Non-Fictional Fiction

Sam was dead tired.  The theory of young children draining adults of energy to expedite their growth had been proven true today. Six hours of chasing after a crawling niece while corralling a whiny four-year old nephew had left Sam barely able to shuffle up the stairs.  Yet sleep beckoned, the sofa which was to be her bed glowed in the moonlight, and Sam was finding just enough oomph to get there.  In another long blink, she found herself lying on soft cushions, her hands searching for a warm blanket to pull over her aching muscles.  Sam was halfway to a dream about a sexy doctor asking her for assistance in the medical supply closet as her arm reflexively tugged at the quilted fabric…


Something had hit the floor, shocking Sam back into the land of darkness and soreness.  Had the boy hidden one of his toys in the blanket when she had told him to clean up?  Sighing at the demand of one final task, Sam flipped on the lamp next to her head and swung her feet back onto the hardwood floor.  She looked towards the end of the couch where the blankets had been piled and tried to focus through droopy lids.  She caught sight of the offending object and shook her head.  Certainly she was still asleep and wasn’t seeing straight.  She looked again, this time with her eyes fully open.  It was still there.

It was a vibrator.

Sam was not naive to sexual toys.  She had one or five her own, hidden carefully away in the bottom drawer of her dresser.  They were a better option than throwing herself at random guys when she had an urge to scream with pleasure.  But seeing one lying on the living room floor of her sister’s house was not normal.  More than “not normal,” it was creepy and disturbing.  Sam couldn’t fathom her sister using such a toy while her children were awake, so it must have been hidden in the blanket since last night.  The blanket!  Sam flung it off of her legs and scrambled to her feet.  She felt … icky… that a blanket that had held such an intimate item had been draped over her naked legs.  Why hadn’t she worn a longer nightgown!?

Perhaps it wasn’t as icky as she thought.  Maybe her sister had cleaned it before putting it in the blanket.  Sam shook that thought off as illogical.  If she had carried it to a bathroom sink to clean it, why wouldn’t she just put it back wherever it belonged?  She took a step towards the slightly curved object to get a better look.  The irrational part of her brain searched for signs of recent “use,” as if she was a crime scene investigator looking for DNA evidence.  But the more she looked, the more details she began to register:  it was much longer and thicker than anything she had ever used, the bright purple color had been worn away on the tip, it had raised bumps for added texture.  Sam tore her eyes away before more information got burned into her mind.  These were NOT things she needed to know about her sister’s preferences!

Keeping her eyes averted, Sam picked up the quilt using only her forefinger and thumbs.  She covered the vibrator with the quilt, then quickly scooped it all up back onto the sofa.  For good measure, she put a couple of pillows on top of the haphazardly folded treasure chest.  Then she walked into the kitchen, grabbed a coffee mug, and poured herself a Jack and Coke to take the edge off.  If she had made a list of all the trials that babysitting her niece and nephew would bring her, finding a vibrator on the sofa would’ve been less likely than dealing with a terrorist attack.  She poured another Jack and Coke; she was also certain she would’ve drank less after the terrorists left.

The front door opened and Sam could hear footsteps coming up the stairs.  Leaving the mug in the sink, she made her way to the top of the stairs.  She saw her brother-in-law disappear into the master bedroom as her sister emerged from the baby’s bedroom.

“Sam?  I didn’t think you’d still be awake.  How were the kids?”

“They were fine.  Didn’t give me too many problems.  I’m going to head downstairs and crash in the recliner.”

“The couch isn’t comfortable enough?”

“It’s not that,”  Sam closed the distance between them and whispered into her sister’s ear, “You left something personal in the blanket.  You might want to put it away.”  Without waiting for any response, Sam turned away and stumbled downstairs.  She could hear the footsteps overhead enter the living room, and then go back down the hall towards the master bedroom.  Satisfied the issue was resolved, Sam found an extra Afghan in the closet, tucked it around herself, and curled into the fetal position on the leather recliner.

The following morning came and Sam stretched awake.  Her dreams had been uncomfortable as every surgical tool in the emergency room had been replaced with intimate toys, and every doctor and patient looked like her sister.  This was obviously going to haunt her for some time, but at least it wouldn’t happen again.  She walked upstairs to be greeted by a flying hug from her nephew, a cheerful thanks from her brother-in-law, and a babbling good morning from her niece.  Her sister announced she was making pancakes and bacon for breakfast, and it would be done in a few moments.  Sam moved to the couch, sat down, and leaned back against the pillows for extra support.  As she did so, something softly jabbed her just below her waistline, near the top of her bum.  Realization dawned, and Sam shrieked in panic:



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