A Fly on the Wall: Savannah 9 5 12
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
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< < < Savannah is nine years, five months, and 12 days old > > >
If you havenât read the preceding parts, you should do so before continuing.
Frank Martin had been up since 3:50 am. Saturdayâs Dilation Schedule called for retrieval of D-2 and insertion of D-3 at 4:00 am. It slid right in, and Savannah went back to sleep, which was exactly what was supposed to happen. By 4:10 am, he was on his way to the barn, figuring with slightly less than four hours, heâd get his regular chores done before they left for Tucson, right before breakfast, 8:00 am.
Heâd just started mucking out the stables when he heard the barn door hinges squeak. For an awful moment, as he straightened up, he thought âanother goddamn illegal alien.â June was prime border-crossing season The last thing he expected was Savannah, wearing her lavender-purple-camouflage TOMBOYpre Wonder jumpsuit.
âYou scared the crap outta me, Sanny,â Frank very nearly yelled.
It didnât help that it was still dark outside, just the faintest glimmer of light in the sky over Elgin.
âMom!â Savannah held out her iPhone.
He held it away from his ear, expecting a tirade about Thursdayâs playtime. Not that he didnât deserve it, masturbating her âboy-thing, while plunging D-3 back and forth like the piston in an old-fashioned Glava well-water pump.
âWhatâs up, Karen?â
âI just had the creepiest phone call, Dad. Some man asked if I knew where Savannah was. Of course, I hung up immediately, and called her. I figured youâd be out doing chores.â
His sense of relief came and went, leaving behind an audible sigh of disbelief. âDid you get a phone number?â
âIt was unlisted. You think I should report it to the police?â
Frank didnât hesitate; he was a bull in a china shop when it concerned Savannahâs safety.
âIf you donât, I will.â
âDad, think about it. With all the fuss nowadays about missing kids and sex trafficking, do you really want cops at the ranch, maybe someone from CPS asking her questions?â
Frank exhaled. âThis man, what did he actually say?â
Karen thought for a few moments. ââDo you know where your kid is, right now?â Now I think about it, Dad, it mightâve been a computer voice. No accent, and it was flat, no intonation at all. Of course, I immediately thought sheâd been kidnapped.â
âAny mention of money?â
âNo. I have some saved up. Not a lot. Iâd have to go to Eric.â
âI could round up a hundred grand in a week, not that sheâs worth it. When you think about it, itâs not really threatening,â Frank added, unconvinced yet needing to reassure her. âMaybe someone thought they saw her someplace and wanted to let you know.â
She thought about it some more. âItâs crazy, Dad! You know, it could be a wrong number. Or a prank call. It was so unexpected, I panicked. You think I Â jumped to the wrong conclusion?â
âItâs likely. I mean if he knows your number, heâd know Savannahâs name. Still, it pays to be careful.â
âCareful, how?â
âFor starters, call your phone company and see if they can track the number. Meanwhile, I wonât let her out of my sight. Sheâs way safer on the ranch with me than in New York.â
As ranch-reasoning went, it was helpful in calming her down.
âIt depends on what âsafeâ is.â Karenâs guarded tone surprised him. âDad, she told me about last night.â
Frank frowned at Savannah, mock-serious. Friday night playtime set the standard as far as he was concerned. Afterwards, she slept in his bed.
âAll over, Iâm told,â Karen added, deliberately vague because anything else would be too darned emotional for 7:20 am in New York.
âAll over, and twice on the ticklish bits,â Frank confirmed, winking right at her.
Savannah, the recipient of her first around-the-world voyage, grinned like a pussy with cream. He left no part of her without a wet kiss, ears, fingers, under arms, ten little toes, all the while twiddling a succession of toys in her butt-twat. The âboy-thing,â he mostly managed to avoid.
He was certain now was the time if she was going to bring up Thursdayâs playtime.
âYouâve always spoiled her, Dad,â Karen snickered.
âSomeone has to.â He chuckled, still insecure yet relieved. âDid she tell you she talked me into going to Tucson? Weâre staying overnight so iBrat can shop.â
âYou think itâs safe?â
âIâll pack.â
âPackâ was an easily concealed Colt Defender. It usually lived in his nightstand drawer, loaded and waiting for unwanted visitors during the night.
âJust remember, Karen, if you call on this phone, you might need to take a number,â he joked to turn down the heat.
Savannah rolled her eyes, tangled bed-hair framing a striking if peevish face. Maybe she was cold, or she just wanted to go back to bed.
âIf you have to, confiscate it. The TOMBOY website will survive without her,â Karen chuckled. âI better go. Iâm meeting Eric at Paris Baguette. Take care of my iBrat, Dad.â
âI assume that means more of last night?â
âWeâll talk later about Thursdayâs playtime. Bye Savy, I love you.â
âLove you, Mom,â Savannah all but shouted.
With Savannahâs iPhone a silent aide-mĂŠmoire of Friday night, Frank held out his arms. She regarded him shyly, fully aware of what was in store.
âThe barnâs not very romantic, Grampa.â
It smelled of horses and hay, oil from Frankâs John Deere front loader, and fermenting pomace (grape pressings) headed for liqueur and grapeseed oil factories.
He felt completely inept. âOveralls arenât the best attire for romance, are they?â
The first two things he did every day, make a thermos of coffee and put on sandstone-brown Carhartt bib overalls. Doing chores wasnât a fashion show.
Savannah grinned back. âItâs kind of a rancher jumpsuit, Grampa.â
Only an hour earlier, watching him put on his overalls took her mind off the dilator jammed inside her. Like her lavender-camouflage jumpsuit, there was nothing underneath. With only the bedroom lampshade, bare and not all that hairy, his âbig ole penisâ dangling; it made her feel funny down there. The same happened when waking up again, her iPhone beeping insistently, immediately thinking about what happened in Grampaâs bed the night before.
âYou look kinda like a mean ole bear who likes to eat little girls.â
She smirked her way out of it, preteen precocity implying what she wanted to say, but couldnât. Not yet.
Unconvinced, he handed over her iPhone, thinking he ought to warn her to keep off the Internet. Â Sheâd had that lecture from Mom any number of times. With nothing to add, he picked up a rake.
âCan you walk me back, Grampa?â
âSo much for chores.â
Mock grumbling, propping the rake against the stall door, swigging from his coffee thermos, taking her little kid hand in his paw, they headed out the squeaky barn door. They were past the corral before Savannah had enough courage to bring it up.
âLast night was fun, Grampa,â she murmured.
âWhat, exactly, did you tell your mom?â
She giggled, shook, and then nodded her head. She thrived on sending mixed messages.
âJust the kissing, or everything?â Even hinting, made him hot.
Unable to stop himself when she finally turned over, heâd licked out her boy-pussy, very relaxed and minus a dilator. It was virgin anilingus for her, and for him, too. Bizarre, certainly, yet entirely natural, slobbering spit all over her little butt cheeks, scouring her crack, sticking his âbig ole tongueâ into her very spongy hole. Not once or twice, ten minutes of serious rimming.
At least one of them wanted to do it again!
âGoing to be dawn soon, Sanny,â he muttered, casting his gaze toward Mexican Blue Oaks. âKeep an eye out for rattlesnakes.â
âItâs still too cold, Grampa.â
âAny Sidewinders about, theyâll come out when they smell you.â He inhaled near her tousled hair. âNothing excites âem like orange-blossom shampoo.â
Savannah yanked his hand. âSweaty grandpas bring out Western Diamondbacks, so you better be careful.â
Like the night before, he led her every step of the way, though not like an innocent lamb to slaughter. Savannah knew, or surmised what was in store. Sitting next to her grampa on a Home Depot picnic table, with enough of a rise to give a view of Cochise County unimpeded by yuppie mansions, Apache Peak far in the distance. It was still too dark to see more than house lights and occasional streetlights.
Still holding his hand, iPhone temporarily laid down on the table, Savannah was trying hard not to yawn.
âWe going to see the sunrise, huh Grampa?â
Grampa just nodded, not about to say every morning was spectacular.
In those last few minutes of anticipation, Frank Martin felt 50 and very alive, not 60 and weary from getting up before dawn. She snuggled closer, pressing up against weathered cotton duck, feeling his warmth. Suddenly, 40 and horny, his work-hardened hand stroked silky curls, clawing through bed tangles.
With no warning at all, she scooted around, leaned up, and smooched on his neck. He wrapped his arm around her, keeping her there, inhaling juvenile scents.
âAny minute,â he murmured.
He sighed, seduced by little wet lips, and what could only be her tongue licking, leaving a pathway of spit on his shoulder up to the overallsâ bib.
His hand strayed, or followed his will, sneaking onto her front, pawing her slender abdomen through warm, soft, brushed cotton/poly, wondering what Karen would say when she learned he was off schedule. At 5:15 am, Savannah was supposed to be sleeping while the D-3 dilator dilated her ass, not having unscheduled playtime on a picnic table.
He plucked at the first Velcro tab, slipping his thumb inside her onesie-jumpsuit, tickling soft smooth skin as he parted successive tabs, opening the front from chest to crotch. She quivered, as he did, when his hand reached inside.
Nine years old and she was already used to her grandfather mauling her!
Caressing her small, hot body, massaging firm juvenile muscle, pinching skin ripples, grasping bare flesh. The utter urgency of Frank Martinâs lust was astounding, arousing both of them.
âGrampa?â Savannah tugged on his shoulder. âGrampa, you gotta turn more. I canât reach.â
She tugged again, trembling, panting each breath, making him comply.
Unsure, never so sure about anything, confused because everything was happening so quickly, unable to stop his hand from roaming. No tits, just pinprick nipples. Gorgeous soft belly. Sticking his finger into her Pillsbury-Doughboy bellybutton, getting a giggling Hoo-Hoo every time. Feeling her little body squirming, trembling, trying her best to get him to do what she wanted.
âSanny. Sanny.. Sanny⌠I love you. â Whispering it, yet wanting to shout, tell the whole goddamn county he was in love with Savannah.
More than anything, he wanted to bury his cock in her boy-pussy. Instead, he lifted her up, dumped her into his lap, hugging her tighter, harder than ever before. Her slender arms wrapped around his neck. Rubbing faces, his unshaved cow leather, like 60-grit sandpaper. Her face was chamois soft and smooth, so smooth. Breathing the same air. He saw her tongue poking out, wanton and wanting. Her eyes closed a moment before their lips met.
Frank Martin never kissed his wife like a lover. Wet and urgent, pressing lips, feeding on each other, swabbing her mouth, sucking her tongue until she was breathlessâshe was still only nine years old. They parted just enough to gasp and murmur what they didnât dare say the night before.
Holding her tightly, Frank resumed pawing, tweaking tiny nipples into pebbles until she was ready to kiss again. He slid his hand around and down, grasping, fondling anything he found inside her jumpsuit, lifting her up to get at her round little bottom, increasing her urgency ten-fold by rubbing, squeezing, clutching cheeks.
Savannah kissed, oblivious to spit and teeth, and coarse skin, scarcely aware that Grampa grasped her âboy-thing.â She was panting, shaking, burning up, when they parted. He held her, a love-child secure in his lap, nuzzling her face, finger and thumb masturbating her glans, pinching, rolling, squishing the tiny red ball mercilessly. She peaked in a frazzle, whimpering softly; and then peaked again before she made him stop.
 They watched the golden glow appear, Apache Peak in silhouette. The sun rose over the horizon, and darkness fled. He kept her warm until it was light enough to see their way back to the house without stumbling. Savannah always worried about rattlesnakes.
<<>>
Frank took Route 83 north, grasslands ending in mountains far in the distanceâthey called it the Sonoita Mountain View Highway for a reason. Soon, the scrubby trees of Coronado National Forest took over and serious cattle grazing ended.
âYou doing okay over there?â he asked.
Savannah was iBrat again. She didnât even look up from her iPhone.
âHey, I need to talk to the hot little kisser from Cimarron Ranch. That would be you!â
âGrampa, what now?â
âWeâre coming up to a border checkpoint. They know me; however, thereâs always a chance the guard pulls us over. Otherwise, it looks like discrimination. If he does, I donât want you squirming.â
âI donât squirm, Grampa.â
âYou were after breakfast.â
Sheâd been squirming and complaining when he inserted D-4. No wonder with seven inches of silicone, an inch and a quarter wide, crammed into her butt, completely filling the rectum. According to the T-G app, the dilator was flexible enough to make the turn into her colon. Mostly, it encouraged internal organs to rearrange. Sitting on it was actually helping her body adjust.
âThe hot little kisser is doing just fine now.â
Frank didnât believe that for a second. Sheâd vacillated between happy and mopey since watching the sunrise.
âYou on the TOMBOY website?â
âUh uh. Iâm texting Wayne. He says ânot easy being eleven.ââ
She held up her iPhone for him to see. It was too far away for him to read. Besides, reading at 65 mph was goddamn dangerous. However, he nodded as if he had read it. She typed, little fingers dancing on the screen.
âNow what?â
âI told him weâre about to go through a border thing, only the guards know you so itâs not a problem.â
âWhatâs Wayneâs problem?â
âOther than being gay for as long as he can remember?â Savannah hesitated. âHeâs got kind of a boyfriend problem. He says heâs a bottom.â
Frank nodded understandingly, even though he didnât understand. All of Savannahâs friends were gay boys, which meant romantic messes, emotional nuances, angst, bullying, inferiority; endless problems.
âHe knows that at eleven?â
A few hundred yards ahead, orange and white construction barrels  and witchesâ cones lined the side of the road. The checkpoint mightâve been unattended except for two white DHS SUVs parked between a scrappy metal shed, a trailer, and what resembled a roadside produce stand.
âMost kids know about butt sex at my age, Grampa.â She hesitated, scrolling back through texts, unaware that they were slowing down. âHeâs looking someone to top him.â
âSet him up with one of your online friends.â
Savannah had plenty of them; her Montessori school, fans of her YouTube videos, through the TOMBOY website, and most recently, the T-G app, which had âT-G Friendsâ for the kids to support each other.
âI already gave him Timâs email address, but he wants older, Grampa.â
Frank winked. âBetter to give up Raoul RamĂrez.â
He wasnât serious, but if he had to give up someone, it would be Raoul, not Tim. Tim was from her school. He also lived on 39th Street, the next block over. He liked Tim. He was funny and smart, although dark straight hair and green eyes made him look âemo.â He wanted to be an engineer like his mom, the kind of boy whoâd make a good partner for Savannah when he was older.
At the very last moment, a man in an olive-green uniform with a bright yellow shoulder patch stepped from behind the checkpoint stand and signaled to stop.
âNo squirming, Sanny!â Â he warned, digging in his pocket for his wallet.
He put on his hazard lights, pulled to the side, and lowered his window as the duty officer approached. Dark skinned Hispanic with a Marine-style buzz, the worst kind because they were biased and trying to prove they werenât.
âFrank Martin, Elgin resident going to Tucson, Officer.â He held up his driverâs license. On previous stops, it was more than enough for a wave through.
The border patrol agent strolled around the car, checking the rear tag and registration expiration, peering through the windows. He stopped at the driverâs window, leaning down to inspect the proffered ID.
âJust your daughter, Mr. Martin?â
Frankâs hackles went up. Situations like this complicated everything.
âSavannah Martin, visiting from New York.â
âI asked if she was your daughter, Sir.â His tone sharpened. âWeâre on the lookout for child-trafficking as much as undocumented aliens.â
On the spot, Frank chose truth. âMy grandson is transgender.â
About then, the patrol agent spotted TOMBOYpre  Rage shorts. He gaped, and gaped, and gaped.
On a whim, Frank confided, âSheâs nine. Can you believe it?â
âSheâs gorgeous,â escaped in a whisper.
âAnything else, Patrol Agent?â
Awkwardly, the patrol agent stepped back, still gaping. He waved to Savannah through the windscreen. Frank accelerated back to 60, his relief real.
âNext time, donât squirm.â
âGrampa, I didnât!â Realizing, Savannah ceased chewing on her bottom lip and grinned. âYou did, though.â
âHe looked at you long enough to run out of gas.â
âHe didnât look like a pedo.â Savannah shook her head, already back to scrolling through texts on her iPhone. âWayne wants an older boyfriend, Grampa.â
âHow old?â
âA lot older than Raoul.â She stopped scrolling. âIf you really want to know, hereâs what he texted last night. âI want him to be like my dad.ââ
âHe wants a man?â
Adult attraction was unlikely, not impossible with Internet-savy kids, yet Frank found it hard to believe.
She held up her iPhone again. âHe doesnât know any. He says his teachers are all straight. He wants to meet someone nice. Not like guys who hang out at malls or laser tag places.â
<<>>
Once on I-10, the mile markers flashed past quickly. The desert turned to industry, silos and food-processing plants mostly. Warehouses, sports complexes, and Costco preceded downtown Tucson, everything spread out like cowboys still drove herds of cattle through the middle of town, yet still a blur of mid- and low-rise buildings. Savannah had seen it often enough to be totally bored. She texted, smashed her iPhone in new and exciting ways, and showed Frank photos of Karenâs latest mockups for TOMBOY Rock.
âUber sexy, huh Grampa?â
Savannah oozed prideâKaren incorporated her idea for combining synthetic boa, both faux snake-skin and featherless, a kind of souped-up Hispanic Mardi Gras meets grunge look.
âLooks more like an alien encounter.â
It was worth a giggle. Instead, Savannah texted his âalienâ comment back to Mom.
âShe said, âBeware the rattlesnake in the ass.â She thinks itâs funny or she wouldâa wrote âgrass.ââ
âYou really want my opinion, Sanny?â
âSo long as itâs honest injun.â
âAnything your mom designs is uber sexy.â He paused for effect. âLike Range; itâs off the chart when someone whoâs as sexy as you wears the jeans.â
Frank grinned, hoping to get back in her good books. She frowned and scrolled through more photos before peeking sideways and grinning back at him.
âSo you think Iâm sexy?â
âOh yeah. Youâre super dooper sexy, with or without clothes.â
He checked the rear vision mirror before he ventured into the slow lane. A black two-door sedan, some kind of cheap Chrysler, still honked its horn from behind. He took the next exit, merged with North Freeway and turned right onto Route 77. He turned left at Evergreen Cemetery, still on Route 77, yet a little surprised to see the black sedan right behind him.
They were passing Tucson Mall, right before Rillito River, when Savannah texted again.
âWayne still looking for advice on how to meet men?â Frank teased.
She gave him the frustrated nine-year-old look.
Suddenly, pieces plopped into place, along with feeling he was quite frankly, âfucked.â
âThis Wayne kid, he doesnât happen to live in Tucson, does he?â
âHeâs from Phoenix, Grampa. Iâm not that dumb.â
Frank inhaled. âBy any chance, did you arrange to meet him at Tohono Chul Park?â
âUmâŚYeah⌠Kinda.â
âJesus, Savannah!! Donât you know how dangerous that is?â
âYeah, but Iâm with you, Grampa. Anyway, you told Mom you were packing.â
Frank groaned, and rerouted. âWhy, exactly, do you want to meet up with him?â
âUmâŚâ Savannah shrugged, doing a poor job concealing anxiety. âI thought maybe you could talk to him. Heâs so lonely.â
âIâm sure he is,â he snapped. âSanny, Honey, you canât go around trying to set up gay boys with men.â He rubbed his forehead, his anger slowly subsiding. âWhen, exactly, is this meeting.â
âThere isnât a time, Grampa. I didnât know when weâd get here. You said we might go to the mall first. Wayne said heâd be here all day. He keeps texting to ask where I am.â
âText him back and say⌠Hell, I donât know. You changed your mind. Better yet, donât answer any more messages from him. No matter what he says!â
Instead of taking the next turn left onto West Ina Road, and right into Tohono Chul Park, Frank continued on. At the last minute, he made a tight right onto a service road, back onto Route 77, but going in the opposite direction. At the last moment, he veered into the Red Roof Inn parking area. He stopped under a palm tree, struggling to find the right words.
âDo NOT ever, repeat EVER, text anyone any personal information! Donât email anyone without asking me or your Mom first. No sending photos we havenât approved.â
âDonât shout at me, Grampa. Are we going to go back to the ranch?â
Seeing her dismal face, protruding bottom lip, watering eyes, constant sniffles, and hunched up against the car door; Frank wanted to cry, too.
âWeâll stay here tonight,â he decided, yet wondering if he was overdoing it.
He had a 10:00-am-check-in reservation at historic Arizona Inn, one of the nicest hotels in the state with a fabulous old-fashioned dining room. At one fifth of the June Summer-Special price, and right around the corner from Tohono Chul Park, he figured the Red Roof Inn was the last place anyone would look.
<<>>
Room 209 was clean by Frankâs domestic standard; beds made with boot camp precision, hotel literature arranged on the desk, coffee maker set up with utensils and fixings in plastic bags. The carpet mightâve been vacuumed recently, or not. However, it was the smell, fresh, but not fresh, as if someone had sprayed scented disinfectant to block cigarette or pet odors. The Arizona inn, it most definitely was not.
Frank left their suitcase opposite the bathroom door, dropped the swipe card on the table beside the mini-fridge.
  âI donât know about you, Sanny, but Iâm pooped.â
He kicked off his shoes, and made a beeline for the bed closest to the window and air-conditioning.
Savannah gave him the bottom-lip treatment and didnât say a word.
He picked up the TV remote, pressing âpowerâ until the TV responded. Saturday, June 9th, Colorado Rockies vs. Arizona Diamondbacks at Coors Field, Denver. Nearly 6:00 pm, the game was 45 minutes in.
Instead of her usual modus operandi of cuddling with him, Savannah flopped onto the other bed, not even a glance at her iPhone.
He sighed for effect. âOkay, whatâs up with my kiss monster?â
âThe kiss monster is beat.â She sighed, too. âThe kiss monster is also way off schedule.â
âKiss monsterâ started in Saguaro National Park. They were off the well-beaten Picture Rocks Wash path, making out like horny teenagers when they realized a Gila Monster was watching them. Savannah promptly took a photo with her iPhone, the only venomous lizard in the US, just a few yards away. Then, they skedaddled to find somewhere less inhabited.
âIf you donât count watching the sunrise, yeah, we missed morning playtime.â Frank slapped his forehead. âDonât tell me itâs been in you all this time?â
From 8:00 am to 6:00 pm, ten long hours, most of it spent hiking medium-difficulty trails, and not a single complaint, except when he replaced her D-3 with the massive D-4. The next size up always hurt when it first went in.
âYour job is to put it in, and take it out, on schedule! Not lay on the bed and watch some stupid baseball game.â
He scrambled off the bed, an insensible asshole, caring more about baseball than the kid he loved. He stood, gazing down at her, feeling terribly shamed, completely at a loss for what to do next.
âIâm sort. I really screwed up. Why didnât you say something, Sanny?
Anyone could see she didnât want to talk.
âYou were mad at me.â
âOh Sanny, I was worried about you. I wasnât mad at you, not really.â
She wasnât about to let him off easily. âYou were mad, Grampa! Really, really mad! When you finally started being nice to me again, it wasnât hurting.â
âI canât believe it doesnât hurt something awful all the time,â he muttered. âWeâd best get those pants off you so I can take a look at my kiss monsterâs cute little butt.â
Savannah regarded him, blinking, more sniffling in the offing. âKiss monster is gone forever if youâre going to be mad at me.â
âNever ever again, I promise; assuming you donât do something really stupid like get pregnant: or do tequila shots while youâre driving; or send texts to strangers.â
She wasnât in the mood for teasing. âI didnât realize I was doing something wrong by texting him, Grampa. Heâs only eleven. He sent me a photo.â
Before Grampa could say âfuck me,â she had it on her iPhone, held out for him to see..
The kid in the photo looked about eleven, mousey type with insensible eyes, straight brown hair, and skinny as a pitchfork. Â
âMaybe you didnât do anything wrong, Sanny. Itâs possible I jumped to conclusions.â
He wasnât about to say what he was thinking. If the kid lived in Phoenix, heâd eat his Stetson. The boy was as pale as a Siberian winter; and the rug hanging on the wall behind him was some kind of Persian thing, not Navajo.
âAre you going to tell Mom?â
âI should, just in case.â He hesitated to bring it up again. âWhat if heâs the person who called your mom and asked if she knew where you were?â
âYouâll just make her worry, Grampa. Thereâs no way Wayne would know to call her.â
She took his hand and drew him down. He sat on the side of her bed, leaning over her, unfastening buttons, each with a little Rage logo. He opened the front of her shorts. She lifted up, and he tugged them down to her feet, pulling off her red-white-and-blue design-your-own Nike Air Max sneakers in the process. He grinned, gazing at slender bare legs, brown where the sun reached, like creamy ivory elsewhere.
Licking his lips with unabashed anticipation, he plucked the waist cord of her all-but-invisible girl-thong. She lifted up again. He dragged it over her butt an inch at a time; it was easier after that.
After what happened at dawn, he made a point of not looking. The last thing he wanted was Savannah calling her mom, saying that Grampa played with her âboy-thingâ until she orgasmed; three little dry shudders the first time; heâd counted them, disbelieving heâd caused them. The second time, he was too excited to be sure.
She averted her eyes, too, acting as if her âboy-thingâ didnât exist. It still got hard.
He said the first thing that came into his head. âI love you.â
âI wub you, too, Grampa. I sorry I screwed up,â she said in her bashful baby voice, which only made it cuter.
Finally, she peeked, instinct, or perhaps she could feel it throbbing. It looked stiff enough to poke out an eye, chip ice from the freezer in Frankâs barn, or steal someoneâs virginity.
The whiny voice was completely normalâheâd heard it often. âI canât help it.â
Grampa promptly covered her crotch with his hand, fingers squishing into silky-soft scrotum, cradling both tiny testicles. Just two more weeks and theyâd be gone forever. It wasnât fair, yet heâd never say that.
âAs good as gone,â he joked, giving a playful, yet gentle squeeze.
He could feel her âboy-thingâ pulsing under his palm, hard and hot. Nearly big enough to be noticed, circumcised tightly, too tightly, pink inner skin going farther than half way. It was exotic compared to Mickeyâs penis, the last time he saw it.
Savannah giggled strangely, slender arms lifting up, locking around his neck, pulling him down. Rather than lie on top and worry about squashing her, Frank rolled her onto her side and lay behind her. One hand still clasped the offensive boy-parts, his other hand caressing, unbuttoning, and pushing up her Rage blouse. Unable to control himself, he roughed her up, urgently pinching nipples, more poking armpits than tickling, manipulating flat pectoral muscle, kneading bulging gluteus muscle, abrading baby-soft skin over sculpted abdominal muscle, all the while heightening the sensation by burying his nose in her hair. He seriously thought about leaving his mark on her neck.
Savannahâs head twisted around, little tongue wetting her lips, puckering up so there was no question what she expected from him, even side on and awkward.
He smooched wetly, sucking on her tongue, grinding his erection against her bare little butt.
âKiss Monster is back, huh?â he whispered in her ear.
âUh huh.â
She wriggled back to encourage him, suddenly wanting what Wayne said he wanted. She settled for his tongue filling her mouth. Â When they separated, Frank was shaking as much as she was.
âIâm sorry about being mean to you, Sanny.â
âYou owe me a butt orgasm from this morning, Grampa.â
âYeah, I do, but first you need to hop in the tub and wash off the desert, Sweetheart.â
âYouâre all sweaty too.â
âIâll shower after youâre done.â
She giggle-grinned. âYouâre no fun, Grampa.â
âYou want fun; dare me to get in the bath with you?â
He sat up, stood up, scooped her up, and had hoisted her over his shoulder before she had time to say, âI dare you.â
It was hardly the way to treat a nine-and-a-half-year-old girl. Savannah, the boy, wriggled and giggled, and pummeled Grampaâs back all the way into the bathroom.Â
Frank eased her down in front of the commode. âTry to poop, Sanny. Maybe itâll come out by itself.â
He turned on the bath taps, adjusted the water, and closed off the drain. When he turned around, Savannah was straining, one hand underneath to catch the dilator as it glided out.
âWas that as easy as it looked?â
Confused, even surprised, Savannahâs hand reemerged from between her widespread thighs, pinching the slimy dilator by the end ring. She gasped as the enormity of it sank in.
âIt feels so empty back there, Grampa.â
âWell, yeah. Look at the size of the damned thing. You stay right where you are while I get your douche thingie out of my bag.â
Sheâd pooped, wiped, and flushed before he got back. Her T-G app was resolute about regularly irrigating and rinsing, recommending a bulb syringe with lateral holes near the nozzle for proper cleansing.
While he undressed and brushed his teeth, he made her douche twice, the second time just for the heck of it.
She squeezed the bulb, squirting warm water into her rectum. âItâs not like your semenâs inside me,â she complained.
Frank never expected something like that to come from *his* precocious precious nine-year-old, boy or girl. She looked up at him, smirking, fully aware. She slipped out of her Rage blouse as the last of the water trickled into the bowl. Still astounded, he gawked, gloriously, shamelessly naked but for white ankle socks.
At Savannahâs insistence, he got into the tub first, sitting with his back away from the tap, watching her pull off socks. She stepped over the side, holding his hand, placing one foot either side of his knees. She squatted slowly, facing him, her eyes never leaving his middle.
âItâs huge, Grampa,â she murmured, all of a sudden feeling very small.
It was like looking at D-5, slightly shorter, slightly thicker. And it had an enormous helmet on the end, not purple, not crimson, a color in the middle, pale like her favorite âlavender.â
Frank smiled, sending reassurance, meeting her eyes when she finally glanced up. He nodded. Still not a word. Even though sheâd often seen his penis erect before, this time was different.
He watched the rise and fall of her little ribbed chest with each short nervous breath, her head tilted slightly, fascinated blue eyes taking it in. He leaned back, knees wide apart, letting her get used to it again.
âHe keeps jerking, Grampa.â
âI think he likes sharing the bathtub with you.â
She smiled, clever Fashion-Brat mind churning, though still not ready to articulate juvenile lust. âYeah, heâs happy.â
He took hold of her hands, wanting only for her to touch it for a second or two. At the last moment, he drew her down so she had no choice but to lay on top of him, her legs inside his.
As they touched, they seemed to merge. Never so warm and comfortable, and aware of what lay between them, Savannah settled down, tired muscles soaking, long curls brushing his chest, yielding to his embrace, breathing when he breathed.
Finally, she murmured, âHmmmm.â
âSounds like youâre happy, too.â
âUh huh.â
With her head on his chest, his thick hard penis squashed into her belly, corresponding smaller parts jammed against his thighs. She smiled to herself, never so happy, or peaceful, constantly thinking how lucky she was. A long minute passed before she tickled her teddy bear, fingering stubble-rough chin, tracing his jaw, and down his neck. She lifted up enough to run her fingers across his lightly furred chest, plucking playfully at the hair under his arms.
âYou feel really nice. Everythingâs so big and strong.â
His hands relocated from her back, reaching way down to her butt, cupping each small cheek, pressing their fronts together. In a giggling rush, everything changed. His fingers delved into her crack, splitting her wide, a finger from each hand exploring her opening, both fingertips sneaking inside, tugging playfully. Her anus, already flexible, stretched even wider.
âI love you so much, Sanny,â he whispered.
The temptation to penetrate overwhelmed him, the desire to possess so demanding that no man could resist. With a foot, he nudged off the tap. Innocence, virginity, childhood, none of it mattered. He lifted her by her hips, just enough to relocate his penis from under her belly to between her thighs, hoping it would be enough to quell lust.
Savannah was outright content, wanting no more, and no less, than to lay on top of him forever and let him do whatever he wanted. She certainly didnât expect him to start soaping her up with a tiny bar of Ivory motel soap. But it felt *so* good, his big strong hands sliding up and down her slippery body, from hips to shoulders, and back again.
Without understanding why, she clamped her slender thighs on his massive erection, tightening the muscles inside her lower abdomen as well. She trembled, the lingering sensation of feeling empty replaced by joyful awareness.
Instinct made his hands slide lower, a soapy hand cupping each little buttock, thumbs massaging the rounded cheeks, fingers dipping into the gap, widening, tantalizing before retreating.
With his fingertips tickling her tailbone Frank whispered in her ear. âYou comfortable?â
âUh huh.â She nodded, too.
At nine years old, she knew what she wanted, not how to get it. However, instinct took control, slow deep breaths, clamping and relaxing her sphincter muscle, her little âboy-thingâ stiff and pulsing, otherwise useless.
Grampa hugged and kissed the top of her head until she pushed on his shoulders, straightening her arms and lifting up. At armsâ length, she gazed down, long curls framing her face, bright eyes searching his eyes for a sign, uncertain, afraid to ask, yet wanting the exact same thing as her gay friends.
He smiled back at her, his erect penis throbbing between her thighs, his swollen glans hovering over her rump, oozing fluid. Over her shoulder, he watched a dribble leak out. He smeared on her buttocks with his thumb, mixing it into the soap foam, slimy like semen.
Did it matter if penetration happened seven days early, when she was already seven years ahead of most kids?
Without a word, he repositioned them, scooting lower in the tub, with his knees bent, hoisting her higher, slippery as a seal, cradling her head on his shoulder, her thighs pulled up like a dissected frog, outside his thighs for maximum access.
âGrampaâŚâ
âShhhh.â
Three thick adult fingers rubbed lovingly in her butt crack. The hole was spongy soft, soapy, and so large he was sure all three fingers would fit in at the same time.
About then, he remembered the T-G app was adamant about not using soap as a lubricant. So close, yet he did the right thing, splashing bath water over her butt, rinsing away foam. Guiltily, he caressed her back, tickling sleek flanks and bare little buttocks, making her giggle.
âItâs like little mice running around, Grampa.â
âYouâre so big back here.â Â He poked his index finger inside to show her.
It wouldnât take much, a slight push and all three fingertips would breach her anus. A little more pressure, and theyâd slide through her sphincter, all the way in where it was hot and loose after ten hours of D-4.
âYou think your penis will fit?â Savannah hesitated. âYou can try if you want.â
Frank backtracked quickly. âWeâll try in a couple more days, I promise.â
All too well, he remembered Karenâs determined voice, going on about staying on schedule, which meant no penetration until Savannah was done with D-5.
âMommy doesnât need to know.â
âThere are other things you need to experience first.â
âLike what, Grampa?â
Smiling, Frank raised his hips, aligning before cautiously wedging the tip of his engorged penis in Savannahâs opening.
âOoooh. Is that him?â She could feel it burrowing, so big and slimy, soft, yet hard, not really pushing in.
âDo you like having him there, Sanny?â Frank pressed his glans into the hollow, filling it, leaking his gooey juice, smearing it all around the indentation.
 âHe feels so nice, Grampa.â
âYour hot little pussy feels very nice, too,â Frank crooned. âIâm guessing you donât want me to stop, huh?â
âUh uh.â
The little head shake was entirely in character, unforgettably obstinate now Savannah was finally on the way to getting what she wanted.
She wriggled against the swollen knob bulging into her tender anus, anal nerves and brain responding exactly as nature intended. All of her friends talked about butt fucking, and they all wanted to do it, yet nothing they said prepared her, certainly not for the deep-down urge to take him inside her.
He felt her responding, little spasms as she tightened and relaxed, surely inviting him in. It would never be easier, the muscle layers so weakened, the opening so dilated that a single slow thrust would finish the job. Get virginity over and done with so they could concentrate on making love.
Instead of pushing through her nibbling sphincter, he resorted to wobbling his glans in her anus, oozing copious preseminal fluid, far, far more than he ever produced by masturbating, even with photos of Savannah to help him.
âJust do it, Grampa.â Savannahâs voice was insistent.
He grinned at her, horny and ornery, still four years from being a teenager. âI will. In a minute, give or take.â
Surely, 60 seconds would never be long enough. At 50 seconds, Grampa was struggling, straining to hold back the final outpouring, yet still wobbling his glans in the slimy depression. He gripped the stiff shaft, not needing to masturbate. Rubbing on Savannah was more than ample. Besides, it was technically inside her, if rim meeting rim was the standard to go by.
Frank didnât remember much from 18 years of marriage, only that heâd never been so excited with his wife. The thrill was intense, the realization making him nervous, extra careful. His erection was unbendable, weeping juice, throbbing mercilessly, desperate to plunge the rest of the way. Only his hand, wrapped around the engorged shaft, prevented further penetration.
The final five seconds was a lifetime, or a flash in the pan. His scrotum tightened, cremaster muscles contracting, drawing both testicles into a monkey-fist knot. His penis, already impossibly stiff, swelled and became even harder. With no way to escape the inescapable, his semen surged up his urethra. It had nowhere to go except inside Savannah. Spurt after glorious spurt erupted into her boy-pussy, filling her quaking rectum.
He groaned disbelief, wonder, exultation. Â So proud, still throbbing, dribbling, not enough pressure to do more than seep out where penis met anus, gasping, gazing up at her as the hot sloppy mess in her butt crack seared its message into both befuddled brains.
âYou put your cum in me, Grampa.â
More than saying âcumâ for the first time, heâd never forget her voice, tinny and tiny, her vaguely bemused face, not worried, not questioning, accepting his semen was inside her.
âItâs where itâs supposed to be, Sanny,â he muttered, humbled, each breath still an effort.
Yet, he couldnât stop thinking heâd shouldâve pushed through, not merely left his calling card, but claimed her him as his own. He felt behind her, his penis already sagging, slimy yet, snuggled securely against her âboy-thingâ. Her hole was gaping and loose around his two fingers. He puddled in the mushy aperture, teasing, tantalizing, fascinated as much by her acquiescence as by what heâd done, not only natural, but good, too.
âI bet youâre glad youâre not still mad at me,â she murmured.
âI wasnât too mad at you, was I?â
âI did kinda fuck up.â
âWhere did I put the soap?â
âMommy said it first. âItâs all over if either of us fuck up;â her exact words, Grampa.â
âWell, both of us need to be really careful from now on. No more texting unless I approve.â
He pressed deeper, slowing penetrating until both fingers wedged at the knuckles. Halfway in, halfway out, little buttocks clenching, relaxing. It was hot inside her, throbbing too. She shuddered, clamping or cramping. He eased back, took a much-needed breath and pressed in again. When she whimpered, he pulled out.
He leaned to her ear. âI love you, Sanny.â
âGrampa, I think I left my shampoo at the ranch.â
âWeâll buy more when we go out for dinner, Honey.â
âAre we going to do it again at playtime?â
Grampa chuckled, only a left arm hug since his right hand was busy again, index finger fully inside, beyond her dilated sphincter, his knuckles jammed into her crack, feeling around for the heck of it.
âYouâre full of my cum. Iâm not sure thereâs room for more,â he teased.
He prodded the sleek rectal walls, mushy tissue enveloping, sucking and surging as his finger explored. He was sure she sighed, yet when he went back to same place it all felt the same.
âReckon Iâm way too deep.â
âWhatâs way too deep?â
âDr. Stein talked about it. Your prostate; it makes you have orgasms back here.â
âGrampa, he kinda crooked his finger as soon as it got past the big muscle.â
âYou remember that?â
âDuh! Itâs the best thing ever. My friends talk about finger fucking all the time.â
Stunned, Frank withdrew his index finger until abnormally slack muscle encased the second joint. Then, hooking as much as best he could, mostly poking down toward Savannahâs âboy-thingâ, he twiddled, hoping he was in the right spot.
âYou got it,â Savannah gasped.
âIâll take your word for it.â What else could he do; it sure as hell didnât feel any different.
She gasped again, grunted something incomprehensible, and wriggled against him. Suddenly, little hot hands were busy grasping whatever they could find, trembling against him.
âHarder!â
Breathless, twitching, little spasms erupting from deep inside, Frank rubbed and poked, so far beyond twiddling he was certain heâd hurt, if not injure something inside her. Boy-boned again, too. Had it ever gone down?
âGrampa⌠Grampa⌠Oh!â
âWhatâs wrong, Sanny?â
She was shaking, panting and groans mixed in a cacophony of lust. He poked even harder, felt her straining back, shoving herself onto his finger.
âRight there,â she gasped. âOnly go faster. Really, really fast.â
Holding his breath, he strummed the spot that made her shudder. It was definitely firmer; there was a small bump under his fingertip. He pushed on it, massaged it, poked it. Finally, he jabbed his finger against it.
Without more warning that a plaintive whimper, Savannah lurched against him, writhing as if trying to get away from him, all but gnawing his shoulder as she peaked.