A Fly on the Wall: Savannah Epilogue
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.
To read the rest of the story, click here: Contents
To read other Ganymede stories, click here: Ganymede
Copyright 2019
The responsibility falls on you, the reader, to support Nifty.
It’s easy, safer than using a condom, and personally satisfying.
Why let others pay the bills for your thrills?
<< Epilogue: Savannah is nine years, five months, and 20 days old >>
Still disbelieving, Frank Martin walked through the second gate of Pima County Detention Center. He turned to look back as the gate closed behind him. The six-story concrete fortress was a nightmare, soulless, endless racial epithets, the stench of sweat. He shuddered. His gut ached; his face flushed; his head throbbed. Maybe he’d caught hepatitis; it was rampant.
Just five days in minimum security, he felt like he’d aged ten years, jammed into a two-person cell with three illegal immigrants awaiting deportation. The second day was torture after rumor spread through the B Wing. In the middle of the night, someone punched him in the groin.
He looked around and spotted Karen, standing by the Jeep. He inhaled; thankfully, no sigh of Savannah.
“Probably still in Mexico,” he murmured, staring down at chewing gum splotches all over the sidewalk.
It wasn’t like Karen. He was certain, the last thing she’d do was leave Savannah alone for the operation.
Impossible to forget, not when it was all he thought about. Doctor Klein’s Stage One was a subscapular orchiectomy; both of Savannah’s testicles gone forever. Stage Two was a vulva; Savannah’s small scrotum gone forever. It was scheduled for June 24th--Karen said there was too much at stake to wait.
On Wednesday, or was it Thursday when Karen and Savannah drove down to Topolobampo without him... if he’d been there... would he let it happen?
The Pima County Attorney was undecided. Twelve-gauge buckshot at two yards; was it murder, manslaughter, or stand your ground? The Tucson Herald Editorial called him an out-of-control gun-toting rancher. The local NRA branch was having none of it. His attorney, Mack Cassidy, said something about an inconclusive medical examination. There was a rumor that Child Protective Services were involved.
“Dad, are you okay?”
Frank sighed at her voice.
Mack said he’d pumped another round into the Remington’s chamber most likely out of habit. He remembered pulling the trigger again. Wayne was making too much noise, whining about his missing hand. Besides, he scared Savannah.
He looked up, blinking in the bright afternoon sun. Karen stopped, still yards away, as if he was contagious. He couldn’t remember when they’d last spoken. Two days ago? Yesterday? Today was... June... June... The 17th. It didn’t make sense. Driving all the way from Topolobampo, at least 12 hours, or longer.
“You look tired, Dad.” She was closer.
However, he could see she’d been crying. “How’s Sav doing?”
Karen smiled, gave a little shrug. “Good, I guess. You need a wheelchair?”
He shook his head, gave a feeble smile, and stumbled as he stepped off the curb. She took his hand, squeezed, took his plastic bag of belongings, and started across the road.
“There wasn’t a choice, Karen,” he muttered.
“You did what was necessary, Dad. Well, maybe a bit more. Savannah hasn’t stopped talking about it in five days.”
His pace, like his mood, picked up a notch. His heart raced when he spotted Savannah sitting in the rear of the Jeep, head down, afraid to look at him.
“You shouldn’t have brought her,” he said simply.
“Dad, I need to say this...”
Her tone startled him.
“This week, all of this, it’s been hard on Savannah. You need to be really careful what you say.”
“Okay.”
“The entire mess, it’s her fault. I shouldn’t have let her buy that damned phone.“
“I’m just glad I’m out of that place,” Frank said. “I'm sorry she had to go through a medical exam. It must’ve been awful."
"I got a two-hour lecture from Child Protective Services. Some sex-consultant from Penn State said the amount of dilation indicated adult penetration. We're lucky Savannah flushed the evidence."
"What about D-5?"
Karen smiled. "You’ve always said Savannah's a bright kid, Dad. She told them it was mine. A sexually precocious gay kid with a big Internet following, the prosecutor decided not to press it."
Wondering why she said ‘gay’ and not ‘transgender’, he went around to the passenger door, opened it, and got in. Just a glimpse in the rear, Savannah’s sad little face. No fancy Fashion Brat outfit, loose white shorts, pale blue T-shirt, almost a boy except for hair in a ponytail.
“Hi Grampa.”
He forced a smile. “Hi Sav. I love you.”
“I love you, too.”
There was so much more he needed to say. He dared not look at Savannah. He exhaled, inhaled, trying not to think about the operation.
Within minute, Karen was doing 75 on I-10 East, switching lanes in afternoon traffic to get out of Tucson as quickly as possible.
“Hey Grampa.”
Finally, Frank turned and looked between the front seats. Savannah’s shorts were all down, not off, white cotton bunched at the ankles. Knees apart. Tanned lean smooth thighs. He expected a neat little gauze bandage, at worst a vulva, swollen, bruised, with black ugly stitches. Not a small pink scrotum. It was perfect, just loose enough to reveal two tiny testicles.
“I got an implant, Grampa, in case I change my mind.”
Frank gulped. Without thinking, he murmured, “Thirty-five thousand bucks a year to stop puberty. Jesus.”
Karen gave him a sideways glance. “I thought you’d be glad.”
Only then, he realized what they were trying to tell him, why Savannah looked so anxious.
The slight smile on Karen’s face confirmed it. “The balls are in your court, Dad.”
AUTHOR’S NOTE:
‘Under Arizona self-defense laws, there's generally no duty to retreat before threatening or using physical force if you're in a place where you're legally permitted to be, and you're not engaged in an unlawful act.’