//------------------------------// // Fifth Place // Story: A Secret Crush // by Kill Joy //------------------------------// Distractions By: Fizzlesticks Outright dropping the bag of wood chips I was carrying turned out to be a really, really bad idea. A cloud of fine wood dust billowed from the bag’s opening, right into my face. Being me, I immediately gasped and inhaled a mouthful of wood. My mind reeling and far too busy to appreciate the innuendo, I stumbled back from the low set bench. And right into the opposite wall of the supply closet. As if to top it all off, in my scramble for purchase, my flailing arm struck a toolbox teetering on the edge of a shoulder height shelf. It splayed open on impact with the ground, spilling all manner of important-looking metal things. I thought that I heard something heavier drop, but couldn’t see it. I could almost hear my father’s sarcastic voice as I forced my eyes open and looked at the mess I’d created. Nice one, Caramel, he would say. A sharp stinging in my eye prompted me to make my way half blindly out of the closet and into the shed proper. I could do that without incident at least. There was a tap there I could wash my face with. I started wondering why I’d taken this summer job in the first place. I had a nice, regular job that I could be doing instead. One that I was actually good at. I’d only splashed my first cupped handful when I heard it. The low rumble of a tractor engine. It sounded kind of sick, and getting closer. After quickly wiping my face, I swivelled around on my heel and walked to the barn’s sliding door. I had to squint because of the glare. It was approaching the hottest part of the Summer day, and the sky was almost completely cloudless. The only good thing about this sort of weather was that shirts usually started coming off, especially among the other farm hands. The sudden sound of the tractor cutting out and an exasperated groan simultaneously brought me out of my thoughts and made my heart flutter, just a little. With a deep breath, I loosened the chok on the door’s wheel and managed to slide it all the way to the side. Big Macintosh was already checking the tractor’s engine by the time I got out there. His red singlet had turned maroon at his chest and armpits. My throat tightened. Oh yeah, this was why I’d taken the job. Sometimes I wished I didn’t mancrush so hard. “Fuse is blown,” said Mac, rather abruptly. “Ain’t goin’ nowhere on its own.” He stood and looked at me. I avoided eye contact and pretended to be focused on the tractor; nodded and glanced in his general direction, just so it didn’t look like I was ignoring him. “Want some help pushing it in?” I managed. He sighed, as if he didn’t want to come to that conclusion. “Yeah, thanks. Jus’ grab the wheel an’ steer. Try ta pull, too, if ya can.” I stood astride of the driver’s seat and tried to get a good grip on the steering wheel and the handle on the outside of the mudguard. I waited for him to start, but nothing happened. “Hold on,” he muttered, and swiftly slipped off his singlet. He tossed it haphazardly into the seat. Big Mac’s broad, naked chest made it exceptionally hard for me to concentrate on the task at hand. I kept having to shuffle my feet in an effort to cross my legs. I sure was glad that my jeans were pretty loose. My sweating palms were beginning to slip. “Havin’ trouble, Caramel?” Mac grunted, pausing his efforts. I shook my head. “No, no... Just a little distracted. I have a lot on my mind, Macintosh.” By the time we had pushed the tractor all the way into the shed, I was panting quite heavily. “You’re always distracted. ‘ts why ya have so many accidents,” continued Mac shortly. He stood next to me, almost a full head taller. I quickly changed the subject. “So,” I said, “what do we need to fix it?” Macintosh was silent for while. I think he was staring at me. I wasn’t game to look. “Jus’ need a couple spare fuses. Should be some in muh’ toolbox.” He turned towards the storage closet. The one I’d trashed. “I’ll get it,” I proclaimed, louder than necessary. I swung past him, heat rising to my face. “Cara-” “No, really I-” My foot came out from under me, and I stumbled back. Two strong arms caught me by the shoulders and yanked me back up. My head landed on Mac’s chest, one arm tucked against my side and the other clutching his shoulder. My heart was racing. This would have been my exact fantasy of how I wanted to wake up in every morning, if we were horizontal and he were completely naked. I pulled away as soon as I could, realizing how awkward it must have been for Mac. I looked down at what I’d slipped on; a trail of oil coming from under the closet door. “Oh,” was all I could say. Big Macintosh sighed, “Accident?” I gulped and gave a slight nod. Stepping over the oil slick, Big Mac opened the closet to inspect inside. He stood there for a few moments, contemplating something. Suddenly, he turned and walked slowly out of the closet, to one end of shed and sat a barrel against the wall. “Sit,” he instructed calmly, tapping the top of the barrel. I had to jump to properly get onto it. He held out his arms. “Gimme yur hands.” I looked away distractedly and offered them up. He took them in his. “Look at me,” he said with more authority. I looked into his green eyes. Slowly, he guided my hands to the sides of his chest and placed them there. He leaned in, parting my knees and nestling the crotch of his pants between my legs. He placed his hands on either side of my head and brought his face closer to mine. My heart was thumping in my throat by the time he caught me in an open-mouthed kiss. I closed my eyes, running my hands down Big Mac’s firm stomach. He was the one to end it, pulling away like nothing had happened. I took a sharp intake of breath. My head was spinning. “There,” said Big Macintosh, “Now ya’ll can stop fantasizing. Did that help?” I was grinning like an idiot. “Uuuuh... Yes and no, but how about we get that fuse?” It did help. That was the truth. Did it stop me fantasizing? Not even a little.