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Author’s note: All characters in the story are eighteen years or older. All sexual acts are both fictional and consensual.
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.
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 http://www.izmirlitv.com 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.”
My curiosity peaked. My sister and I had always been extremely close, but after she left for art school, our conversations weren’t as common as they used to be. “What is it?”
I could sense her hesitance. “Well. I told you yesterday I’m supposed to be working on my final pieces for classes this week, right?”
“Yeah?” She’d gone on and on about it, actually. Her last days of classes would be the week she got back to Pennsylvania, but our parents had insisted that she come down so it wouldn’t be just me and Patrick running the place during the day.
“Well, I was wondering if you’d– um– be my model for one of my drawing series.” The way she asked, I could tell she was trying to play it off as if it was no big thing, but her nervousness was obvious.
“Of course,” I answered, a little flattered actually. Though I’d seen my sister’s art all over the house, I’d never seen her do portraits before, much less one of myself. The paintings that littered our walls were mostly of sheep, with the occasional abstract thrown in. “I’d love to.”
She was quiet, which was strange. I deposited the next two pancakes onto the plate before looking over my shoulder at her. Her pretty mouth was curled into a frown, and her big blue eyes were boring holes into the plate of bacon on the table.
“Hey,” I said, tilting my head to try and distract her gaze. “It’ll be fine. You’ll get it done in time.”
Kate winced. “Actually, the thing is, it’s for my Drawing Human Anatomy class. All of our models have to be… nude.” While my brain took a moment to catch up with my ears, she looked up through her lashes with embarrassment.
I blinked and turned back to the bowl of pancake batter, suddenly too horrified to make eye contact with her. “Oh. I didn’t know. You can’t use, like, pictures off the internet or something?”
“It’s my final,” she stressed. “And even if I wanted to, we have to submit signed copies of our models fully dressed. Consent reasons.”
I deposited pancake batter into the pan, stammering on a reply. “Well that’s different, you know?” The thought of being naked in front of my kid sister made me feel weird, even if we had taken baths together until she was five. I hadn’t even had a girlfriend to see me naked in almost a year, much less someone I didn’t plan on sleeping with. “I mean, I’m honored and everything, but that’s just– I think that would be weird, you know?”
She laughed nervously behind me, and I swallowed. “No, I know. I just don’t really know many people around here anymore, so I… Don’t worry about it. I’ll figure it out.” I heard the sound of the chair scraping the floor as she stood from the table. When I turned around to say something else to her, I just caught the last of her slender legs escaping to the second floor.
I didn’t see her again for several hours, and when I did, it was after Patrick and Tina had arrived. She was working on scouring the last of the fleece that had been shorn last month. We’d grown up on this farm, Kate and I, and even though she’d hardly touched the sheep in two years, she seemed to slip back in the familiar routine without a hitch. Our shepherd dog, fondly named “Useless” by my Dad, ran playfully around her feet as she worked at the large tubs.
Patrick and I spent our time feeding the flock and milking the ewes, which was plenty for a morning’s work. On the farm’s official computer inside, Tina worked on the paperwork that was normally my mother’s responsibility. Before Kate came along, our parents farm– which was our grandparents’ before that– farmed sheep for their meat along with their milk and wool. After Kate, though, and the screaming fit she threw when she figured out her favorite lamb was being sent to the butcher house, our family began strictly producing dairy and wool. It was a simple, unappreciated life, but one our family had lived for generations. I expected that my kids would work on that very same farm.
Despite the laborious job, though, I didn’t tire my body enough to distract myself from Kate’s proposition that morning. She’d hardly glanced in my direction since, which was an unpleasant difference from her bright mood yesterday. I felt bad that she was embarrassed, because if I was honest, my reluctance to be her model wasn’t as sincere as it could’ve been.
By the time the day was winding down, I’d almost talked myself into it. It was just a couple of drawings– not like we were going to be fooling around or anything. She wasn’t asking me to jack off in front of her. It was just sitting still while she objectively drew my naked body.
I glanced over my shoulder at her as I scraped mud off my boots at the side entrance. Kate was leaning over the pen to pet one of the lambs who’d come over to meet her, her ass high in the air as she reached out over the fence. Swallowing, I pulled open the door and stepped inside.
She followed not long later. I was sitting down eating the spaghetti and meatballs Tina had left for dinner just as soon Kate walked in, blushing when she found me looking up at her. “Oh. Hey. That looks good.”
“It is,” I mumbled around a mouthful of noodles. Scooting the chair in, I gestured to the pot on the stovetop.
She quietly retrieved a plate from the cabinet and removed the lid from the pot, fixing herself a large serving. Then, setting it on the table, she went to the refrigerator and inspected the contents before pulling out one of my beers.
“Hey,” I told her even as she opened it and took a swig. “You’re not twenty-one for another four months.”
“Sweet of you to remember, Dad,” she replied smartly, sitting down and digging into the spaghetti. “If you’re drinking, I’m drinking.”
“I’m legal,” I informed her, wrapping a hand possessively around my own bottle.
She shrugged, not looking up to meet my eyes.
We continued to eat in silence after that. Hoping she didn’t notice, I watched the way she picked around the small meatballs and wondered if she was trying to go vegetarian again. She’d tried several times since she was about fifteen, but had never quite managed to make it for very long.
When I’d finished my second plate and still hadn’t accumulated the desire to go up to my room, I cleared my throat awkwardly and looked towards the living room. “So I was thinking I’d be your model, if you still needed me to.”
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw her stop mid-bite and look at me. “You don’t have to, you know.”
It was my turn to shrug. “I mean, it’s not like we haven’t seen each other before. There’s albums full of naked baby pictures ’round here. And we’re adults.”
Kate nodded. “Yeah. It would be strictly professional. You could put on headphones and close your eyes if you wanted.”
Thinking on that, I felt a little better. Well, to the headphones. I’d probably keep my eyes open. “Okay. I’ll do it.”
“Are you sure?” she asked, lowering her fork. Though I still couldn’t meet her gaze, I knew she was staring at me with her giant blue eyes.
“Yeah,” I replied. “I was just kind of surprised this morning. No big deal.”
“Okay,” she said, her tone coloring with something like excitement. “Cool. Wanna shower and change and meet in the living room in an hour?”
“Sounds good,” I answered, finally forcing myself to look back at her. Her plump lips were spread in a half smile, and tendrils of sweaty hair laid limply around her face. Vaguely, I wondered how I’d ever said no to her in the first place. Without saying anything else, I picked up my plate and set it in the sink, taking the rest of my beer with me upstairs. If I was going to be naked in front of my little sister in an hour, I was going to need it.
When I came back downstairs, hyper aware that I was wearing only a thin pair of flannel pajama pants, Kate had rearranged the living room furniture so that the old overstuffed couch was directly in the center of the room, and our dad’s recliner was pushed back in the corner. She was sitting cross-legged in that recliner, a large sketch pad sitting on her lap. Her wet hair was pulled back and twisted in a giant clip on top of her head.
“You look like you smell much better,” she commented as I entered the room.
My mouth twisted wryly. “Thanks. You too.”
For a moment, we were at a loss for words, and I stood awkwardly in the doorway as she bit her lip and stared. “Um,” I began, rubbing the back of my neck. “How do you want me?”
I thought for a split second that I saw something glitter in her eyes, but before I could even wonder about it, she was pointing to the couch with her drawing pencil. “Just stretch out over on the couch. Let me know if it’s too cold in here. No blankets for a little while.”
“It’s fine,” I told her, shuffling over. Hooking my thumbs into the waistband of my pajama pants, I took a steeling breath before pulling the fabric down and climbing onto the couch. Looking her in the eye so she wouldn’t think I was bashful, I laid back as if she was the tv and it was just another Sunday night.
“Um,” she exhaled, looking down at her sketch pad and back up at me. “Okay, just let your left arm lay back behind your head– yeah, but keep looking at me. And rest your other hand on your chest. More natural, like– just like that. You’ve got really nice hands.”
I took her directions quietly, trying to think on anything except the fact that my penis was within her line of sight. In theory, I guess all guys like to think they have a pretty impressive package, but it wasn’t something one generally wanted to think about when his little sister was about to spend an hour or so staring at it. In an attempt to lighten the mood, I pursed my lips and whispered, “Draw me like one of your French girls.”
It had the effect I’d hoped it would, making her laugh and shake her head. “Don’t do that with your face or my professor will think you’re gay.”
“Well, what does your professor look like?” I wondered aloud, furrowing my brow thoughtfully. “Are we talking hot, artsy, beret-wearing professor? Or bald, bearded, aging professor?”
“Bald and bearded. Now stop moving your face.”
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