A Fly on the Wall: My Thing is Itchy

A Fly on the Wall.

by Ganymede

A Fly on the Wall is the story of Savannah Martin, a ten-year-old fashion model, and the journey to change gender. With surgery in Mexico depending on meeting certain conditions, the responsibility falls on Grampa.

To read the rest of the story, click here: Contents

To read other Ganymede stories, click here: Ganymede

Copyright 2019

The responsibility falls on you, the reader, to support Nifty.

It’s easy, safer than using a condom, and personally satisfying.

Why let others pay the bills for your thrills?

Vignette < < < My thing is itchy > > >

Stark naked, with Teddy D. Bear in hand, Savannah dashed from the bedroom into the dining/living room, coming to an abrupt halt in front of Frank and Karen, both completely oblivious because Hillary Clinton was discussing Syria on CNN News.

“I’m ready for barf time,” she proclaimed, finger at the ready. “Eeny, meeny, miny, moe; I choose… Grampa!”

Frank heaved a bogus drawn-out sigh. “You always choose me.”

Savannah giggled, tugging his hand impatiently. “Because I wub you and you wub me back.”

“What she needs is for you to rub her back,” Karen snickered, looking her over. "Where's your girl-thong, Savy?"

"I took it off because my thing is itchy."

Freed from 12 hours of imprisonment, Savannah’s penis and testicles were right in front of Frank’s face. Unlike her best friend, Mickey Sanderson, Savannah was circumcised. It made her ‘boy-thing’ seem smaller; it wasn’t yet she was envious of her friend’s little nubbin.

The last time Frank saw Mickey’s penis, the kids were splashing in the bathtub. With her foreskin, Mickey’s penis resembled an over-sized clitoris. Frank wasn’t interested beyond mere curiosity; well, maybe a little. Savannah, on the other hand, had a very exposed glans. Frank thought it was very sexy, something to be proud of.

“Someone needs a spanked bottom,” Frank pretended to grumble, not about to admit that ‘barf time’ made his visit to New York worth every cent of the airfare. Savannah was his reason for living.

Savannah yanked at his arm, trying to drag him from the couch. “Bubble barf, Grampa!”

“How about you get in the barf, so you don’t get cold, and…”

Savannah stuck Teddy D. Bear in his face, muffling everything else. Teddy smelled like Savannah, not sweat or musk, a pheromone of a juvenile type, untainted and sweet, like baby powder. It came from Savannah’s long curly hair, silky soft skin, and increasingly, her hairless crotch. Each whiff was a silent chemical signal that Frank inhaled deeply, relished, and immediately needed more of it.

“Sanny, I’ll be in as soon as this is over,” he finally mumbled. Someone had to play Devil’s advocate, and show restraint.

“Grampa, you promised you’d play with Teddy every night.”

Frank pushed himself up using the armrest. Savannah pulled his other arm impatiently, dragging him down the hall.

Karen called, “Have fun, you two. And close the door so I can hear Hillary.”

As soon as he closed the bathroom door, Frank whispered, “Fuck Hillary.”

Savannah’s eyes went wide. Frank put his finger to his lips, yet another secret between them. Savannah nodded gleefully, handing over Teddy D. Bear for safekeeping.

A non-interventionist in other countries’ affairs, not a righteous ultra-Conservative, Frank placed Teddy on the vanity.

 Savannah tossed rubber ducks, one at a time, into the tub, chortling a gender-inverted version of Ernie.

“Wubber ducky, you’re the one,

You make barf time wots of fun

Wubber ducky, I’m awfully fond of you…”

Frank laughed, scooped Savannah up, and blew raspberries on bare belly. Then, the tickling started, not gentle bedtime tingling tickles, rough Grampa tickles that made a kid beg, wriggle, and giggle uncontrollably. Supposedly, Savannah hated them. When little feet finally hit the tiles, Savannah hopped into the tub, sitting down so fast that water splashed onto the floor.

Frank mopped it up with a hand towel, wrung out the excess water into the toilet, and draped it over the cistern. When he turned around, he smiled to himself. Stretched out in white foamy bubbles, only Savannah’s nose, toes, and very stiff penis were visible. Long seconds passed before the rest rose to the surface, spluttering and rubbing eyes.

“You need mouth to mouth resuscitation?”

“I’m scubbering, Grampa.”

The plastic bath steps that Savannah used to reach the vanity, he repositioned beside the middle of the tub for the view, and easy access. He sat down, winking attentively.

One yellow rubber duck was already aground on a barely submerged tummy. Two more rubber ducks navigated between slender legs, just below the water.

Grampa pointed at the unwanted erection. “That where the rubber ducks dock?”

Savannah made a face.

“Don’t tell Mommy, okay. It’s a cock dock,” he whispered.

“Grampa!” Obviously, it wasn’t the first time. “You used the boy ‘c’ word!”

After a few moments, a little soapy hand beckoned. Frank leaned down. Savannah leaned up.

“There’s a girl ‘c’ word, too, Grampa.”

After a shy, yet precocious smirk, a little finger poked at the general location. It wasn’t a word that Karen would ever use.

“You hear that on Sesame Street?”

Savannah snorted giggles.

“I think the boy ‘c’ word is nicer,” Frank said.

“Grampa, why does a boy ‘c’ word stand up?”

“You mean like this little guy?” Frank gave the little erection a playful flip. “It’s to make him easier to play with. If you rub him, he’ll feel really nice, kinda hot and tingly.”

Savannah grasped and squeezed. With no loose prepuce to get in the way, her little thumb massaged right on the tip. Satisfied, the tender little ball couldn’t be any harder, she began pinching. It was very un-girl-like, however, Frank didn’t say so.

After a minute, he murmured, “Rub up and down, Sanny.”

“This is how Mickey does it, Grampa.”

For a moment, Frank came close to saying Mickey didn’t have much of a penis to begin with. Instead, he watched Savannah pinch harder and harder as the pleasure began to increase, little ribbed soapy chest rising and falling, eventually, the narrow pelvis lifting up, thighs and back muscles straining as much to get out of the water and stay slippery as from ecstatic tension, little belly muscles taut as a bongo drum.

He picked up the bubble-bath bottle, squirted slimy suds on Savannah’s genitals. With another squirt on his hands, he lathered little feet and slender legs, steadily working his way higher. After a while, Savannah’s penis was quite pink. He ogled, enough that the memory would stay forever.

Almost right away, Savannah’s masturbation switched to high-speed pinching, concentrating on the very exposed bulb, treating it like a plump little clitoris, determinedly avoiding the rest of the shaft. Innocent blue eyes became mere slits, panicky shudders scarcely restrained, nostrils flaring with each erratic frantic breath.

 When Frank reached sleek inner thighs, the little boy-cock was inflamed, the bulging glans more purple than pink. For a few moments, he fondled the taut little ball sac, two fingers extending down the smooth soft perineum. Finally, a fingertip strayed onto kid anus. Frank tickled ever so lightly.

Savannah’s knees, already well out of the water, braced the sides of the tub. If not granting access, at least she was expressing a desire to explore farther. There was so much slippery soap, all it took was a slight increase in pressure.

Frank stopped at the first joint, anxious to go deeper, yet needing permission.

“Can Rubber Ducky put his beak in your cute little butt-hole?” he whispered.

“Of course, Silly.”

It wasn’t just rubber-duck beak that disappeared into Savannah’s anus. Every time Frank squeezed the rubber duck, a little jet of water squirted out. Every playful poke, another squeeze, another tablespoon of warm soapy bath water injected into Savannah's small rectum. After ten minutes of Rubber Ducky, Savannah needed to sit on the toilet.