In The Barn by Selena Kitt

My adopted brother masturbated in the barn, way up high in the loft, lying alone in the soft, clean hay we shoveled down for Da to feed the animals. I didn’t understand at first, what he was doing. I think he would have heard me, that first time I climbed up the ladder, ready to tell him that Ma needed a hand moving something in the kitchen, if he hadn’t been about to make a mess. I saw him, lying down, black hat tossed aside, head cocked at a funny angle, and at first I panicked, thinking he was hurt. But then I heard his fast, labored breathing, saw his hand moving between his legs, and knew he was holding onto his privates.
    But what could he be doing to them?
    I stood frozen on the ladder, eyes wide, as his hand moved faster and faster, like lightning, up and down. He gave out a soft moan, his hips bucked up, and I stared, shocked, as thick, white streams shot over his fist, up onto his bare belly, where he’d pulled up his shirt.
    I knew it was a sin. I couldn’t be anything but. Instead of confronting him that first time, I snuck down the ladder as quiet as I could. I told Ma I didn’t feel well—and no, I didn’t find Eli in the barn, I said—and went to my room, which was really mine and Ada ’s and Becca’s together.
    I felt sick, rememberin g what I saw, but I was curious too. What could he have been doing with himself like that? The sounds he made were sort of like he was in pain…but why would he be hurting himself? And at the end, the shock of the liquid shooting from his privates…it wasn’t pee. I knew what that looked like. My little st brother, Isaac, had peed on me enough during diaper changes for me to know that.
    I lay there a long time, feeling funny down low in my belly, playing the scene over and over in my head. Eli was the eldest, in his twenties now, me just behind him, turned eighteen last spring. He was Ma’s sister’ s boy really, but when my aunt died of sepsis soon after he was born, Eli’s father had left our order, too full of grief to stay, and the baby had stayed too. My parents had raised him as their own and we had known each other as brother and sister from the beginning. I knew I shouldn’t have watched him, that I shouldn’t be feeling the way I was, but I couldn’t seem to help myself.
    That’s when I decided to watch Eli, to see if he did it again. It was the next afternoon he disappeared from the side of the house where Da had him stack ing wood. I was hanging laundry and saw him head to the barn, so I followed.
    This time, I saw it all, from beginning to end. I peeked over the top of the ladder to watch, even untying and taking off my white cap—a sin in and of itself—hoping the darkness of the barn would hide me, and let my brown hair blend into my surroundings. If he looked over, he would only see that—the top of my head and my wide eyes. I watched him lie back in the hay, unfasten his pants, and start touching his privates.
    It was soft at first—a small snake in a nest of hair—but the more he touched it, the bigger it got. I stared, aghast, when it stood straight up, more than double its original size. Eli licked his palm, calloused from hard work, and wrapped his fist around the length, moving his hand up and down, just like the day before.
    His breath came faster and faster—and so did mine. That funny feeling was back in my belly, low down, cradled in my pelvis. Something ached there, throbbed, like a tooth does, only it wasn’t a hurtin’ sort of agony, but a delicious kind. I wanted more of it. And the more I watched, the more the feeling swelled until I felt like I was going to burst.
    It wasn’t long before he was moaning again, whispering, “Oh, oh, oh!” and then shoving his privates up into his fist, that thick white stuff flooding out the end. There was so much of it!
    I didn’t go to my room this time. Instead, I hurried down the ladder and went back to hanging laundry, but that gnawing tickle took a long, long time to go away.