In The Barn With Brad

I lie on my back, watching the swallows swoop and dive overhead. They circle the rafters, darting in and out through the open window and lancing across a dusty shaft of sunlight. It’s late afternoon; soon the sun will set and mom will be calling me for dinner. I think company’s coming over for dinner, though I’m not sure who. Probably some of my parents’ friends, and I’ll have to sit around all evening on my best behavior, bored as hell. I linger in the barn, hoping to postpone the inevitable. All the mystery of summer is encapsulated in the moment. Sweat trickles coolly down my back, sticking my t-shirt to the moist skin underneath. I itch slightly from the bits of straw that have crept under my clothes. The air is sweetly fragrant from the soft cushions of new mown hay. I stretch luxuriously, wishing that I could stay here forever.

The door opens, squeaking on rusty hinges. I freeze, resenting this intrusion on my private domain. Quietly, I creep to the edge of the loft and peer downward through swirling columns of dust. A lone figure leading a horse enters. At first my eyes, accustomed to the brightness by the window, are unable to make out any details in the dimness below. However, as the intruder unsaddles the horse and begins brushing him, I recognize my 16 year old cousin, Brad. I am about to call out a cheerful greeting to him, when something in the furtiveness of his movements stops me.


He tends to the horse quickly, glancing frequently at the door. As soon as he is finished, he leads the horse outside and releases it. After a quick, nervous look around, he scuttles back into the barn and closes the door. I watch curiously as he sits down on a bale of hay, then pulls a magazine out of his shirt and begins to read. Why is he so secretive? I slither closer, trying to get a better look. I can barely make out anything from this distance, but I see enough to answer my question. He’s reading one of those dirty magazines, the kind with the naked- lady pictures. He’s also doing something very strange…

His face is all scrunched up, and at first I think he must have a stomach ache or something. Then I notice that his shorts are unzipped, and his hand is down the front of them. His hand is moving very fast, and I can hear him grunting and moaning in time with it. Curious, I try to creep closer, but a cloud of dust puffs up in my face. Unable to help myself, I sneeze loudly.

Brad freezes. “Who’s there?” he calls hoarsely. He has such a comical expression on his face that I can’t help giggling.


“It’s just me,” I call back. Relieved, he stuffs the magazine back into his shirt and clambers up the ladder to the loft.

“Hi, kiddo!” he greets me cheerily. “Why didn’t you say something when I came in?” He ruffles my hair casually, just like he always does. Today, this irritates me. I’ve had a crush on Brad since I was six years old, but he’s never taken me seriously.

“Why do you always hafta call me that?” I snap petulantly. “I’m not a baby anymore! I’m a woman now! See? I’ve even got tits!” Impulsively, I lift my t-shirt to show off my small, firm breasts. Brad chuckles appreciatively.


“Yeah, kidd- Jodi,” he corrects himself, “You sure do. How old are you now, anyway?”

“Thirteen and a half!” I declare proudly.

“Well! Practically a grown woman!” He is teasing me. Angry, I wrestle him to the hay strewn floor and begin tickling him. For a few minutes he tolerates this, laughing. Suddenly, he flips me over, and before I know what’s happened, I’m flat on my back and Brad’s sitting on my chest. I stick out my tongue at him in mock anger, but I’m actually enjoying the attention and the closeness. I try to keep a stern face, but something catches my eye and I burst into uncontrollable laughter. Brad looks confused for a minute, then follows the direction of my gaze and flushes beet-red when he sees what I’m laughing at. He has forgotten to zip his shorts, and something soft and pink is peeking forlornly from between the zipper teeth. I’ve never seen a boy blush before, and the sight makes me laugh even harder.

Swingers
Gritting his teeth, Brad quickly stands and closes his pants. He looks angry. I am still sitting on the floor, gasping for breath. Finally, the alarming color begins fading from his cheeks and ears. Anxious to change the subject, I glance nervously around. The magazine has fallen out of his shirt during our brief scuffle, so I pick it up and begin flipping idly through the pages.

The first part is sort of boring – letter mostly, and ads for a bunch of strange looking stuff.