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 14 days old > > >

Frank Martin gave his Remington shotgun a final wipe down, and checked the action with a ‘pump.’ It was an American Classic, top of the line. He looked up to find Savannah frowning, aimlessly spooning cereal in her bowl.

“It’s way better for you than those granola bars you’re always chowing down, Sav.”

With a hint of a smile, Savannah rolled eyes. “It tastes like horse feed, Grampa. Dry and chewy.”

He was awkward around her, filled with a kind of guilty delight; the same reason why he couldn’t stop glancing from the breakfast table to the kitchen counter, where Savannah sat on a stool, no flimsy panties between skin and varnished oak.

She picked dried apricots from Cimarron ‘cereal,’ Grampa’s concoction of raw rolled oats, dried cranberries and raisins, pumpkin seeds, and walnuts. It was health food in a bowl, diluted with almond milk, almost no calories.

Impossible that she could sit like that, not with her ivory-smooth buttocks impaled on D-5, her anus fully dilated, and then some. She’d laid back on the breakfast table when he’d slathered on lubricant and pushed it in until the ring disappeared. All seven-point-five inches; he got it all the way in without a peep, not even a whimper!

“Doesn’t it hurt?”

Savannah shook golden curls in need of brushing.

“Even with Emile, it ought to hurt like the dickens. You’re sitting on the dang thing.”

She wriggled purposefully, her pale bottom tiny on the sculpted seat. “Feels really full up inside; that’s all.”

“I reckon yer cute little butt-hole ain’t so little any more.”

“The app says once I’m big enough, I have to get used to it moving around, Grampa.”

“Yeah, I read something about repositioning internal organs for more give and take.”

He blushed immediately—‘give and take’ meant his penis could move around inside her, not just in and out.

“The app calls it flexibility, Grampa.”

He stirred eggs, bacon, cheese, and tomato into frying-pan mush with olive oil, sautéed onions, and garlic salt.

“You want some Cimarron omelet to go with your horse feed? Looks like crap, but tastes scrum-diddly-umptious. Definitely bad for the waistline.”

“Uh uh. What are we doing today?”

“Yesterday, you said you’d like to go for a ride. I was thinking we might head over to Mustang Mountains. Maybe stay a night or two at Los Ansias Conquistador.”

“Huh?”

“It’s a bed and breakfast, old-fashioned hacienda style.  It’ll be fun. It’s a bit primitive though…”

“Can we? Please?”

“Um, there’s a reason we’re going away for a few days, Sanny.”

“You want to go somewhere nice so you and me can …” She giggled, unable to say it. Instead, she mouthed, ‘…fuck.’

Frank dropped the spatula in the frying pan. He fished it out without burning his fingers. “Um, well, hopefully there’s more to losing your virginity than just that.”

Savannah looked up at him, uncertain.

“Your mom called while I was in the barn. We talked about you.”

“You told her about Wayne, didn’t you Grampa?”

“It was her idea, get out of Dodge for a while; just in case he’s not 12.”

“But he said he was.”

“She’s with me on this, Sanny. Do it again and we confiscate your iPhone until you go to college.” Frank winked purposefully. “She’s with me on something else, too. It has to do with D-5.”

“I told you it doesn’t hurt any more.”

“She’s not sure it’s such a good idea, leaving it in longer than we’re supposed to.”

Savannah sighed loudly. “I told you she’d be upset if she finds out I’m ahead of schedule.”

“Well, you are; way ahead; which is why this trip is going to be extra special,” Frank hinted.

“We’re doing it at the bed and breakfast? YES!” Savannah whooped, making a very un-girl-like fist in the air.

“There’s nothing I’d like more than for you to lose your virginity at Los Ansias Conquistador; only it’s not going to happen, not with old Missus Cardoso stalking the halls. I’m not ending up in jail till I’m 95.”

The look on Savannah’s face made him backtrack quickly—a wink was enough.

“We better get a move on, Sanny. I’ll saddle the horses. We’re travelling light this trip. Pack only what you need.”

“Don’t worry Grampa, I won’t forget Emile.”

“Um, I was thinking...” He took a breath. “Maybe I ought to bring a couple of...”

She cut him off. “I want it inside me, where it’s supposed to go, Grampa. You do, too.”

<<>> 

On the east side of Elgin, a gated gravel road turned off Upper Elgin Road. Already in the mid-90s, and at 5,000 feet, Frank and Savannah dismounted. He led their horses along a deteriorating track, Savannah skipping along beside him, hot as blazes in range stovepipe jeans and denim shirt, long sleeves rolled up past elbows, elongated tails hanging out. Sexy kid with only her grampa to see her, chattering about her Welsh Palomino, Sandy Girl, her mom’s latest designs for TOMBOY ROCK, why gay kids liked emotional hardcore, nothing in particular.

“This place we’re staying at tonight, Grampa; what’s it like?”

It was so unexpected, Frank chuckled.

“Well, it’s real pretty in Spring. The verandah looks over a river, yellow roses all over the place. It used to be a mission and trading post. It’s a fair way, yet; on the south side of these mountains. It ought to be empty this time of year, maybe a few soldiers from Fort Huachuca.”

“Were you kidding about old Missus Cardoso stalking the halls?”

He grinned. “We’ll see. They have a few cabins by the river. Maybe, she won’t venture that far at night.”

Any number of fences and side tracks, until a sign proclaimed, ‘This is not a road.’ After that, a contorted rocky canyon ran for a mile, crawling up between Mustang Peak and Mustang Mountain High Point. Soon, it made sense to switch to easier terrain, a grassy slope up a north-running ridge to Mustang Peak. Grampa insisted on calling it ‘Little Butt Mound.’ ‘Little Butt Crack’ was the canyon, a shady fissure filled with brush and haphazard rock slabs.

It was lunchtime when they took a break from hiking, close to 6,000 feet and just enough breeze that sweat evaporated quickly, avoiding sunburn in broad-rimmed cowboy hats. With the horses grazing among cactus, Frank concealed his shotgun under thornbrush, and agave, and followed Savannah into a Juniper forest. Bushes and splintered boulders offered a semblance of shade to rattlesnakes, and not much else.

Savannah looked around, sweltering heat suspended on the ridge, inhaling deeply, stretching. She might’ve been posing in front of Bruce’s camera, lithe and sensuous, yet cautious as a wildcat. It was enough that Grampa wondered if he should’ve brought Savannah’s khaki canvas backpack. It was still slung over the horn on her saddle.

“That D-5 must be feelin’ right nice about now,” he said quietly.

She winked back mischievously. “It’s good.”

“All that riding and then hiking up here; it’s not botherin’ you?”

“That full feeling; it’s kinda gone.”

“Means your hiney hole’s getting looser, I reckon.”

“We could’ve done it at the motel, Grampa.”

“Not very romantic for your first time. Your mom wants it to be special.”

“Like where we’re staying tonight?” Savannah said hopefully.

“I don’t know about ‘special.’ It’s historic, though. The main building is adobe.”

“Mom thinks anything adobe is romantic.”

“And she’d be right.”

“We’re doing it there, huh Grampa?”

“Like I said, Honey, it’s too risky unless we get a cabin. If we don’t, well, you’ll have to wait another day; two at most, I promise.”

The ridge was very exposed; however, it also ensured privacy—they’d see any hikers foolish enough to venture out in 100 degrees. That hot, border crossers stayed home. Still, there were signs, charred branches in a recent fireplace, busted sneakers, plastic drink bottles, candy bar wrappers.

“We could do it right here and no one would see us,” Savannah giggled.

“We could,” he agreed.

“You think outdoors is romantic, Grampa?”

“Depends on the scenery, I reckon. I was thinking you’d rather do it in the barn with Sandy Girl watching,” Frank teased.

Savannah giggled. “You could do me laying over a hay bale, Grampa.”

“Your mom said it had to be special.”

“So lay me over my saddle.”

Savannah scampered as he tried to grab her. She circled, ducking and weaving until he caught her hand and pulled her close. They giggled together, hot and sweaty. He inhaled her hair. Then, holding hands, they looked over the range, mountains making dusty grey shadows.

“I reckon you can’t beat sex with a view.”

She tugged on his arm. “Say it’s romantic, Grampa.”

“It is, and the view is even better up ahead. The best in the state.”

Their ridge provided an easy trek to Mustang Peak, another mile, another few hundred feet to the summit, yet already they had a hazy view over the Elgin prairie.

She grinned, released his hand and unfastened shirt buttons.

“What do you think you’re doing?”

“Who needs the best view? We’re hot and horny, Grampa; that’ll make it special.”

Frank noticed her voice more than words, the husky, tremulous tone of juvenile lust. “What happened to romance?”

“Romance comes later, after we’ve cooled down.”

“Maybe nine and a half is too young,” Frank grinned, looking around. It was rocky, too dry to support pine trees.

More worldly than ever, Savannah folded her arms, frowned, and stared him down. “Stop teasing. We both know we’re here so I can lose my cherry.”

“If that’s what you want.” He opened his arms. “Come here, Fashion Brat. Grampa wants to give his little horndog a hug.”

Warily, she stepped closer. “Are we really going to do it?”

“If you want to, yeah. This much grass, we’ll have to stand up. Too much chance of a rattlesnake.”

Yet another of Grampa’s rattlesnake jokes; still she regarded him suspiciously. “No tickling, promise?”

“Promise. You got your iPhone handy? Losing your cherry isn’t that big a deal. Small hole becomes big hole, but your mom wants photos, before and after.”

She regarded him, no stranger to posing for him without a stitch on. Of course, he was teasing, yet digging her iPhone from her jeans’ pocket anyway.

“Not Mom; you maybe.”

“I wouldn’t mind a couple of shots of your butt before it gets sunburned.”

“Take as many you want, Grampa.”

Frank ignored the iPhone she held out. Still, he glowed at the thought, slowly stepping closer. Only the risk of Savannah losing it held him back; someone finding porn and reporting it.

He was aching hard under his jeans, the bulge so obvious he was surprised she didn’t point it out.

“I might take a few fer myself when we get back to the ranch. Something to look at on cold winter nights when yer back in New York.”

The iPhone went back to the pocket where it belonged.

“Mom won’t care; but Mr. Perlmann sure will.”

Savannah smirked. So easy to tease him, especially with all six of her nude photos in Eric Perlmann’s vault, his private collection. She fiddled with the front of range stovepipe jeans.

“How about I take off your duds?” Frank muttered self-consciously.

She lifted up, pressing into him as she trembled. “I want you to, Grampa.”

He stroked her long mane. She was small, and soft, and slender, a foal taking its first steps. He’d never loved anyone as much.

“We better find out if he fits first,” he crooned. “He might still be too big for your cute little rump.”

“You need to take out D-5 first,” Savannah snickered, raising up on sneaker toes.

“After hiking all the way up here, that’ll be the easy part.”

"I know you’re kidding, Grampa."

Suspicion switched to a sly smirk as pulled away. She danced and pranced around him, little-kid flirting. Then, wily coyote became teasing brat, flaunting her perky rear like a pole dancer.

“You wanna eff me, don't you Grampa? You can, if you can catch me.”

Outright invitation! Playful as a fox kit, Savannah jumped out of reach as Frank made a half-hearted attempt to grab her wrist.

“Oversexed little tease, ain’t ya? Now, you’ll have to wait till we get to the top.”

“Yer big ole stiffy might poke a hole in yer jeans if ya wait much longer Grampa.”

Grinning at her mimicking him, he picked up the backpack and plodded toward a stunted mesquite. She caught up, taking his hand again, heart thumping, excitement increasing with every footstep, certain it was going to happen as soon as he found a place to spread out the blanket. No wonder her face was glowing; however, instead of stopping at the mesquite tree, Frank kept on, diverting around the worst of a mini rockslide, making sure she didn’t stumble.  

<< >>

There wasn’t a pointy peak on Mustang Peak. Instead, 6,317 feet above sea level was a rambling mound of crazy boulders splattered with lime lichen, stone splinters underfoot, struggling juniper patches. Standing on what was most likely the highest boulder, Savannah could see all the way across Elgin, the Patagonia Mountains, Apache Peak, and beyond.

“Cool view, huh Grampa?”

“There’s only one way it could be better.”

She turned at his tone, scanning faraway Whetstone and Huachuca City until she met his eyes, determined, yet empathetic. He was always tuned into her feelings, more than ever the last few days. Suddenly, her intuition was adamant; she had to take the initiative or it might not happen.

“You think it’s okay if I take off my clothes now,” she said softly, blinking demurely.

Not really asking because little fingers were already at work on her range shirt, undoing the two remaining platinum buttons. He was enthralled.

“I reckon it’s safe enough.”

“Safe as doing it in the barn, huh Grampa,” she said with a smirk.

She always acted cool and cagey when she undressed in front of him; however, this time was different. She parted the shirtfront, revealing a pale soft belly, barely defined ribs, and miniature nipples, visibly more boy than girl. Doing her best to appear confident, she acted relaxed, as if stripping off for her grandfather was an everyday occurrence. The tremble in her voice was a dead giveaway.

“No one ever comes up here at this time of year, right?”

He nodded, breathing deeply, slowly, dreaming of touching bare smooth skin.

No one for miles, yet Frank glanced around again to be sure. He smiled when he looked back. Unisex except for long curls, Savannah was bare from the waist up. Her silver pendant on a black leather choker was ambiguous, both ascetic and carnal, Egyptian ankh or Venus symbol; he settled on ‘life.’

"Best take everything off, Sanny." His voice was hoarse.

He folded the shirt while keeping an eye on her. Unbuttoning, unzipping three inches of chromed brass, inching down, embarrassed because her bottom half was undeniably boy.

“Don’t worry about it,” he said to keep her focused, telling himself to ignore the bulge, no matter what.

He kept her steady, holding her right arm with his left hand as he tugged down with his right hand. She pushed with her left hand. Between them, Range jeans and silver-sheen Wonder panties reached her knees. He couldn’t remember a time when there wasn’t a tight Lycra thong to conceal Junior.

It would’ve been easy if she’d been wearing a thong with everything hidden. Kneeling before her, he had to confront reality, truth, fact. His grandchild had an erection. He intended to ignore it, even though boyhood was blatantly obvious. He lasted as long as it took him to unfasten sneakers.

“I love you so much, Sanny,” he whispered humbly.

Now at the precipice, endless palpitations, ragged breaths, disregarding rock splinters digging into his knees as he gaped, delicate, sensitive, smooth, stubby. He trembled, seeing two tiny bumps in the scrotum underneath. They had to go; there was no getting around it.

“My Sanny is truly beautiful.” He almost ruined it with ‘perfect.’ “Absolutely gorgeous.” It still sounded trite, not even close to what he wanted to say.

Nothing to hold him back with her arms by her sides. No longer a game; surrendering virginity to him, offering what he wanted more than anything else. Desire surged; it left his face burning, sucking in hot dry air, staring. It was unwavering, little helmet shiny and lavender-colored, scrotum now scrunched up, suddenly so crinkled and rounded there was no sign of the precious cargo within.

He leaned in and kissed her ‘boy-thing,’ barely touching, afraid to do more.

“Lift your foot, Sanny.” It didn’t sound like his voice at all.

With stovepipe jeans and flimsy silver panties abruptly yanked off scrawny ankles, Savannah was completely exposed, not embarrassed. She surveyed Arizona’s version of big-sky, mountains, canyons, and plains. Statuesque, on her pedestal rock, she might’ve been looking over the rugged terrain of Ancient Greece, a bare willowy hermaphrodite, hands on hips, pretending to ignore Grampa hurriedly undressing. Instead, she peeked. Naked and engorged, he was surely Priapus.

She smirked, teasing instinctively. “He’s horny, huh Grampa.”

“Really horny for you,” Frank murmured, unable to take his eyes away.

Each breath was deep, sustaining, fulfilling, concentrating on retaining control because he was certain he couldn’t. He stepped over his clothes, smiling, nodding approval, encouragement, hoping she was as happy as he was. He stopped before her, her eyes level with his. She blinked, searching his face, his crinkly eyes, easily finding what she needed.

“I love you, Grampa.” Her whisper conveyed love, sincerity, trepidation.

“Are you sure, Sweetie?”

“Grampa.” She faltered, sniffling, tears of joy forming. “Grampa, I want you in me, please.”

“I know, Sweetie. I’m going to make love to you; you know I am.”

Savannah twitched erratically, nervous, so excited she couldn’t stop glancing around, blinking rapidly. It didn’t help that her iPhone beeped with an incoming message.

“How are we going to do it? There’s nowhere to lie down.”

He clasped her waist, narrow, sleek, both thumbs stroking her lean warm belly before his left hand slowly inched behind her bottom, rough fingers caressing, sliding along her crevice, cupping a firm round buttock. His right hand lifted around her back. He pressed into her warmth, his aroused sex brushing her knees, nuzzling the delicate skin of her neck, burrowing into golden curls. Inhaling, licking little ears until she clung to him, shivering with raw hunger, her face against his furry pelt, absorbing sweaty phenomes.

“Grampa, I’m shaking all over,” she muttered.

Frank clutched her protectively. His eager sensual grandchild trembled, wriggling bare and hot, both of them pawing each other as they kissed, a surprisingly chaste familial kiss. Without warning, their passion exploded into a wet frenzy. He crushed her against him, licking anything within range, lots of tongue sucking, too. When she couldn’t take any more, he lifted her off the rock, unwanted ‘boy thing’ and adult genitals mashed together, both hard and hot, and throbbing.

As soon as she got back her breath, she remembered.

“Before photo.” she reminded him.

“Where’s Bruce when you need him?”

“My iPhone’s in my jeans pocket.”

“I heard it buzzing all the way up here,” Frank growled.

“Wayne’s persistent.”

Urgent panting as he helped hoist her higher. “I can’t wait any longer.”

“Grampa, what about Emile? I left it on Sandy Girl.”

The one thing they needed was lubricant, and she’d left it in her backpack, still slung over the saddle horn.

“We’ll do it the same way a cowboy cleans his boots, lots of spit. I need you to hold me as tight as you can, Sanny.”

Her slender thighs clamped around his middle; her arms locked around his neck. What the heck! No longer chaste when they kissed, slurping noisily, unadulterated lust with his swollen slippery glans bumping, squeezing between her thighs, the oozing glans dangerously close to her buttocks. Instinctively, Savannah squirmed against it, wriggling her pelvis to get it positioned. It got away, sliding up her perineum, ramming into boy-gonads. She winced and tried to reach underneath. His hand was already there, his fingers slippery with grownup spit.

He rubbed gently, moist, tantalizingly hot, insinuating the tip of his forefinger into the very dilated rim. He felt it moving back, foreign yet essential, sliding inside her. There was no contraction, just loose and mushy at the opening the way it was supposed to be. Still, the silicone ring resisted further ingress.

“Push it out, sweetie.”

Clinging feverishly, Savannah tensed, exerting muscles intended for defecating, the slippery ring slowly squeezing out to greet his fingertips. He tugged, just enough to get the shaft through her sphincter. She groaned as the rest of it glided out, pink, shiny, and hot. It plopped onto the slivers of rock littering the ground.

With his erection already in hand, he wedged the tip between her slippery buttocks, sealing off a dribble of excess lubricant.

“Push again.”

Again, Savannah tensed, wriggling as she pushed down. His glans, massively swollen, bulged into tender nerves, penetrating slowly, stretching the still-dilated muscle.

“I feel him, Grampa.”

“He’s almost in.”

He was breathless, throbbing, burning, the virgin opening so tight it denied passage. Yet instinct said otherwise, insistent, demanding. This was supposed to happen. He slathered saliva over his unyielding shaft, rubbing the blunt tip in the slimy drool from her anus.

“Say goodbye to your cherry, Sanny.”

She wriggled, and whimpered as his glans swelled inside her. It didn’t hurt, not in the slightest, just ‘full’ like D-5, and shaky all over.

“I reckon you can take a little bit more,” he whispered, holding steady, letting gravity and nature do the work.

She giggled abruptly as something gave way. “He’s really in my butt, Grampa.”

“I’d say this qualifies as losing your cherry.”

Unable to get to his mouth, Savannah skewed her head around and vampire-sucked on his neck, her first-ever love bite outdoors. Her heart pounded, her excitement so overpowering she barely heard a buzz from her cellphone. He lifted her, withdrawing just enough that she shivered, murmuring the obvious implication.

“You’re fucking me.”

“Guess I am,” he murmured back.

She felt him slide in again, deeper, thicker, holding her tightly and crooning ‘relax’ in her ear. She was unaware of him turning her around, carefully easing down onto the rough warm rock. He sat and she reinserted, easily fitting his ‘part A’ into her ‘part B.’ She sighed and settled onto him, a generous inch; then, two. He held her firmly, his front against her back. She was safe in his lap, sitting with her legs outside his, adult erection partially buried in her bottom, glowing all over, Arizona sun beating down.

“It’s like being on Sandy Girl, only I’m riding you,” she murmured.

“When you want more of me inside you, Sanny, you need to say.”

“Not yet. It feels…” She closed her eyes, not dreamy, uncertain. She settled on, “… weird.”

All her gay friends talked about doing it. Some said the first time hurt like hell; most said it wasn’t that bad, despite folklore and jokes. Only Mickey said it didn’t hurt at all. Wayne said it hurt like hell, but it was still worth doing.

“You feel so good,” Frank mumbled, his nose near her ear.

Tight and hot, clamping, relaxing, quivering around his engorged member. He stroked her thigh, knee to hip, rancher fingers trailing silky-smooth skin, ignoring the buzzing iPhone.

“You’re supposed to go in and out, Grampa.”

The app said she shouldn’t do anything the first time, just concentrate on the nice feelings, relax, and let it happen.

“I won’t last if I do,” he rasped, one arm clutching her taut little body, his erection throbbing.

Ejaculation was imminent. Two inches wasn’t near deep enough for Frank Martin. Fortunately, Savannah’s most tender spot was only a fraction of an inch away. Just a little bit deeper, positioned under the bladder. Only his bulging glans could provide the pressure essential to pleasure. Surely, Savannah could feel it building up. She was enjoying it, too; lean legs twitching, muscle spasms binding, breathy gasps.

“Oh. Oh. Ohh.” Something made her squeeze down. “Ohhhh!”

So close, he held his breath, straining to hold back because only moments remained.

“Grampa, you’re making me wet.”

His sweat covered her back.

Unable to stop, Frank shuddered erratically, gritting his teeth, fighting nature’s imperative, the deep-down impulse to breed, a last ditch effort to salvage boyhood, or staking his claim forever. He wished it could be both. A shocking urge exploded, primal, essential, life changing simply by possessing his grandchild. His penis throbbed, scorching hot, squeezing relentlessly, embedding deeper.

“Don’t stop, Grampa.”

Savannah clawed his neck and back, clutching frantically as immense pressure built in a juvenile prostate, heart fluttering, quivering little body soaked with sweat and saliva, longing and dreams coming together all at once. No longer virgin.

“Ohh. Ohhhh. Grampa.”

He dared not move a muscle. Her rectum and sphincter clamped on adult cock for the first time in her life, panicked squeezing as she shuddered into a juvenile orgasm. One glorious spasm as she strained down. A few moments later, it happened again. He eased back, quaking, gripping slender hips as she writhed, seeking more. He squeezed inside her, into the slippery squeezing rectum, trying to ignore the buzzing iPhone.

“Stupid Wayne!”

“He doesn’t know what he’s missing.”

Savannah’s rectum relaxed. He surged, gasping, a few frenzied thrusts making everything oh-so-loose. She groaned, grinding against his erection. It was almost fully embedded. The pressure ebbed, relief just out of reach. Then, a third spasm left her quaking in a final convulsion.

Now, he thrust up, gripping her pelvis to achieve full penetration. Even post-orgasmic, she was tighter inside than any vagina. Inserted all the way was unforgettable, more enjoyable than anything he’d ever done.

Despite his best intentions, his fingers came dangerously close to her ‘boy-thing.’ It sagged, slowly shrinking like an inflatable swimming pool toy with a leak. Resenting what was soon going to happen to parts so fundamental to boyhood, he cupped tiny testes, mauling delicate orbs.

On the brink and delirious with joy, he attempted to thrust carefully. Just a few gentle pushes would be ample. He managed a pitiful half inch before the spasms began. He quaked at the first searing squirt, grasping Savannah’s chest and pelvis just in time for the second spurt. He plunged her down, groaning as the rest dribbled out.

She tried to look over her shoulder. “Did you do it?”

“Oh yeah.”

He wrapped both arms around her, melting flesh, never more aware of her small hot body. Even her hair was damp, sticking to a forehead beaded with perspiration. Mutual trembling changed to twitches, frenzied gasping slowly became shallow nervous breaths. Both stunned, scarcely aware of the scorching sun, the buzz of sweat bees, and flies, lots of flies.

Her cellphone beeped for an incoming text message. There was also a rustle in the dry spiky grass, likely a horny toad lizard—scorpions seldom made a sound.

“You okay?” he murmured.

She nodded weakly.

“Takes a while to get used to. Better than squirting it in from outside, huh?”

So addled he couldn’t remember how many times they’d done it like that. Three times at the motel in Tucson, so at least five.

“Grampa, it was really nice while it lasted.”

Frank chuckled; still dwelling on a few incredible seconds. Not a single hard thrust to claim virginity, yet virginity was gone and the memory would last forever. Mostly, he recalled the intensity of those spasms just a few inches inside, panicked juvenile muscles gripping him, forcing glans against prostate, her little abdomen cramping, squeezing the seed from his loins. Now, she sagged against him.

“You’re all wore out, huh Sanny?”

Scarcely a nod, yet it was entirely expected. Like Gabby Hayes in a 1930s’ cowboy B-movie, he was 'plumb tuckered out,’ too. Drained after two ejaculations since waking up, he was unable to do more than snuggle.

“Too much excitement for a man my age, I reckon.”

“My butt feels icky.”

“Having a cock in your ass will do that.” His softened penis still plugged the tail end of her rectum. “It might be worth taking a photo for your mom, the babe losing her virginity.”

She giggled, playing along, because there was no way Mom was going to see her baby chock full of cock.

“My phone’s in my jeans, remember Grampa.”

<<>>

Frank took two photos, one with his penis no longer inserted, her, the little opening not so little. Still dilated, it gaped, crimson-red and obviously not virgin.

“Grampa, you think it’ll ever look normal again?”

“Does it hurt?”

“Kinda itchy, that’s all. Mickey says she feels empty afterwards.”

He felt bad, partly because he’d caused the redness.

He deleted the photo with Savannah’s help. The second photo was Savannah’s radiant face. She sent that to Mom, no explanation needed. Her dreamy ‘just been fucked’ look said more than words ever could.