Isn't that the question of the year?  How does a nice, sweet, celibate boy like Keeler learn to suck cock like a privileged whore?  It's not enough to simply assume the obvious, Encke has to ask about it too, and that's not the sort of question to which one wants to know the answer.  Because Encke's right; you don't get that good without a great deal of practice, and if Keeler has really been celibate since recruitment at age eighteen, that leaves some rather interesting implications regarding his teenage years.

The only answer he can provide is a soft blush and a bashful shrug, downturned eyes and the urge to hide his face against the crook of Encke's neck.   No sense in playing coy when Encke had enjoyed the fruits of it firsthand, but there's still an element of shame in it, no matter how enjoyable the result.

"I went to prep school.  All boys."  Keeler says, at some length, and almost too quietly to be heard.  "You pick up a few things."

Or more than a few.  There's ample opportunity for self-improvement when you're the prep school bicycle.  Though there's something to be said for the mental image of a young Keeler in khakis and blazers, on his knees in a locker room, bent over a dormitory desk--  The best of the best in secondary education, and Keeler spent a vast majority of it between the sheets.  His picture's coming clearer now; why a privileged doctor's son thought himself more suited to military life than med school.

Drift colony private school slut is probably the cliched past Encke expects of a navigator anyway.

"Worked out for you, though.  Didn't it?"  Keeler asks with a wry grin, fully expecting an eyeroll either way