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…”
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.