Page 43 of Every Hidden Truth

His blush turned splotchy with embarrassment as he stammered, “Well, it’s just, I mean, like, um, the way you mean it, I guess I haven’t.”

It took me a moment to understand, but then I howled with laughter, covering my mouth to smother it. I didn’t want him to think I was making fun of him, but sometimes, he was too much.

“Oh, Ben, you innocent Tootsie Roll.” I cupped his burning cheeks as he scowled. “Not everyone’s into butt stuff. That’s okay.”

His eyes squeezed shut, his face scrunching as he pinched the bridge of his nose. “Jesus, Silas, that’s not—I mean, okay, technically, yes, but that’s not what I actually meant.” He sighed,his gaze returning to my chin as he forced the words out. “I’ve never slept with a guy before.”

Now, I was a smart guy, but it took me a minute to catch on.

There were numerous ways I could have responded, but for some reason I went with, “We’ve been dating for weeks, and I’m only now finding out you’re bi?” I smacked his chest as he yelped. “What the fuck, Ben? Did you think I’d care? I know I’m insecure, but damn!”

“Silas—”

“I’m such a shitty boyfriend,” I lamented as I slid off his lap. “I mean, I get why you might not want to talk about it. Bi-erasure is prevalent in the queer community too. I just... Ben, I don’t care if you’re bisexual.”

“Silas, I’m not bi.” He chuckled uncomfortably, taking my hands and rubbing his thumbs over my knuckles. “I’m not actually one for labels in general. I know they’re important to people, but not to me. I just... I’m just me, and I like who I like. And maybe that makes me bi or pan or whatever. I don’t know.”

It wasn’t often that Ben spoke so openly about himself, but the fact he was choosing to share this with me felt important. And it wasn’t like he was wrong. In the grand scheme of things, labels shouldn’t have mattered. No one should have to trim their edges to force themselves into a box that didn’t fit.

Ben scrubbed a frustrated hand over his face and through his curls. “I don’t know if I’m explaining this right.”

“Hey, listen.” I pinched his chin and directed him to face me. “You don’t have to force yourself into a box that doesn’t fit right. You don’t ever have to choose a label unless it feels authentic for you. And not having a label doesn’t erase your identity.

“Plus, you’re only eighteen. You literally have your whole life to figure it out. And if you never choose a label, then you’re still you and you still belong.”

That look of awe was back, and I fidgeted under the intensity. “Thanks, Si. That’s really nice.”

“I have my moments,” I grumbled, and his face broke out in a smile.

Then he was framing my face with his hands and kissing me hard. I kissed him back with just as much enthusiasm. We parted almost as abruptly as we’d come together, and he rubbed our noses together sweetly.

“I wasn’t trying to hide this from you. I just know it’s hard to understand.”

“I mean, I’m pretty confident with the gay label, but that doesn’t mean it’s the only valid way to be queer.” I rubbed at his arms, thumbs slipping under his sleeves. “Just because your experience isn’t mine doesn’t mean yours isn’t real.”

“Thanks.”

“You shouldn’t have to thank me.” I pressed my forehead to his. “Sorry that we live in a world where you think you should.”

We sat like that for a minute or two, foreheads pressed together, knees touching. Ben’s hands cupped my thighs. Mine gripped his biceps. Our breath mingled between us.

“So does that mean you’ve slept with girls?” I asked before I could stop myself, and he chuckled.

“Yes.”

“What’s that like?”

Pulling away, he gave me a quizzical look. “You want to know?”

I thought about the logistics and shook my head. “Maybe not? Like, I have eyes, so obviously I think women are goddesses walking the earth. But I don’t want to see them naked.”

“Fair enough.” He relaxed back into the couch, rubbing my thigh with his thumb. “To be honest, I don’t remember most of it, because I was drunk every time it happened. After my momdied, I did a lot of shit I regret. And yeah, I hooked up with a few girls when I was wasted.

“It was okay, I guess,” he finished anticlimactically.

“Wow, what a stellar review.” I gesticulated vaguely. “Vaginas: two out of five stars. They’re okay, I guess.”

“Shut up,” he said, shoving my shoulder.

---