Grace Eddy: Her little crew

From the corner of her eye she glanced at Albert. The older boy lay on the foredeck, head pillowed on his shirt. He was really a rather handsome boy when he forgot to keep looking angry and important. His slim body was well formed. Someday there would be hair on his chest but now there was only the same heavy fuzz that covered his chin. His chestnut hair was wavy and, thank the gods, he had not plastered it with greasy kid stuff.

He lay at a slight angle, trying not to show that he was looking at her. Even so, she could see the bulge in-his Levi's. What, she wondered, would it be like to be young and male, to suffer incessantly from that demanding drive-slave to six inches of cock that would never lie down and stay down? What, she wondered, would it be like to lie down flat on her back with all her clothes off and let the boy try himself out on her? Did he know how? Had he ever done it? Someday somebody would know. Ted knew she never would.

Too bad. It would be fun. And what could she lose? She lived alone and never took the pill and never seemed to need it. All the years old Virgil had been sticking it into her she had never caught an heir in her trap. She had no family to be outraged. And her friends… if anybody from ballet days were to learn she was playing around with boys it would bring no more than a smile and a raised eyebrow. What could she lose?

One hell of a lot, she knew. Most of all Ted knew she could lose her freedom. She wasn't quite sure what they were but she knew there were laws about playing around with underage boys. She had a nice quiet life on this boat, enough money so she would never have to twist her ass into a pretzel again. She had everything she needed-until lately. She wondered if being thirty-nine and maturing late had anything to do with it. Suddenly she was beginning to feel all the urges that had bothered other girls-girls who were now fat and flabby grandmothers while she was still built like the proverbial brick pagoda.

She was going to have to do something about it, Ted knew. It just wasn't healthy to bottle up something like this. Either she would have to enter into some working relationship with one of the lonely graying men who lived aboard their boats at the marina-or she was going to end up doing something foolish with some boy entirely too young. She wondered what it would feel like to have this boy on top of her, struggling to push his hot, throbbing maleness into the opening she had kept intact for twenty-five years. Good God, she thought, I was a virgin, stiffening thousands of cocks in the twenty-five dollar seats for more years than this boy's been alive!

She squinted into the sun and wind. The younger boy was steering well enough. It didn't really make any difference if he drifted off a couple of points. There was nothing to hit any closer than Hawaii. She looked through squinted eyes at the other boy. He lay face up on the foredeck now, his cock making a prodigious bulge in the crotch of his tight stretched Levi's. What would happen if she were to go over and pull down his zipper, let all that straining masculinity spring free?

It was unhealthy to dwell on that kind of thoughts. She guessed she'd better go below and see about rustling up some lunch for these kids. She was about to step down into the cockpit when she felt a hand close over her bare ankle.

Ted glanced down startled. It was the big one, Albert. While she had been looking the other way he had scooted closer. "Thought you were going to fall overboard," he muttered and let go of her ankle.

I'll just bet you did, she thought, but she didn't say it. Instead, she gave John's course a final check and went down the cabin scuttle, feeling the boy's eyes on her every step. She wished she had never put on shorts and halter but she had and it was her boat and she was damned if she was going to let a fourteen-year-old discomfit her. If there was to be any squirming and embarrassment, let him do it.

She had had her share during auditions. God, those auditions! When she had been a little girl trying to make a place for herself in the world of ballet it had seemed to Ted that the entire theatrical world was one big cock-and aimed straight at her. She remembered one day when she had been twelve, just starting to sprout those tiny bulges ballerinas wore behind their nipples. Mr. Sprague, her manager, had somehow managed to shunt Momma off on some fool's errand while he arranged the interview with Mr. Hammel who was casting an extravaganza. Since she was only twelve Ted had supposed she was going to dance. Not that she didn't know about casting couches and all that jazz, but twelve-year-old virgins walk around encased in an armor of "it can't happen to me." Ted knew it only happened to older girls. Mr. Hammel, it turned out, was not exactly connected with the world of ballet. But he had a lot of money and be was surrounded by people actively engaged in making some of it rub off on them. Mr. Hammel, somewhat to his own amazement, found himself producing a show. He had been totally immune to the boys in the company. He had shared a laugh with his wife when the girls tried various shortcuts to opulence. In desperation, the promoter decided to see if there weren't some hidden trigger he could pull in Mr. Hammel's psyche.

Ted had worn street clothes for the interview. As a matter of fact, they had not been the clothes she would have chosen. She wore a straw boater hat, patent "little girl" shoes with a single buckle, a skirt shorter than her tutu which required that she stand very straight unless she wanted to show her pink rayon panties. Over it all she wore a middle blouse which, though loose, had been cut somehow to reveal the just-rising buds of her inchoate breasts. In an oversized handbag she carried her dancing costume.

Mr. Sprague had had a few final words of wisdom. "You want a big part, don't you?"

Ted had nodded. After all, what had she been twisting her ass into a pretzel these last seven years for?

"Well, Mr. Hammel is the man with the money. Whether the show gets produced depends on how much he likes you. If I were twelve and wanted a big part I'd do everything I could to make Mr. Hammel like me." And with this advice Mr. Sprague had abruptly disappeared.

Mr. Hammel was old. Thinking back on it now, she supposed he had been maybe forty. His hair was thinning and he had a small mustache. He wore a suit like everybody else she knew and he sat behind an immense desk. In the corner of his office was a couch of the type she was in later life to associate with psychoanalysis.

Mr. Hammel had pushed a button on his desk and in reply to a squawky female voice had said, "Miss Burton, please see that I'm not disturbed until I call you again."

"Well," he said with artificial joviality to the little girl who sat primly in front of him, "I suppose you're a veteran in show business."

"I've been dancing seven years," Ted said.

"Hmmmmm. Would you mind standing up?"

Ted had been standing up for ballet masters as long as she could remember.

"Do you have your costume with you?" Ted nodded toward her oversized handbag.

The man behind the desk thought a moment. He seemed to be having trouble with his breathing. "Uh, I suppose in show business you get used to undressing in front of people… " He left it dangling.

"I guess so," Ted said. It seemed to her that in practice somebody's tights were always ripping.

"Well," Mr. Hammel said, still having some kind of trouble with his breathing, "I've seen plenty of ballet costumes." He forced an artificial laugh. "See one and you've seen them all. The problem in casting this show is, are you mature enough?"

"I don't wear a bra yet if that's what you mean," Ted said.

That was exactly what Mr. Hammel had meant but he hadn't expected it from a twelve-year-old. Somehow his whole blueprint for seduction was going wrong. A twelve-year-old virgin was supposed to be timid and, above all, ignorant. He guessed it must be show business. "Uh," he tried again. "Uh, perhaps we could save a lot of time if you just got out of your street clothes so we can see your figure. No use wasting time getting into a costume."