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.

< < < Savannah is nine years, five months, and 12 days old > > >

If you haven’t read the preceding parts, you should do so before continuing.

Frank Martin had been up since 3:50 am. Saturday’s 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, he’d get his regular chores done before they left for Tucson, right before breakfast, 8:00 am.

He’d just started mucking out the stables when he heard the barn door hinges squeak. For an awful moment, as he straightened up, he thought ‘another goddamn illegal alien.’ June was prime border-crossing season The last thing he expected was Savannah, wearing her lavender-purple-camouflage TOMBOY^pre Wonder jumpsuit.

“You scared the crap outta me, Sanny,” Frank very nearly yelled.

It didn’t help that it was still dark outside, just the faintest glimmer of light in the sky over Elgin.

“Mom!” Savannah held out her iPhone.

He held it away from his ear, expecting a tirade about Thursday’s playtime. Not that he didn’t deserve it, masturbating her ‘boy-thing, while plunging D-3 back and forth like the piston in an old-fashioned Glava well-water pump.

“What’s up, Karen?”

“I 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 you’d be out doing chores.”

His sense of relief came and went, leaving behind an audible sigh of disbelief. “Did you get a phone number?”

“It was unlisted. You think I should report it to the police?”

Frank didn’t hesitate; he was a bull in a china shop when it concerned Savannah’s safety.

“If you don’t, I will.”

“Dad, 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?”

Frank exhaled. “This man, what did he actually say?”

Karen thought for a few moments. “’Do you know where your kid is, right now?’ Now I think about it, Dad, it might’ve been a computer voice. No accent, and it was flat, no intonation at all. Of course, I immediately thought she’d been kidnapped.”

“Any mention of money?”

“No. I have some saved up. Not a lot. I’d have to go to Eric.”

“I could round up a hundred grand in a week, not that she’s worth it. When you think about it, it’s not really threatening,” Frank added, unconvinced yet needing to reassure her. “Maybe someone thought they saw her someplace and wanted to let you know.”

She thought about it some more. “It’s crazy, Dad! You know, it could be a wrong number. Or a prank call. It was so unexpected, I panicked. You think I  jumped to the wrong conclusion?”

“It’s likely. I mean if he knows your number, he’d know Savannah’s name. Still, it pays to be careful.”

“Careful, how?”

“For starters, call your phone company and see if they can track the number. Meanwhile, I won’t let her out of my sight. She’s way safer on the ranch with me than in New York.”

As ranch-reasoning went, it was helpful in calming her down.

“It depends on what ‘safe’ is.” Karen’s guarded tone surprised him. “Dad, she told me about last night.”

Frank frowned at Savannah, mock-serious. Friday night playtime set the standard as far as he was concerned. Afterwards, she slept in his bed.

“All over, I’m told,” Karen added, deliberately vague because anything else would be too darned emotional for 7:20 am in New York.

“All over, and twice on the ticklish bits,” 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 ‘boy-thing,’ he mostly managed to avoid.

He was certain now was the time if she was going to bring up Thursday’s playtime.

“You’ve always spoiled her, Dad,” Karen snickered.

“Someone has to.” He chuckled, still insecure yet relieved. “Did she tell you she talked me into going to Tucson? We’re staying overnight so iBrat can shop.”

“You think it’s safe?”

“I’ll pack.”

‘Pack’ was an easily concealed Colt Defender. It usually lived in his nightstand drawer, loaded and waiting for unwanted visitors during the night.

“Just remember, Karen, if you call on this phone, you might need to take a number,” 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.

“If you have to, confiscate it. The TOMBOY website will survive without her,” Karen chuckled. “I better go. I’m meeting Eric at Paris Baguette. Take care of my iBrat, Dad.”

“I assume that means more of last night?”

“We’ll talk later about Thursday’s playtime. Bye Savy, I love you.”

“Love you, Mom,” Savannah all but shouted.

With Savannah’s iPhone a silent aide-mémoire of Friday night, Frank held out his arms. She regarded him shyly, fully aware of what was in store.

“The barn’s not very romantic, Grampa.”

It smelled of horses and hay, oil from Frank’s John Deere front loader, and fermenting pomace (grape pressings) headed for liqueur and grapeseed oil factories.

He felt completely inept. “Overalls aren’t the best attire for romance, are they?”

The first two things he did every day, make a thermos of coffee and put on sandstone-brown Carhartt bib overalls. Doing chores wasn’t a fashion show.

Savannah grinned back. “It’s kind of a rancher jumpsuit, Grampa.”

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 ‘big ole penis’ 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 Grampa’s bed the night before.

“You look kinda like a mean ole bear who likes to eat little girls.”

She smirked her way out of it, preteen precocity implying what she wanted to say, but couldn’t. Not yet.

Unconvinced, he handed over her iPhone, thinking he ought to warn her to keep off the Internet.  She’d had that lecture from Mom any number of times. With nothing to add, he picked up a rake.

“Can you walk me back, Grampa?”

“So much for chores.”

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.

“Last night was fun, Grampa,” she murmured.

“What, exactly, did you tell your mom?”

She giggled, shook, and then nodded her head. She thrived on sending mixed messages.

“Just the kissing, or everything?” Even hinting, made him hot.

Unable to stop himself when she finally turned over, he’d 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 ‘big ole tongue’ into her very spongy hole. Not once or twice, ten minutes of serious rimming.

At least one of them wanted to do it again!

“Going to be dawn soon, Sanny,” he muttered, casting his gaze toward Mexican Blue Oaks. “Keep an eye out for rattlesnakes.”

“It’s still too cold, Grampa.”

“Any Sidewinders about, they’ll come out when they smell you.” He inhaled near her tousled hair. “Nothing excites ‘em like orange-blossom shampoo.”

Savannah yanked his hand. “Sweaty grandpas bring out Western Diamondbacks, so you better be careful.”

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.

“We going to see the sunrise, huh Grampa?”

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.

“Any minute,” 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 overalls’ 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 Martin’s lust was astounding, arousing both of them.

“Grampa?” Savannah tugged on his shoulder. “Grampa, you gotta turn more. I can’t reach.”

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.

“Sanny. Sanny.. Sanny… I love you. ” 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 breathless—she was still only nine years old. They parted just enough to gasp and murmur what they didn’t 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 ‘boy-thing.’ 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 distance—they 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.

“You doing okay over there?” he asked.

Savannah was iBrat again. She didn’t even look up from her iPhone.

“Hey, I need to talk to the hot little kisser from Cimarron Ranch. That would be you!”

“Grampa, what now?”

“We’re coming up to a border checkpoint. They know me; however, there’s always a chance the guard pulls us over. Otherwise, it looks like discrimination. If he does, I don’t want you squirming.”

“I don’t squirm, Grampa.”

“You were after breakfast.”

She’d 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.

“The hot little kisser is doing just fine now.”

Frank didn’t believe that for a second. She’d vacillated between happy and mopey since watching the sunrise.

“You on the TOMBOY website?”

“Uh uh. I’m texting Wayne. He says ‘not easy being eleven.’”

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.

“Now what?”

“I told him we’re about to go through a border thing, only the guards know you so it’s not a problem.”

“What’s Wayne’s problem?”

“Other than being gay for as long as he can remember?” Savannah hesitated. “He’s got kind of a boyfriend problem. He says he’s a bottom.”

Frank nodded understandingly, even though he didn’t understand. All of Savannah’s friends were gay boys, which meant romantic messes, emotional nuances, angst, bullying, inferiority; endless problems.

“He knows that at eleven?”

A few hundred yards ahead, orange and white construction barrels  and witches’ cones lined the side of the road. The checkpoint might’ve been unattended except for two white DHS SUVs parked between a scrappy metal shed, a trailer, and what resembled a roadside produce stand.

“Most kids know about butt sex at my age, Grampa.” She hesitated, scrolling back through texts, unaware that they were slowing down. “He’s looking someone to top him.”

“Set him up with one of your online friends.”

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 ‘T-G Friends’ for the kids to support each other.

“I already gave him Tim’s email address, but he wants older, Grampa.”

Frank winked. “Better to give up Raoul Ramírez.”

He wasn’t serious, but if he had to give up someone, it would be Raoul, not Tim. Tim was from her school. He also lived on 39^th Street, the next block over. He liked Tim. He was funny and smart, although dark straight hair and green eyes made him look ‘emo.’ He wanted to be an engineer like his mom, the kind of boy who’d 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.

“No squirming, Sanny!”  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 weren’t.

“Frank Martin, Elgin resident going to Tucson, Officer.” He held up his driver’s 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 driver’s window, leaning down to inspect the proffered ID.

“Just your daughter, Mr. Martin?”

Frank’s hackles went up. Situations like this complicated everything.

“Savannah Martin, visiting from New York.”

“I asked if she was your daughter, Sir.” His tone sharpened. “We’re on the lookout for child-trafficking as much as undocumented aliens.”

On the spot, Frank chose truth. “My grandson is transgender.”

About then, the patrol agent spotted TOMBOY^pre  Rage shorts. He gaped, and gaped, and gaped.

On a whim, Frank confided, “She’s nine. Can you believe it?”

“She’s gorgeous,” escaped in a whisper.

“Anything else, Patrol Agent?”

Awkwardly, the patrol agent stepped back, still gaping. He waved to Savannah through the windscreen. Frank accelerated back to 60, his relief real.

“Next time, don’t squirm.”

“Grampa, I didn’t!” Realizing, Savannah ceased chewing on her bottom lip and grinned. “You did, though.”

“He looked at you long enough to run out of gas.”

“He didn’t look like a pedo.” Savannah shook her head, already back to scrolling through texts on her iPhone. “Wayne wants an older boyfriend, Grampa.”

“How old?”

“A lot older than Raoul.” She stopped scrolling. “If you really want to know, here’s what he texted last night. ‘I want him to be like my dad.’”

“He wants a man?”

Adult attraction was unlikely, not impossible with Internet-savy kids, yet Frank found it hard to believe.

She held up her iPhone again. “He doesn’t 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.”

<<>>

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 Karen’s latest mockups for TOMBOY Rock.

“Uber sexy, huh Grampa?”

Savannah oozed pride—Karen incorporated her idea for combining synthetic boa, both faux snake-skin and featherless, a kind of souped-up Hispanic Mardi Gras meets grunge look.

“Looks more like an alien encounter.”

It was worth a giggle. Instead, Savannah texted his ‘alien’ comment back to Mom.

“She said, ‘Beware the rattlesnake in the ass.’ She thinks it’s funny or she would’a wrote ‘grass.’”

“You really want my opinion, Sanny?”

“So long as it’s honest injun.”

“Anything your mom designs is uber sexy.” He paused for effect. “Like Range; it’s off the chart when someone who’s as sexy as you wears the jeans.”

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.

“So you think I’m sexy?”

“Oh yeah. You’re super dooper sexy, with or without clothes.”

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.

“Wayne still looking for advice on how to meet men?” Frank teased.

She gave him the frustrated nine-year-old look.

Suddenly, pieces plopped into place, along with feeling he was quite frankly, ‘fucked.’

“This Wayne kid, he doesn’t happen to live in Tucson, does he?”

“He’s from Phoenix, Grampa. I’m not that dumb.”

Frank inhaled. “By any chance, did you arrange to meet him at Tohono Chul Park?”

“Um…Yeah… Kinda.”

“Jesus, Savannah!! Don’t you know how dangerous that is?”

“Yeah, but I’m with you, Grampa. Anyway, you told Mom you were packing.”

Frank groaned, and rerouted. “Why, exactly, do you want to meet up with him?”

“Um…” Savannah shrugged, doing a poor job concealing anxiety. “I thought maybe you could talk to him. He’s so lonely.”

“I’m sure he is,” he snapped. “Sanny, Honey, you can’t go around trying to set up gay boys with men.” He rubbed his forehead, his anger slowly subsiding. “When, exactly, is this meeting.”

“There isn’t a time, Grampa. I didn’t know when we’d get here. You said we might go to the mall first. Wayne said he’d be here all day. He keeps texting to ask where I am.”

“Text him back and say… Hell, I don’t know. You changed your mind. Better yet, don’t answer any more messages from him. No matter what he says!”

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.

“Do NOT ever, repeat EVER, text anyone any personal information! Don’t email anyone without asking me or your Mom first. No sending photos we haven’t approved.”

“Don’t shout at me, Grampa. Are we going to go back to the ranch?”

Seeing her dismal face, protruding bottom lip, watering eyes, constant sniffles, and hunched up against the car door; Frank wanted to cry, too.

“We’ll stay here tonight,” 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 Frank’s 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 might’ve 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.

  “I don’t know about you, Sanny, but I’m pooped.”

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 didn’t say a word.

He picked up the TV remote, pressing ‘power’ until the TV responded. Saturday, June 9^th, 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. “Okay, what’s up with my kiss monster?”

“The kiss monster is beat.” She sighed, too. “The kiss monster is also way off schedule.”

‘Kiss monster’ 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.

“If you don’t count watching the sunrise, yeah, we missed morning playtime.” Frank slapped his forehead. “Don’t tell me it’s been in you all this time?”

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.

“Your job is to put it in, and take it out, on schedule! Not lay on the bed and watch some stupid baseball game.”

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.

“I’m sort. I really screwed up. Why didn’t you say something, Sanny?

Anyone could see she didn’t want to talk.

“You were mad at me.”

“Oh Sanny, I was worried about you. I wasn’t mad at you, not really.”

She wasn’t about to let him off easily. “You were mad, Grampa! Really, really mad! When you finally started being nice to me again, it wasn’t hurting.”

“I can’t believe it doesn’t hurt something awful all the time,” he muttered. “We’d best get those pants off you so I can take a look at my kiss monster’s cute little butt.”

Savannah regarded him, blinking, more sniffling in the offing. “Kiss monster is gone forever if you’re going to be mad at me.”

“Never ever again, I promise; assuming you don’t do something really stupid like get pregnant: or do tequila shots while you’re driving; or send texts to strangers.”

She wasn’t in the mood for teasing. “I didn’t realize I was doing something wrong by texting him, Grampa. He’s only eleven. He sent me a photo.”

Before Grampa could say ‘fuck me,’ 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.  

“Maybe you didn’t do anything wrong, Sanny. It’s possible I jumped to conclusions.”

He wasn’t about to say what he was thinking. If the kid lived in Phoenix, he’d 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.

“Are you going to tell Mom?”

“I should, just in case.” He hesitated to bring it up again. “What if he’s the person who called your mom and asked if she knew where you were?”

“You’ll just make her worry, Grampa. There’s no way Wayne would know to call her.”

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 ‘boy-thing’ until she orgasmed; three little dry shudders the first time; he’d counted them, disbelieving he’d caused them. The second time, he was too excited to be sure.

She averted her eyes, too, acting as if her ‘boy-thing’ didn’t exist. It still got hard.

He said the first thing that came into his head. “I love you.”

“I wub you, too, Grampa. I sorry I screwed up,” 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 Frank’s barn, or steal someone’s virginity.

The whiny voice was completely normal—he’d heard it often. “I can’t help it.”

Grampa promptly covered her crotch with his hand, fingers squishing into silky-soft scrotum, cradling both tiny testicles. Just two more weeks and they’d be gone forever. It wasn’t fair, yet he’d never say that.

“As good as gone,” he joked, giving a playful, yet gentle squeeze.

He could feel her ‘boy-thing’ 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 Mickey’s 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.

Savannah’s 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.

“Kiss Monster is back, huh?” he whispered in her ear.

“Uh huh.”

She wriggled back to encourage him, suddenly wanting what Wayne said he wanted. She settled for his tongue filling her mouth.  When they separated, Frank was shaking as much as she was.

“I’m sorry about being mean to you, Sanny.”

“You owe me a butt orgasm from this morning, Grampa.”

“Yeah, I do, but first you need to hop in the tub and wash off the desert, Sweetheart.”

“You’re all sweaty too.”

“I’ll shower after you’re done.”

She giggle-grinned. “You’re no fun, Grampa.”

“You want fun; dare me to get in the bath with you?”

He sat up, stood up, scooped her up, and had hoisted her over his shoulder before she had time to say, ‘I dare you.’

It was hardly the way to treat a nine-and-a-half-year-old girl. Savannah, the boy, wriggled and giggled, and pummeled Grampa’s back all the way into the bathroom. 

Frank eased her down in front of the commode. “Try to poop, Sanny. Maybe it’ll come out by itself.”

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.

“Was that as easy as it looked?”

Confused, even surprised, Savannah’s hand reemerged from between her widespread thighs, pinching the slimy dilator by the end ring. She gasped as the enormity of it sank in.

“It feels so empty back there, Grampa.”

“Well, 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.”

She’d 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. “It’s not like your semen’s inside me,” 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 Savannah’s 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.

“It’s huge, Grampa,” 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 ‘lavender.’

Frank smiled, sending reassurance, meeting her eyes when she finally glanced up. He nodded. Still not a word. Even though she’d 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.

“He keeps jerking, Grampa.”

“I think he likes sharing the bathtub with you.”

She smiled, clever Fashion-Brat mind churning, though still not ready to articulate juvenile lust. “Yeah, he’s happy.”

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, “Hmmmm.”

“Sounds like you’re happy, too.”

“Uh huh.”

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.

“You feel really nice. Everything’s so big and strong.”

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.

“I love you so much, Sanny,” 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 didn’t 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. “You comfortable?”

“Uh huh.” 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 ‘boy-thing’ 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 arms’ 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.

“Grampa…”

“Shhhh.”

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.

“It’s like little mice running around, Grampa.”

“You’re so big back here.”  He poked his index finger inside to show her.

It wouldn’t take much, a slight push and all three fingertips would breach her anus. A little more pressure, and they’d slide through her sphincter, all the way in where it was hot and loose after ten hours of D-4.

“You think your penis will fit?” Savannah hesitated. “You can try if you want.”

Frank backtracked quickly. “We’ll try in a couple more days, I promise.”

All too well, he remembered Karen’s determined voice, going on about staying on schedule, which meant no penetration until Savannah was done with D-5.

“Mommy doesn’t need to know.”

“There are other things you need to experience first.”

“Like what, Grampa?”

Smiling, Frank raised his hips, aligning before cautiously wedging the tip of his engorged penis in Savannah’s opening.

“Ooooh. Is that him?” She could feel it burrowing, so big and slimy, soft, yet hard, not really pushing in.

“Do you like having him there, Sanny?” Frank pressed his glans into the hollow, filling it, leaking his gooey juice, smearing it all around the indentation.

 “He feels so nice, Grampa.”

“Your hot little pussy feels very nice, too,” Frank crooned. “I’m guessing you don’t want me to stop, huh?”

“Uh uh.”

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.

“Just do it, Grampa.” Savannah’s voice was insistent.

He grinned at her, horny and ornery, still four years from being a teenager. “I will. In a minute, give or take.”

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 didn’t remember much from 18 years of marriage, only that he’d 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.  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.

“You put your cum in me, Grampa.”

More than saying ‘cum’ for the first time, he’d never forget her voice, tinny and tiny, her vaguely bemused face, not worried, not questioning, accepting his semen was inside her.

“It’s where it’s supposed to be, Sanny,” he muttered, humbled, each breath still an effort.

Yet, he couldn’t stop thinking  he’d should’ve 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 ‘boy-thing’. 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 he’d done, not only natural, but good, too.

“I bet you’re glad you’re not still mad at me,” she murmured.

“I wasn’t too mad at you, was I?”

“I did kinda fuck up.”

“Where did I put the soap?”

“Mommy said it first. ‘It’s all over if either of us fuck up;’ her exact words, Grampa.”

“Well, both of us need to be really careful from now on. No more texting unless I approve.”

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. “I love you, Sanny.”

“Grampa, I think I left my shampoo at the ranch.”

“We’ll buy more when we go out for dinner, Honey.”

“Are we going to do it again at playtime?”

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.

“You’re full of my cum. I’m not sure there’s room for more,” 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.

“Reckon I’m way too deep.”

“What’s way too deep?”

“Dr. Stein talked about it. Your prostate; it makes you have orgasms back here.”

“Grampa, he kinda crooked his finger as soon as it got past the big muscle.”

“You remember that?”

“Duh! It’s the best thing ever. My friends talk about finger fucking all the time.”

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 Savannah’s ‘boy-thing’, he twiddled, hoping he was in the right spot.

“You got it,” Savannah gasped.

“I’ll take your word for it.” What else could he do; it sure as hell didn’t 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.

“Harder!”

Breathless, twitching, little spasms erupting from deep inside, Frank rubbed and poked, so far beyond twiddling he was certain he’d hurt, if not injure something inside her. Boy-boned again, too. Had it ever gone down?

“Grampa… Grampa… Oh!”

“What’s wrong, Sanny?”

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.

“Right there,” she gasped. “Only go faster. Really, really fast.”

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.