No, it's not what you think.  We were at work, in public, and besides - he's gay. 

No, it's that sushi always scares me.  I'm convinced I'm going to get the plate of badly-prepared fugu and that's it, I'm tits-up.  An ex-Lo.  Pining for the fjords.  Not that I've ever been near enough to pine or even cedar for them. 
My coworker convinced me that California rolls were invented for punk-asses like me, though he kindly did not put it that way.  They have avocado - which I adore - and the crab is cooked.  Well, all right. 
Not only that, but when he went to lunch he happened to tell the waiter that his friend was a sushi virgin and had never had any, and he gave him a California roll FOR FREE.  (I saw the ticket on the outside of the bag, he was right.) 

So, I lose my cherry and frankly, as is often the case (from what I've heard, as it can only happen to one once), it was anticlimactic (badum-tish, thank you, I'll be here all week; try the veal and don't forget to tip your waitress).  Actually it was better because the sushi was not drunk on cheap beer (nor was I), nor was it sporting ill-advised tattoos (that was never me, you can do the math).  I'm not sorry, either.  But, as with one's initiation to sex, I'm not impressed.  I don't see what the screaming's about, although, unlike sex, I can do without it and not get so frustrated I want to leg-hump strange men. 
The plus side: I haven't gotten sick or become ex-anything.  It won't make me pregnant.  And if I do go to have sushi with anyone now, I can default to the Cali Roll and sake, and save room for a hamburger later (heh.).