Elleann Gets A Summer Job

"The one who does it again the next day to make herself feel better,?" he said.

"Yeah, that one."

We saw the boat make the last turn to the dock. A couple of minutes later Joe and Minnie and the other black guys piled out, carrying some stuff. Joe was carrying the mannequin that had been on the barbeque pole.

"Whats up?," said Darren.

"Made some changes to Cannibal Country. Too many complaints. It needs to be a lot more realistic. Elle, you're gonna have to spend some time there," Joe said.

"I'm not going to take the place of a mannequin, Joe. Sorry!"

"Come on, it won't be that bad. You'll be doing lots of stuff a mannequin can't do. I got a whole program worked out."

"I bet!," I said. I stomped off, but I wasn't as mad as I wanted to be. I was curious and even a little bit excited, so after about twenty steps I went back to hear what Joe had to say about the program he had worked out for me at Cannibal Country.

- 4 -

I woke up with Grandma sitting on my bed. I wondered if I was still having my dream. It was a dream about Cannibal Country, where I would soon be going in real life. Maybe Grandma was going to Cannibal Country, too, and that was the reason she was on my bed, smiling at me.

"What time is it?," I said, figuring it wasn't a dream after all. I sat up, clutching the sheet to hide my boobs. I had gone to sleep in just my panties.

"It's Monday, honey, your day off. I want to talk with you before your day starts."

I forgot to mention the park was closed on Mondays and Tuesdays.

"Okay," I said.

"You didn't wear your pajamas? Oh, I see, you turned the air conditioner off and opened the window. It's been a tonic having you around, you know."

Grandma put a hand on my shoulder. I lay back with my head on a pillow, looking at her, still holding the sheet. Grandma kept on smiling. She lifted my hand from the sheet and placed it beside me on the bed. She lifted my other hand and did the same thing. She pulled down the sheet, exposing me all the way to my panties and then she took the sheet off completely.

"You are the prettiest thing!," she said.

"Thank you," I said. I could feel myself blushing. I saw the blushes in the white hills of my tits.

"I love your tits. I love everything about you. I hope you're getting enough sex. Are you?"

"Grandma, really!"

"You're into your great years for sex, Elle. Don't waste them. You're a dream come true for men, for many women, as well. I don't think you have any idea how much fun you can have. I bought some things for you."

Grandma held up a pair of purple bikini panties and a matching bra with holes for a girl's nipples to stick through. I started to sit up again to see better but she pushed me back. One by one, Grandma showed me the panties and bras and teddies, so many of them and so naughty. They made a silky pile on my bed.

Grandma sighed.

"The black boys you mentioned, are you letting them fuck you, I hope?"

"Jeepers! Grandma, you are unbelievable! I'm not a slut, for gosh's sake."

"I hoped you were. Give me one good reason why a girl with your slut qualities shouldn't be what God made her to be."

"He made me to be a slut?"

"Isn't it obvious?"

No, it isn't obvious. Are you teasing me, Grandma?"

"Slightly.: Grandma had scissors beside her on the bed, which I hadn't noticed. She picked them up and with her other hand she pulled at the side of my panties.

"What are you doing!!?" I didn't move.

"You've no need for these now."

Grandma snipped away at my panties. Now I was nude from head to toe.

"That's better. Don't you think its better, Elle?"

"It's okay, I guess." I meant it! I felt incredibly erotic lying nude for Grandma to look at as her naughty reward for removing my panties with scissors!

"Now, tell me, please, why a gorgeous thing like you shouldn't be a slut."

"Because! I mean, suppose I wanted to be a doctor or something. Are you saying I can be a slut and still get a job as a doctor? I don't think so, Grandma."

"Being a slut entails subtleties, Elle. Part of the fun is manipulating one's indiscretions. You need to practice, dear. You should make most of your relationships with people sexual, if you can. I believe you would easily compile a high percentage."

It was hard to concentrate on what Grandma was saying with her eyes going up and down on me. Was she going to just look? I stretched, making a yawn.

"I wondered if you shaved, dear, and if you didn't whether you should," Grandma said. You can guess where she was staring. My blonde hair is lighter there than it is on my head and I don't have very much of it, just a tuft at the top and some silky strands at the sides. You can see my slit totally.

"Your cunt is adorable just the way it is, honey. Why am I not surprised?"

"Hmmm, thanks Grandma. Are you, um, going to do what you did that time in the kitchen?"

"Oh, would you like me to?"

"You can if you want."

Grandma stood up.

"Today was for talking things over." She walked to the door. Before she went out, she looked back and said, "By the way, it would mean a great deal to your grandfather if you let him fuck you."

I was in a cross mood after I got dressed. I hardly said a word to Grandma and Grandpa all morning. I decided I would tell Grandma when I got around to it that she needed a lesson in how to be a person's grandmother. Grandpa could use a lesson, too, in my opinion. I spent most of the day in my room, reading. People sometimes think I'm a dumb blonde because of the way I look, but I am actually a pretty smart blonde. I want to be a writer. I read a lot and lately I've been reading novels and poems by women. I have a kind of boyfriend back home who thinks he is very smart and kids me a lot about my interest in women writers and artists. He has this nutty idea that if he gets me real mad at him I will let him screw me! Some people are impossible to figure out. The guy sent me this sarcastic poem he wrote about Emily Dickinson. So, besides reading, I wrote him a letter telling him how much I didn't appreciate his poem. This is what he wrote:

EMILY, ET AL

Why can't women thank their luck
That they were made by God to fuck,
For this their indispensability
Cancels any quibbling sensibility,
For this they live, by God, no other
Purpose rivals, next - to be a mother.
One observes their reasons worsen,
The least - improvement of their persons,
Yet, mind and soul do enrich
The fucking of a hopped up bitch.

Turning then to finished time,
Genius of the razored rhyme
Her poems occupy a shelf
Take up a space within myself,
I worship her true requisites,
But what about - her tits?
Would it spoil those pure quatrains
If she'd had her brains
Fucked out, throat fucked in?

Imagine a coquettish grin:
"Sir, you do me no affront
If your loaded gun's at hunt,"
To a suitor at her chamber door;
"No words," she laughs, "they're such a bore!"
She's in taffeta and lace
With crimson in her face
When in ecstasy she cries,
"I hear your fly buzz and I die!"

What I would give to know the skin
Of young Miss Emily Dickinson,
All other rhymes I here rescind.

Okay, you can see he tried to take back what he said but some things are too rude to take back, which is what I told him in my letter.

I had just finished the letter and started reading again when there was a knock on my door. It was Grandpa. You could tell he was embarrassed because it took him a couple of minutes before he said anything. He closed the door and looked here and looked there but didn't look at me sitting on the bed and cleared his throat a bunch of times, and he said,

"Elle, I know what your grandmother told you. She's always got ideas, you know. Don't pay her no mind. You're a nice girl."

Then he left. I didn't get a chance to say anything. I don't know what I would have said if I did have the chance, so it was just as well. I felt a lot better about Grandpa after that and for the rest of the day I was pretty happy except for being little worried about old Cannibal Country. The next day was Tuesday, my other day off normally, though not this week because we were going to rehearse Joe's new Cannibal program. I didn't know what the program would be. I figured I was going to have to be with Minnie and I knew she didn't like me, plus she is loud and mean, and that was one reason I was worried. After supper, I watched some TV with Grandma and Grandpa and it was fine and then I went to my room and read some more. I started getting sleepy about nine o'clock so I got undressed.

Hmmmm, I should say good night to Grandpa, I said to myself as I was getting ready to climb into bed. I only had a pair of my yellow panties on. I put on a cotton jammy top and buttoned it up, well not all the way up, and I went out into the hall. Grandpa spends a lot of time in the study. He reads, too, a lot more than Grandma does. I could see the light was on under the door of the study, so I opened the door and there was Grandpa, not reading but sitting at the computer. I hope he's not visiting that darned incest site again, I thought to myself. I tip toed on my bare feet across the wood floor and peeked over Grandpa's shoulder.

Someone named Bigdick was saying something on the computer screen:

"Bigdick: You gonna fuck her or not Hard?"

Grandpa typed on the keyboard and hit the enter key.

"HardWithoutHope: Afraid not. She's not into old geezers like me."

Was Grandpa talking about me?

"Bigdick: Give her a try Hard. Think she's a virgin?"

"HardWithoutHope: She's sex on wheels, friend. Just not one for the grandfather type."

Oh boy, it was me. Grandpa says I'm "sex on wheels"? What does THAT mean? I felt flattered and insulted at the same time. I also felt a little sad that Grandpa didn't have any hope. A person should always have hope, I thought.

"Bigdick: Hey Hard, don't give up. We're all rooting for ya."

"Nine-Inches-Of-Greatness: That's bullcrap. Forget it Hard. Resign yourself to the old lady. The young ones are history for old shits like you."

Grandpa typed.

"HardWithoutHope: I guess you're right."

I wanted to give that Nine Inches of Greatness a piece of my mind. Grandpa obviously felt bad enough without having some jerk putting him down. I don't know exactly why I did what I did, but I made a little cough and backed up a step. Grandpa whirled around in his swivel chair.

"Elle!"

"Grandpa, did you ever read the story about a Man Without A Country?"

"What?"

"I was just wondering if you ever read that story."

Grandpa was looking at me but he wasn't looking at my face. He was looking at my partially open jammy top. I looked there myself. You could see the tops of my boobs and quite a bit of the sides that were close to the opening.

"Oh gosh,"I said.

I reached for my top. Instead of closing a button, I opened a new one.

"It's very hot, isn't it Grandpa?"

I opened all the buttons and then I took off my top and dropped it on the floor. Grandpa stared at me with his mouth open. He looked very cute doing that. I wondered if he was feeling any hope yet. I went right up to him and plopped on his lap in that big swivel chair.

"Hmmmm, what are you doing on the computer, Grandpa?," I said, looking over his shoulder. In order to see the screen, I had to lean into Grandpa and this caused one of my boobs to press against Grandpa's face. I'm glad I had already read what was on the screen because in a second I couldn't concentrate on that at all. About half of my boob was suddenly in Grandpa's mouth. He licked it and gave my nipple a bunch of soft bites that practically drove me crazy. Grandpa put his hands on my bottom. I felt my panties coming down. When the panties got to my knees, I lifted a little and that was that. Then Grandpa's hands were on my bottom again and this time it was me going down.

I don't think Grandpa has nine inches of greatness but he has enough and all of them went inside me. I heard myself make a loud gasping sound. I felt Grandpa's scraggly hairs brushing me where my own silky ones are. He moved me, making me go up and down on his big thing. He was being the boss of me whether I liked or not, but I did like it. Who wouldn't? My head was hanging over Grandpa's shoulder and I kept making these sounds like I always do when this kind of thing happens to me. They're like mewing sounds or squealing sounds, I don't really know how to describe them. I wondered if they annoyed Grandpa. I wondered if Grandma could hear me from downstairs. These were thoughts way in the back of mind. I was proud of Grandpa for having such strong hands. He moved me up and down over and over and over.

It's very interesting the way a person has an orgasm. You wonder if you're even going to have one and the next thing you know it's like a train coming down the tracks. You couldn't stop it for a million dollars. I felt myself make a warm gush and I knew I was gushing all over Grandpa's badboy and then Grandpa made his great big gush and I almost blacked out from the way it all felt.

After we calmed down, I kissed Grandpa on the cheek and told him not to worry about screwing me and he said he wouldn't. Before I left to go to bed, there was one thing I wanted to do. I made Grandpa turn his chair around with me sitting in his lap and then I typed this and entered it on the computer screen:

"HardWithoutHope: This isn't HardWithoutHope. This is someone else. I just want to tell Nine-Inches-Of-Greatness, and I bet they aren't as great as he thinks, and that HardWithoutHope doesn't need to have hope any more because he just had sex on wheels!"

(more later)