A Fly on the Wall: Mommy, Can Grampa Barf Me?

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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Vignette  < < < Mommy, can Grampa barf me?****> > >

It had been a very long day for Frank Martin; an hour’s drive from his ranch to Tucson, two hours in the terminal, an eight-hour flight to JFK, New York via Atlanta with a three-hour time difference, and a hectic taxi ride into Manhattan. He finally called Karen on his cellphone and arranged to meet her at the corner of 8th Avenue and 38th Street—on his last visit, he’d gotten lost trying to find her building.

Of course, he knew things would be hectic—he was in New York for Spring Fashion Week. He even had a front-row seat for Kids Rock, next to Eric Perlmann. It was Karen’s first professional showing, the first critical evaluation of market potential for her Savannah Collection. She didn’t know of any designers who named an entire collection after a model.

That afternoon, and into the evening, while Karen made final alterations on Savannah’s outfits, Frank entertained Savannah with dominoes, tall tales, and grandpa-pony rides. Savannah was out of school until Thursday, scheduled to model five different outfits in front of hundreds of buyers and industry leaders. Between try-ons, Savannah wore a flamboyant strawberry-camouflaged jumpsuit, easy on, easy off.

Savannah was still wearing the jumpsuit when Karen called ‘bath time.’

 “Mommy, can Grampa barf me?”

Not wanting to disappoint Savannah, Frank Martin glanced at Karen. He barely shook his head, yet he hoped she would notice. Not that he didn’t enjoy bath time; it was at the top of his favorite things to do; however, he was exhausted.

Karen merely inclined her head, a kind of ‘please yourself, but you’ll disappoint her’ look.

 “How about you ‘barf’ yourself tonight, and I ‘barf’ you tomorrow night?” Frank suggested.

After getting up at 5:00 am, the last thing he wanted was to play bath games. As much as he loved Savannah, a cold beer sounded better.

Savannah glared, hand on hip, as petulant as any kid spoiled rotten. “Now, Grampa! Teddy D. Bear wants you to barf him.”

Karen raised an eyebrow.

Frank chuckled. “I think the teddy bear might need tickling.” He growled and advanced toward Savannah, who promptly backed up to Mom.

Tired from weeks of getting ready for the show, and several days of very little sleep, Karen finally intervened.

“Please, Dad. A few minutes in the tub, that's all. She's going to my hairdresser tomorrow morning, so just soap, rinse, and dry off. I’ll run downstairs and pick up dinner.”

Dinner was already ordered; Chinese take-out in little cardboard boxes from Chef Fu on the opposite corner—they were the only vegetarian-friendly restaurant within walking distance.

“Okay, Teddy D. Bear. Barf time. Let’s go.”

 It was a ploy. Frank scooped up Savannah, smooched her forehead, and play-whacked her butt before putting her down again.

Savannah grabbed his hand. “Can we play Rubber Ducky, too, Grampa?”

Frank allowed Savannah to drag him down five feet of hallway. One bedroom, one bathroom, and not much else; for $4,000 per month the apartment was tiny. He turned on the tap, adjusted the temperature, and half-filled the tub while Savannah located bath toys. He was certain he could smell General Tso’s chicken and fried chili beef. When he turned around to see if Karen was back, he heard a thump in the bedroom. He went to investigate.

Savannah was standing on the bed in front of the mirror, the strawberry-camouflaged jumpsuit and pastel-purple bikini briefs pitched on the pillows.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Frank muttered, suddenly very conscious that Savannah didn’t have any clothes on.

Just a thin creamy cord around Savannah’s middle, pulled down so low it seemed caught on little bare butt. From behind, perfect pale globes stole Frank’s breath. The cord blended in so well that he had to look twice to see the cord actually dipped into her butt-crack. It made his heart rate jump a notch.

“Mommy likes me to undress in the bedroom so I don’t get my clothes get wet,” Savannah explained, innocently wriggling a very slender pelvis.

Frank wasn’t about to say what he was thinking.

Savannah was way too young to be doing a striptease, because that’s what it looked like as she pirouetted on tangled bedsheets. She stopped in a Fashion Brat pose, hands on hips, left leg cranked, right leg stretched out, hips slanted seductively.

Presented like that, Frank gaped from the doorway. An awful moment later, he realized there was nothing down there. Everything gone. Shock, panic, anger exploded.

“What the fuck!” It was fortuitous that Frank didn’t shout.

“You said a bad word, Grampa.”

Trembling, not daring to ask, unable to breathe, Frank crossed the bedroom. His only thought was ‘oh my God! Karen’s crazy.’

Even though Karen had mentioned ‘sex change’ not once, but several times on his last visit, insanity was the only explanation. Not logical, not normal, yet ‘everything gone’ was in the realm of possibility because of Karen’s conviction; Savannah knew what was best for Savannah.

 He slumped on the unmade bed, gulping back bile.

“Jesus! How could she?” With tears in his eyes and shaking his head, he made himself look at what was no longer there.

Savannah wasn’t completely naked. There was something almost undetectable from where he sat at the end of the bed. It wasn’t a bikini, or a G-string. It was cream-colored, like flesh; skintight because it flattened everything. It almost hid what made Savannah a boy.

“That’s new,” Frank finally got out.

“Mommy made it ‘specially for the show,” Savannah said proudly. “It’s a girl-thong, so I look right.”

“Right,” Frank murmured, leaning closer. “You really look like a girl,” came out in a moment of honesty.

“I am a girl, Grampa. I got a boy thing by mistake.”

Up close, Frank could just make out the shape of Savannah’s ‘boy-thing’ under a small concave-tapering triangle. A very-compressed penis pointed down, longer and thinner than normal. The glans was low-down between Savannah’s slender thighs. He could just see the pinkish tip sticking out of a tiny elastic hole, so Savannah could pee sitting down.

“Will you take it off, Grampa?”

Frank wasn’t sure where or how to begin; all he knew was he needed to remove it if he wanted to get his ‘boy’ back. When he tugged on the waist cord, it seemed too tight to pull off. He checked both front and back; there was no clasp or drawstring to mar the sleek formfitting appearance.

Savannah giggled at Grampa’s confusion and took over, both little thumbs squeezing between bare skin and cord, peeling it down over plump little buttocks. Once the back was down far enough to relieve the tension, Savannah did the same on the front, stopping only to pull the end of her penis out of the pee-hole.

“There’s my boy,” Frank murmured, staring at ruddy immature genitals.

He pulled the tiny girl-thong all the way to Savannah’s feet. It was tiny, as light as the proverbial feather, elastic where it needed to be, unyielding where it covered ‘boy-things.’

Within seconds, Savannah was off the bed and doing a birthday-suit fashion show in front of the bay window. Always striking; in fact, gorgeous. Not like some kids who walked the fashion show runways. The current trend in child models was politically correct ‘ordinary'; overweight, grungy mouse hair, insipid complexions, misaligned teeth, boring eyes.

Frank stared for a minute, maybe longer, maybe much longer. It struck him that nature had finally achieved perfection.

“You’re a special teddy bear, very special,” he whispered, mostly to himself.

“I still shouldn’t have a penis, Grampa.”

Frank snapped out of it. “Huh?”

“I should have a vagina like Mommy, only nature made a mistake and gave me a penis.”

“I think you have a very nice penis.”

“It’s busted, but; see, Grampa.”

It was hard to ignore two precious very-stiff inches, the almost-average erection for a seven-year-old, yet on Savannah’s little body it looked generous.

 “It looks like it works just fine.”

“It’s all swelled up.”

“The last time I gave you a bath, it got hard, remember? It’s normal, Honey.”

Frank feasted on the little bare body, telling himself he should keep his opinions to himself. It certainly wasn’t what he’d agreed to with Karen. He’d promised to ignore, if he couldn’t support her.

“I don’t want a penis.”

 “I have a penis, Sanny, a fairly big one, actually,” Frank announced proudly before he realized he sounded like some kind of subway pedophile.

“Well, duh. You’re all growed up, Grampa.”

“Maybe you should wait until you grow a bit more?”

“Mickey’s not growed up.”

“Mickey?”

After visiting Disneyworld for Savannah’s sixth birthday, Frank still expected something about a mouse, or even a duck. However, this ‘Mickey’ was coming up on ten. She used the same gender-neutral bathroom at school as Savannah.

“This summer, she went on a plane to get her vagina.”

“How do you know?” Frank asked, telling himself it was mostly to divert Savannah from giving a bare-butt fashion show to 39th Street.

“Because I saw it.”

Savannah turned away from the window and jabbed her thumb into her puffy little scrotum.

“I hate this. I want it to go away so I can be a normal girl.”

“Um, Sanny, I understand, really I do; only I don’t know what to tell you. You make an awesome boy. However, you can’t just switch from being a boy to a girl.”

“Mommy says I can have a vagina when I’m older, if I wanna.”

“Well, having a penis is pretty cool.” Frank smirked. “You can pee standing up.”

“Why would you wanna do that?”

Frank caught himself and stayed with the party line. “No reason.” Curiosity got the better of him. “Does Mickey still have a penis?”

“Uh huh.  It’s flat underneath.”

“Flat how!”

“She has a vulva like Mommy, only tiny.” Arms folded, Savannah stared at Grampa. “I’m not going to tell you anymore unless you barf me, Grampa.”

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