Total pages in book: 82
Estimated words: 82508 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 413(@200wpm)___ 330(@250wpm)___ 275(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 82508 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 413(@200wpm)___ 330(@250wpm)___ 275(@300wpm)
“Do you need a label?” Grant asks.
“I don’t think I do, but—”
Jacobs cuts me off. “How did you know you were bi and not gay?”
“I didn’t,” Grant says. “Not for a long time. I actually came out as gay first because I found myself more attracted to guys than girls. But then I had sex with a girl and realized I liked it too. I can go either which way, but I’m basically attracted to all men and some women. That still makes me bi even if it’s on the gayer end of the scale.”
Jacobs contemplates that. “I … I guess that makes sense.”
“It works for me too,” I say, “but on the opposite end. Jacobs is the only guy I’ve ever thought about that way. I’m probably mainly women focused but just really like him.”
“You might want to look up what being pan means,” Grant says.
“What’s that?” Maybe I should have researched all this stuff so I don’t sound like an idiot.
“It means gender isn’t a big part of your attraction. You’re attracted to people for who they are.”
“I do really like it when Jacobs is mad at me.”
“It’s why he likes pissing me off.”
Grant laughs. “Well, I can’t say this isn’t a surprise, but at least you two have found a way to get along?”
“Sex helps,” I say. “A lot.”
Grant laughs more. “You guys are awesome on the ice when you hate each other. Imagine what it’s going to be like this season when you’re in loooove.”
Both of us scoff at that.
“Whatever. We’re hanging up now. Byeeee.” I hit the End button. I turn to Jacobs whose lips are pursed. “Did that help?”
“A little? Still hasn’t made me think okay, I’m definitely this. Or that.”
I lean in and kiss his forehead. “You don’t have to figure anything out right now.”
“Oh, there’s definitely one thing I need to figure out.”
“What’s that?”
“How to get you to do a full day of work on the farm again tomorrow.”
“At this point, I think it will be more useful to cut off my arms so someone else can lift them for me.”
Jacobs chuckles. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
27
Jacobs
I love being back on the farm. My family is intense and exhausting, but I always miss them when I’m gone. That said, I’m glad I’ve chosen to do summer camp every year, because even after a few weeks here, things are getting tight.
And I don’t just mean in my pants.
I’m glad I asked Beck to stay, but no matter where we try to sneak off to, there’s always family, or people visiting, or casual farmhands popping up unexpectedly. It’s a fight for the bathroom in the mornings, and noisy chaos at dinner each night. With Beck, and Tony’s girlfriend, and whatever friends Rafter and Cole bring around, the place that always felt small growing up is stifling now.
Beck’s getting more used to the work though. I think Dad felt sorry for him after the first day or two and let him help with making the cider and taking the tractor rides instead.
They’ve never let me do those things, and I’m beginning to think Beck was right.
Those bastards like him better than me. And I don’t even care.
Every time I see him teasing my brothers or talking to Dad or helping Mom, it makes me feel all gross and gooey inside. It also makes me want to drag him away and touch him all over, to show him how I’m feeling, but it’s borderline impossible.
The few nights we’re not too sore to fool around, it’s all quick jerk-off sessions or rushed blowjobs. I hate being sneaky and cautious. I hate holding back. But I also hate the thought of any of my family hearing me fuck Beck into the mattress. And the walls here are thin.
We sit out on the back deck, the final Thursday before school goes back, taking a moment to relax before the weekend starts again, and I laugh as Cole and Rafter try to convince Dad to let them have a drink.
Tony nurses the one beer he’s allowed, knowing better than to taunt them openly, but the little dramatic moans he lets out every time he takes a sip are driving Rafter crazy.
“Tony’s not twenty-one yet, this is so unfair.”
“Yeah, but you’re sixteen,” I point out. “Nineteen is a whole lot closer than that.”
“Don’t bother engaging,” Mom says.
Beck shifts around and relaxes against the armrest of his chair so he can lay his legs across my lap. “So, Jenny, since I’m the favorite son”—he’s met by four scoffs—“what are the chances of taking some of those donuts back with me?”
“If you make them, you can take them.”
“Always trying to get me to work,” Beck groans.
Dad laughs. “You think what you’ve been doing is considered work, Teddy?”
“Jenny,” Beck whines. “Are you going to let him talk to me like that?”