Christopher WunderLee - Moore's Mythopoeia

With that, Graham shoved himself against her, forcing the young girl, whose frame was less heavy and whose muscles had not yet caught up to her bone’s growth, a rather one-sided dimorphism, against the carpeted floor, while his right hand quickly fumbled up her ribs and gripped a scoop of flesh. Elisa, who was being thrashed by the stronger boy, refused to be pinned, even though she really wasn’t quite sure how it was done, and wriggled underneath of the other contestant, attempting to turn the tables on him, but did little more than agitate poor Graham’s already aching extremis, which he’d placed between the two petals of her slew, protected only by the fabric of his underwear, and with his chin driving into her shoulder as he tugged her right breast out of her skirt, he finally felt her nipple against the palm of his hand.

“Am I pinned?” she panted between puddling groans of exertion that drove poor Graham even madder.

“No,” he said, “I’ve got to turn you over and hold your shoulders down for three seconds.” Which, in the volley of finally feeling himself against her, he had forgotten and had suddenly realized, would actually be preferable placement of the bodies, and so, while his opponent quivered below him, trying to get away from him but not wishing to turn over, inadvertently doing one of the most arousing maneuvers Graham would ever experience, he relieved the pressure he was putting against the soffit of her legs and in one mighty thrust, flipped her over on her back, at which point Elisa, realizing he was positioning her for a pin, attempted to get away, but moved less than inch before Graham was back on top of her, positioning himself in a ventral position.

She could barely believe her own strength, though, since even as he had gotten her supine, he seemed incapable of holding her shoulders down, even as he pushed with all his might, he was relegated to lying on top of her and wrestling with her dress, which seemed to be confusing for him, as he got first his arms and then, his head caught in it and could not move any further, but seemed to search her body for some advantageous place to hold onto to in order to make his next move. While she kept her shoulders off the ground, obviously why wrestling was so difficult, Graham seemed to grow feverishly flustered by his inability to pin her and convulsed against the lower part of her body in a moaning rage, but could not muster enough strength to move up to her shoulders, going so far as to even nibble on parts of her body, until he was absolutely exhausted and laid on top of her motionless, his lips still wrapped around her nipple.

At which point, tidy Elisa made her move, sliding out from under him easily, since he had lost his strength, she tried to flip him over on his back, but was unable to turn him over, and he laid in a fetal position, with both hands between his legs for some time.

“Who won?” she asked, but he refused to reply, leading her to believe that it was probably a draw and he was upset by this since he was a boy and she was younger than he. She did observe, though, that wrestling had caused strange pink marks to appear where his mouth was on her body, and that a certain part of her body had sweated for the very first time (an involuntary reaction of the endometria).

Graham’s tutelage of Elisa on the finer points of Greco-Roman wrestling had little positive results, since she was not strong enough to pin him and he seemed to grow too tired to force her shoulders to the ground. In fact, within a few weeks of constant draws, leading Elisa to believe that he did not have as much of a constitution as she did, since she could keep going and he would always double over, and lay there panting on the floor, Graham had even called upon friends to wrestle with her (a brand new enterprise fetching him a pretty thirty quid for each match), whose abilities seemed on par with his own and who always ended up in the same position as he did. Elisa began to tire of the entire thing, she was no closer to pinning any of the boys and they, who would take turns working on her, never seemed able to continue after they got caught up in her clothing. Elisa had gone so far as to recommend that the boys wear loose clothing, but all of them seemed content to wear only their shorts.

One day, when five boys, including her brother, were present for a lengthy match, Elisa had decided to give them a better chance and once she arrived at the wrestling spot, a grove about a half a mile from the family home, recommended by Graham so that they wouldn’t be interrupted, she removed her dress and got into position under the glowing summer sun on all fours, she still wasn’t quite sure why she always had to start that way, completely naked. This way, she reasoned, all the problems they had with her dress would not factor into the outcome, and she could see if they could actually pin her. Graham, who was always the first, seemed unsure, until Elisa swore on her future inheritance that she’d never tell anyone, knowing, based upon instructions from her nanny and adopted mother that there was something naughty about her skin and not wanting to get Graham in trouble. However, the outcome was the very same, the boys did not have any trouble holding her down, but they couldn’t seem to manage to pin her and always ran out of steam.

The last boy, a grinning young buck named Sharky, though, added a twist to his strategy and almost pinned Elisa when he pushed against her and she felt a muscle pull in her lower belly, experiencing for the first time intromission. She wasn’t about to let pain get in her way, though, and was able to battle through it, outlasting Sharky, who seemed to be in even worse agony than she. The match was the most difficult Elisa had ever done, though, and afterwards, for some reason, the pit of her stomach ached and she was sure Sharky had torn a muscle in her groin. That was the first time Elisa laid panting after a match too, unable to recover immediately, and she found herself bleeding a little, a mucus coated her thighs, and Graham seemed very worried, even attacking Sharky for going too far with her. Elisa, who appreciated her brother’s protection, was uncomfortable for a few days after the match, like she had been riding a horse for too long and Graham called off any future wrestling.

When Graham saw Elisa next, after that fateful afternoon of nude fumbling, knowing that he too had come close several times, remembering several times that electric impulse as the head brushed against the fleshy, warm folds of her insides, she was standing on the third floor balcony with a black and margarine butterfly twisted around her index finger, flapping its wings but seemingly unafraid of the young girl. Graham, who had spent the last few nights in sweaty insomnia, obsessed with the images of his half-sister in the grotto, on her hands and knees, the perfume of her body still clinging to his fingertips, her steatopygous hind risen up slightly, the shifting, dangling scoops of flesh topped with cherry red nipples, the light, thin line of pubic hair, the strange lips of flesh, wanted to apologize to her if Sharky had hurt her, but he did not. He stood behind her, staring at the horseshoe shaped lines on the back of her knees, the smooth, slow transitions of her shins, the sun light that was caught in the valley of one thigh muscle and the next, the round, meaty arms with their dimple elbows, the thin neck with hair all out of place, the butterfly flapping its wings on her tiny, roll fingers. Graham leaned against the wall, unnoticed, and watched her. When he was close to sleep, when his defenses were down and the chance of slumber was just a breath away, it would come to him, he would be positioned behind her, just as he always was, her long legs spread open, her bare bottom pressed against his thighs, her back ribbed with her spine, and he would say go. He would enter her, his glands not merely brushing the skin of her labia, but finding her ventage and sliding within her, just like Sharky, and she would writhe below him, panting, moaning, crying, groping the grass, just like with Sharky, and he would wrestle with her, turn her over and pin her, sucking up an entire nipple in a great mouth full of flesh, re-enter her, while she groans, pushes away, attempts to turn over, just like Sharky. All Graham had to do was catch her now, as she gazed down at the butterfly, before she could make a noise, before she could escape, he’d have her naked against him, he’d have his penis inside her, he’d have his lips wrapped around her mouth, he’d have her tongue rolling around his own, he had have her labored breath against his throat. But Graham didn’t ever do it; he just continued to wish he had.