Christopher WunderLee - Moore's Mythopoeia

It also increased Graham’s popularity ten-fold, after Bucky Cunningham, Graham’s sometimes best friend, stayed the night and related to other young, sexually starving, yet evolving boys how Elisa had shown up for dinner in a transparent blouse (which must have been her mothers, since it was far too large for her) and nothing else: no panties, no training bra, no pants or shorts, just a draping, see-through, shirt. Bucky wet their lips further by explaining how she’d remained in the blouse for the entire evening, ate her dinner, scampered off, sat and watched the screen with them, and finally, kissed Graham good night, without ever bothering to put anything else on. Before Graham knew it, he had young lads from three different schools requesting the opportunity to stay over at his house, and Graham, being a social animal, wallowed in the new found acclaim, regardless of how he’d received it, accepted every single boys request and set up a schedule in order to be fair.

Before long, Graham was receiving gifts of all sorts from boys hoping to be placed on his schedule. Not being anything less than an entrepreneur, Graham initiated a pay scale for a particular boy’s selected appointment (complete with a shiny brochure with Elisa’s portrait on the cover and all sorts of promising slogans, such as: “witness nude gymnastics” and “voyeurs! watch her shower”). For ten numerals a boy was guarantee nudity; for twenty, he could see her dance or do gymnastics (she never tired of performing these for Graham); for thirty, he was given the unique opportunity to spy on her from a sky light on the roof as she bathed; for forty, he was guaranteed nudity, a dance or gymnastics display, a bath, and her company for the entire evening (Elisa adored her older brother and was always delighted if he asked her to play with him and his friends); finally, for fifty digits, the boy received all of the above, plus one prearranged chance to touch a part of her body of his choice (usually consisting of Graham orchestrating an accidental scenario of some sort, such as simply throwing her onto the paying customer as he sat in a chair and leaving it up to him to fondle her before she squirmed away).

By and by, Graham knew exactly what Elisa looked like naked, he knew the twirling fluff between her legs, he knew the pink lilies that surrounded furrowed nipples on her chest, he knew the heart shaped muscles that formed above her hind. He also knew that Elisa was jealous that her older brother and sister were being sent out of the district to learn what appeared at the time to be the mysteries of the universe. For even as Elisa remained juvenile in her understanding of social relationships, she was, like all Greene’s, a bon vivant of erudition and it unnerved her to no end that Margaret and Graham were getting so far ahead of her in their studies. She would often pout or throw tantrums concerning the subject, even going so far as to demand from their mother that she be allowed to attend secondary school two years ahead of schedule because she believed it was “not fair” that Graham and Margaret be allowed to “know more” than her.

As Graham’s interest in Elisa grew, occupying his night thoughts (in the worst Nabakovian sense [Adaesq more than Lo-like, obviously]), his adolescent fantasies of her walking into his room one night and crawling into bed, his imaginings of what it was like to touch her, even he realized that it was becoming an unhealthy obsession, for he was no longer content simply spying on his adopted sister as she dressed or filching glimpses of her rouge maw as she performed yet another cartwheel in front of him. Graham had began desperate attempts, not only was he walking in on her as she bathed, but now waited for her to get out of the tub and would literally break in on her and pretend under foolish pretenses that he’d fallen against her. No longer was Graham willing to watch her only, he wanted to feel that appetizing skin, he wanted her, who had caused his aching, to quell it. So, he began to tutor her.

She was standing half in, half out of his room, one of her arms holding the other, protecting a particularly painful scab on her elbow she’d acquired on a jungle gym, one of her legs placed slightly behind the other, visible all the way up to her thigh and then, only partially hidden by a voile dress that she’d made herself from curtains. The material was light cotton intended only to soften the natural sunlight, not to obstruct it, causing Elisa’s nicely constructed dress to give the impression she was clothed when it was perfectly evident that she really was not. Graham knew she was standing there, waiting for him to acknowledge her, but he kept his eyes focused on the book he wasn’t reading on his lap, until she whined his name (the voice and manner were uncomfortable reminders he did his best to ignore).

“Did you finish your Latin lesson?” he asked, still not allowing himself to look up at the body underneath the dress who ignorantly stood there, enticing him, causing that uncomfortable stirring in his lower gut.

“Yes, I’m sick of Latin, I’ve read too much. Teach me something else,” she begged and Graham, who wanted nothing more than to lick each and every pore of her sienna skin, finally looked up and swallowed, considering whether or not to initiate his Thorndikian ploy.

“All right, enough of this cerebral jousting, let’s teach you about the Gymnasium. Do you know what Greco-Roman wrestling is, dearie? I didn’t think so,” he replied after she nodded her little head, that slight, perfectly sloping neck crooking for only an instant. “It’s an ancient art, and I’ll show you how it’s done. Now, we must teach you first the starting position, so get down on your hands and knees.”

The innocent young thing, wearing a short skirt as revealing as cheese cloth (which would later figure into Elisa’s popularity with suitors, as even as a teenager fully aware of the services of her body, she at one time appeared on the front porch wearing an outfit she’d made solely from the transparent material and spent over four hours with sixteen gentlemen, walking, talking, bowing, sitting and laughing, garbed only in it, much to the pleasure of the lucky sixteen fellows who made it a Sunday ritual to visit her) got down as she was told, unaware of what the position would do to the bottom of her dress in relation to her body. However, Graham, calculating with trigonometrical precision the length of the skirt, the height of his student and the position she was asked to place herself in, knew exactly what would happen and he stood above her with a dry mouth and the beginnings of an uncomfortable wetness in his shorts, watching her replicate the Laussel posture for him.

“Now,” he said dryly, coughing, “I come up behind you and hold onto your arm and your belly. Can you spread your legs a little more, sis, I need to be directly behind you.”

She followed his advice (the lowest form of currency), as Graham stood behind her, watching the shifting of her legs, the fabric of her dress creeping upwards with each adjustment.

“I’m going to take off my shirt, hold on, ‘lisa, and get into some shorts. Ah hell, I’ll just wear my boxers, this is just a training exercise,” he stated as nonchalantly as he could while her bare legs waited for him, spread out, only a centimeter of cotton covering her podex. He maneuvered himself up to her, closing his eyes as he felt himself against her, and wrapped one hand around the forearm of her left arm and tucked his right arm around her waist. “Now, the point of this game is to pin the other person, so when I say go, you’ve got to escape from my grasp and get on top of me. Understand?”

“Yes, pin you,” she replied, “boyz are bumpy, you keep poking me.”

“Ready, set, go…”