Author's note: All characters in the story are eighteen years or older. All sexual acts are both fictional and consensual.
Splintered
I can name at least seven ways to remove a splinter. If it's not too deep in, and the end is sticking out, you can use tweezers or tape-- glue will work too, if you wait for it to dry. If it is, I've found that the best way to get it out is to apply baking soda, drawing salve, or even a potato (Gramps taught me that one). It'll pop right out, no fuss and just a little muss. Unfortunately sometimes even that won't work, or maybe you're just a tough guy who doesn't mind a little blood. If that's the case, you can apply pressure to one end of the splinter by piercing the skin with a sewing needle (sterilized of course, unless you want a sore finger
and
tetanus) and pressing down. Or you can take a razor blade and cut it out.
But of course, when that sliver of wood jams into your fingertip, none of those things run through your brain. The first thing you always do is hiss like a bitch and squeeze your hand like a little kid who just touched the stovetop.
"Fuck!"
As I startled and recoiled from a pair of tickling hands, a splinter stabbed into my finger. The fragmented board I'd been trying to remove from the broken gate smacked back against its post as I pulled away and whirled on my assailant. In a pair of aviator sunglasses and some sort of sandals with heels, my little sister looked more like she'd just arrived from L.A than from a college town in Pennsylvania. Her head was thrown back in laughter.
"You're still ticklish?" Katelyn exclaimed, clapping her hands together in amusement. "That's
awesome!
"
I glared, torn between shoving my injured finger in my mouth and brushing it off like it was nothing. "I'm not. You should just warn people before sneaking up on em."
Though I couldn't see through her dark glasses, I knew she was rolling her eyes by the way she looked up at the sky. "I didn't sneak up on you. I said your name twice, you just didn't hear me."
"Whatever," I grumbled, brushing my hands off on my pants and trying not to wince when my ring finger throbbed. "When did you get in?"
"Just now," Katelyn grinned, pointing her thumb back towards the house. "Tina said you were down here fixing the fence, so I put my bags in my room and headed this way-- well-- I went to see the new lambs first, but you know what I mean."
At the thought of her squealing over the newest lambs in my family's flock, the corner of my mouth twitched upwards. my little sister was always in love with the babies, sneaking them treats when our dad wasn't looking. It was like her to go see the lambs before her only brother.
"Yeah," I sighed, glancing at the gate I'd been attempting to patch up. "Patrick thinks it was a drunk driver, but we'll never know for sure. We're just lucky he came in early today and saw it before we let the flock out."
"Well, if you've got them penned in, just fix it later," she insisted. "Come on, Daniel, I haven't been here since Christmas break. I missed you. You see more of those sheep than you see of me anyways."
I reached into my back pocket for my phone and checked the time. It was getting close to noon anyways, the hottest part of the day, and I was already sweating my balls off. "Sure. Is Tina making lunch?"
"Yeah, she's mixing up the chicken salad now." Katelyn squinted against the sunlight and started fanning herself. Her hair had already been pulled off her shoulders into a ponytail, and I could see beads of perspiration breaking out on her forehead. "Let's eat and go for a quick swim. The pool at school has been out of service practically since it opened last month."
I snorted and gathered my tools, gesturing for her to lead the way back to the house. "All that money Dad's paying for your fancy art school and their pool isn't even working? What a waste of tuition."
"It's practically criminal, right?" She shook her head mournfully as she trudged down the gravel driveway, somehow managing to keep her balance in those shoes.
My eyes traveled from her talented ankles up her slim legs, which were encased in a pair of tights patterned with some tribal print. Kate's sense of fashion had always been a little weird to me, but if stretchy African pants and button down denim tanks were what was cool back in Pennsylvania, I guessed that was her business. The way the tribal pattern stretched across her butt was interesting, though, and I quickly scolded myself and looked away with a twinge of guilt.
My little sister was no doubt the attractive farmer's daughter they wrote about in country songs. Of course, I didn't notice it until her sweet sixteen, when I accidentally broke my best friend's nose for requesting to do something unmentionable to her. Until then, she'd been my dorky baby sister, two years younger and infinitely more innocent. She had more freckles back then, and her curls were more springs than the soft waves she'd somehow obtained during her senior year. I'd seen her in braces and manure both, but after Hollis asked if he could take her to the barn after the party, all I could see was the length of her hems, the cuts of her blouses.
It was my brotherly duty, I told myself. So even after she graduated and left for college, when she supposedly was able to take care of herself, I still noticed things-- like the swell of her breasts in a sweater, or the deep curve of her waist.
And if I thought the tights were bad, the bikini she laced herself in after lunch was worse. When she came bouncing down the stairs in a pair of flip flops and cut-off shorts, still securing the bikini ties behind her head, I nearly choked on my chicken salad sandwich.
"What is
that
?" I coughed, pointing accusingly at the black script curling up from the waistband of her shorts.
Behind me, Tina looked up from the sink where she was washing dishes. "Is that a tattoo?"
Kate looked down and then back up at us. "Yeah, I've had it for like a year. I haven't mentioned it before?"
"No, you haven't," I shot back, my eyes cutting to Tina's teenage son. He'd been picking on his plate of chips when Katelyn had started down the stairs, but now he was paused mid-chew, his eyes fixed on my sister's midriff. In his defense, the smooth plane of her stomach was distracting enough, but the tattoo brought attention to just how low her shorts were sitting. But the sight of him gaping made my blood boil anyways.
"Chill, Danny, it's just a tattoo." She rolled her eyes and approached the table, picking a chip off of Keenan's plate. Up close, I could see that the swirly script read, "Let it be." Keenan swallowed hard.
I looked over my shoulder, expecting some help from Tina, but she simply shrugged and went back to washing dishes. I was appalled. Tina was like our second mother. She and her husband Patrick had been working on our parents' farm since Katelyn was in diapers.
The whole day continued in that fashion. We took Keenan to the river behind our house to swim with us, and I spent the entire afternoon watching him drool over my sister. It didn't help that she insisted on trying to dunk the both of us, which caused her to constantly press her boobs against my back and neck. Though it wasn't bothersome for me, it was aggravating to watch the blush on Keenan's face. Kate's tits were small, but perfectly shaped and extremely rousing.
I ended up fixing the fence in the dark because Kate wouldn't let me go without wanting to tell me this story or ask for help unpacking. It wasn't until Patrick and Tina were leaving that she finally decided to retire upstairs and leave me alone. It was the most she'd spoken to me since she'd left for art school two years ago. I decided not to comment on the strangeness.
I awoke to the smell of bacon wafting through the air, which was weird, because my six am alarm hadn't screeched yet and my mom never cooked breakfast. After a moment of sleepy befuddlement, I remembered that my parents had left for their anniversary cruise, and that Kate had come home to help me with the farm for the week. Rubbing my eyes and kicking off my blankets, I stumbled downstairs to find my sister swearing over a skillet.
"Damn it!" she muttered, and I squinted to see what she was scraping with a spatula. "Son of a bitch."
"Whatcha doin?" I asked slowly, rubbing the back of my neck as I entered the kitchen.
She looked over her shoulder at me with exasperation. "I was
trying
to make pancakes, but first they wouldn't set and now they're burning and sticking to the pan."
Glancing at the bowl of batter and the overturned box of Bisquick mix on the counter, I grinned sleepily. "Need a hand?"
She dropped the spatula and let go of the skillet with her hands in the air, like a convict facing down a policeman. With a sigh of disgust and frustration, she stepped away and fell into one of the chairs at the table.
I scraped the remains of her burned pancake into the trash and pulled the nonstick spray from the cabinet. "Didn't think you'd be up until noon," I told her, spooning batter into the pan. Kate was an infamously late sleeper, more of a night owl than anyone else in our family.
"Couldn't sleep," she grumbled, and I heard her chewing on bacon behind me. "Unfamiliar bed."
"Sorry." After she moved out, Kate's bedroom had been turned into Mom's craft room. My sister's bed went with her to her new apartment and the room she was sleeping in now was the guest bedroom. The mattress was more springs than cushion.
"I had something I wanted to talk to you about," she began as I flipped the first couple of pancakes onto the plate she'd set out next to the stove. "So I was going to make dinner anyways, but I guess breakfast works too."
