“No,” I agree, “it doesn’t.  I haven’t seen it outside that one time, unless you count the guys that come while dry-humping.  But that’s just tacky.”
Narrowing his gaze, “No puns,” he chides me, “and you’re avoiding the original question.”
You’re right,” I acquiesce, “I’ll just say this, I’ve yet to be in a situation where I’ve wanted to make a girl come.”
“Do you want to be in one,” he insists.
“I haven’t met a woman I want to go down on yet,” I confess.
“Sounds like you’re straight,” he avers.

Silent for a few moments, I try to come up with a better way to explain something I simply feel.  “Remember when you were 13 and you didn’t know what liking girls meant yet? You just knew they represented a mysterious world of potential fun and gratification. You rush in headlong and spend your teens discovering that women are complicated and, sometimes, cruel.”
“More or less,” Dan concedes.
“Well I’m that 13 year old boy when it comes to girls I’m attracted to. I want to talk to them and flirt and see what could happen. The only difference is I have first-hand knowledge of how cruel women can be.  I grew up watching all the potential dramas play out in all their inevitable ways.  I’m pre-jaded, too scared of the pain to take the leap.  Like a coward, I’m waiting for a woman to want me first.”
“And how’s that working out,” he intones sarcastically.
“I’m still sitting here drinking with you, aren’t I?”