The Taste of Yellow Paint Chips

nine; connor + toby

          "Are you sure about this?"

          "Yes, Connor."

          "But what if it hurts?"

          Toby rolls his eyes once more, punching Connor on the shoulder from across his bed, "It's a damn kiss. How is it possible for it to hurt?"

          "I don't know," Connor pathetically shrugs his shoulders as his cheeks flush, "I've never done this before."

          "Well, duh. That's why we're doing this now, to see if you're gay in an 'I like boys' type of way."

          Hearing Toby refer to him as gay doesn't make his hands shake like it did that day in when he was still new and clueless, but it does make his heart accelerate in pace. He's since learned that it's not always an insult to be called the G-word and that it's okay if he, in fact, ends up being gay.

          Connor didn't kiss his first girlfriend. She leaned in. He did, too. Her hands were around his neck. His hands were sweating inside the pockets of his jeans. She puckered up, and he chickened out at the last second.

          When she asked, "Why won't you kiss me? Are you gay?", "No, you're just ugly, and your breath stinks," is all he could think to say instead of, "Not fully gay, but maybe half?"

          "Okay, okay. Tilt your head left and I'll go right."

          "Wait, which way is right?"

          And Connor definitely liked girls, but he admired boys in the same way. He liked dainty hands and facial hair, curved lips and arm veins. He liked people and the person he imagined as his future spouse was nameless, genderless, race-less, and indefinite. As long as they loved him as much as he loved them, he was content.

          "Toby, we're almost high schoolers. You can't tell your right from your left?"

          "I'm dyslexic, fuckface. Now, stop thinking so much and kiss me."

          Toby's hands are warm against his cheeks, and if he weren't so relaxed, he'd probably panic about where he's supposed to put his hands. However, his pair of hands is the last thing he's thinking about, so they remain folded in his lap.

          Different from the cherry chapstick-covered skin of his own soft, thin lips, Toby's lips are kinda chapped and plump.  It's not like the kisses in the movies. There are no fireworks, literal and metaphorical. It doesn't turn into a fancy makeout session with ironically cued music. Toby pulls away after only a few seconds of their stiff-lip kiss, and they sit for what feels like hours, staring at each other at each other in silence.

          "So?"

          Connor's eyes look far away. He's staring at Toby as his tangled thoughts rush around his head at maximum speed. He doesn't have a stiffy, yet. His cheeks are still pink. His heart rate has slowed down considerably, but his toes are still twitching back and forth inside of his long, black socks.

          "It felt like kissing my best friend until I imagined you were Harry Styles."

          Toby's laugh clears the air of any awkwardness and Connor lays on his back, staring at the ceiling dreamily with crinkled eyes and a goofy smile.

          "Well, that solves it. You're, like, bisexual, I guess."

          "Hmm, technically, yeah. But I'd rather not put any labels on anything yet," Connor folds his hands on his stomach, "Did you feel anything?"

          Toby clears his throat and looks away, hiding his embarrassment behind his phone, "No, not really."

          Connor sees through his bullshit. With an exasperated sigh, Toby confesses.

          "Okay, I felt something, but not because you're a dude. Your lips taste like a girl's, Connor! As soon as I closed my eyes, my imagination went wild."

          Toby's dad finds them still laughing about it hours later. After they get in bed, a pillow divider between them to prevent accidental cuddling, Connor proceeds to poke Toby in the shoulder until he rolls over.

          "What do you want?" he mumbles, his voice thick with sleep.

          "Thanks for being my friend."

          Although Toby's response was to roll over while saying, "Dude, stop being so gay," Connor knew that a) it was not an insult and b) the feeling was mutual.