Picnic Crumbs

a Short Story by Kellis

Copyright © 2003, Kellis



“Liz!  You’re still here?”  He rose with the last wayward paper plate and stuffed it into the garbage bag.  The girl froze.  Apparently she had meant to sneak up on him.

“Darn!  I owe you a tickle,” she complained with a smile above her tank top and shorts.  Her blue eyes danced merrily.  Long, soft hair floated to one side in the late afternoon breeze.

He raised his arms.  “So tickle!”

She sniffed.  “You take all the fun away, Pops.”

He nodded with a smile.  “Yes, I know.  A stolen tickle —”

“Like you gave me!”

“— is certainly the best kind.  Is that the only reason you came back?  I thought you were leaving with the rest.”

“My car wouldn’t start.”

“Really?”  At Christmas her husband had bragged of buying a new one.

For some reason she grinned slyly.  “Jack thinks it came with a bad solenoid, whatever that is.”

“That’s uncommon.  Shake out that throwcloth for me and I’ll go look at it for you.  Sometimes solenoids only need a good whack.”

She glanced around at the checkered cloth spread on the ground and peppered with crumbs but made no move toward it.  “What’s your hurry?  It’s such a pretty day!  I remember how this hill is just the place to watch a sunset.”

He studied her engaging face.  Under his scrutiny a slight upward curl appeared in one corner of her mouth and her eyes dropped.  An odd feeling crept over him.  “Liz, did your grandma go with Millicent?”

“I think so.  That was the plan, wasn’t it?  She’s baby sitting for Millicent and Teddy to go to the concert tonight.”

He waved his hand at the distant woods and fields and the old house thrusting above the scrub.  “If she did, then we’re the only people on all these 75 acres.”

“So?  Surely I’m safe in the company of my grandpa.”

Her voice was curiously ironic.  His queer feeling grew strong enough to recognize.  Something made him respond, “Perhaps so, if I truly was.”

“Were.  You should say, ‘If I truly were.’”

“If I truly were, I’d paddle you for daring to correct your elder.”

“If you could catch me.”  The girl’s eyes twinkled.  She raised her chin.  “Why did you marry Granny anyway — for her money?”

He answered the impertinence with deliberate coarseness.  “She also gave wonderful head.”

If he surprised her, his reward was only a cocked eyebrow.  “I’ve heard that.”

“And she had lovely big tits, which you didn’t inherit.”

The girl only smiled.  “Give me time.  You’re what, nine years younger than she?”

“About.  But we look well matched, wouldn’t you say?  She’s very well preserved for a sexagenarian…  What’s with the raised eyebrows?  Once upon a time I went to college too.”

“I heard about your college days — and why you left.”

“Did you!  Which story — the one that had me getting the dean’s daughter pregnant?”

She leered.  “You did that?  You were a player, eh, Pops?”

“A what?  Oh, as in ‘playing the field?’  I was horny, young and dumb, as they say.  What’s your excuse?”

“Oh, I too!”  She laughed shrilly.  “And I left because I got the dean’s son pregnant.”

He retorted, “Trust you to do something unique!”

As they talked he had gathered up most of the trash and stood before her with his middle-aged spread tucked into Bermudas and T-shirt, arms full of stuffed plastic bags.  “Looks like I missed that can of whipping cream over there.  You’ve still got a free hand.  How about bringing it along with the throwcloth?  Or do you think a few hours in the sun would spoil the cream?”

She sauntered to the brightly-colored can, partly covered by the checkered cloth where some child had undoubtedly kicked it, and raised it to her face.  She stared with curious intentness.  “One way to find out.”

The nozzle passed between puckered lips.  He heard a hiss.  When she lowered the can, the O of her mouth was chock full of white cream.  Eyes dancing, she studied his expression for a moment before closing her lips, chewing briefly and swallowing ostentatiously.

“Well?” he asked testily.

“Too sweet.”  With a contemplative expression she ambled back.  Nearing him, she began, “Why don’t you see —”

He had a glimpse of the nozzle, depressed by her slim forefinger, just before thick foam occulted his vision.  He yelled a curse, only to have his mouth filled as hers had been.  Meanwhile she completed her sentence.  “— for yourself?”

She was necessarily close.  He dashed the foam from his eyes and caught her extended arm in a vise-like grip.  His other hand snatched the can.  She tried to twist free, but a stream of foam coated her own face.  She screamed, not too loudly.

Half-swallowing, half-spitting sweetened cream, he released her arm and caught her around the waist.  She continued to scream and struggle while he squirted the nozzle first up under the bottom front of her tank top, then down into the top of her shorts.  Both her hands sought the can and together managed to wrest it from him.  Whipped cream, cooled by expansion, flooded into his own shorts.

With both hands free he dug knuckles into her ribs on both sides.  She screamed louder, face contorted, and twisted around.  Suddenly he was gouging soft breasts.  She concentrated on digging similarly into his ribs.  Defying her knuckles in return, he thrust a hand under the tank top and palmed a lumpy nipple.  Perhaps in retaliation she plunged a slippery hand into his belly and down the front of his shorts to clutch testicles and manhood.

Both of them froze.

“Ah, Liz …” he began.

She giggled.  “I wondered how this might affect you.”  She gave his half-erection a little pump.  “This has real promise.”

His free hand slipped into her soggy shorts and fell abruptly on an undefended clitoris.  She twitched.  So did he.

Staring into her eyes, he asked plaintively, “What happened to the hair!”

“I’m a modern girl, Pops.  I shave.”

“Girls shave their cunts these days?”

“Lots of them.”

“They like it smooth?”

“It can feel a tongue better.”

He barked a laugh and nodded admiringly.  “That even makes sense!”

With the aid of his other hand he spread the elastic of her shorts and pushed them down to her knees.  She raised a leg and kicked it free before rotating in his arms and attacking his clothing similarly, pausing briefly for him to lift her tank top off shoulders and raised arms.  In less than ten seconds they were both naked aside from wristwatches, jewelry and sneakers.

He caught her by the buttocks, lifted her up and over his thrusting organ, aided by her arms and legs, and penetrated easily despite the lack of guidance.

“You’re very slick,” he noted, “even for whipped cream.”

“It’ll soon be whipped!”  Her legs enwrapped his hips.  She began twisting her buttocks as her open mouth closed over his.  Immediately his tongue darted out.  They kissed wetly while she bounced, groaning through flared nostrils, until he raised his face.

Panting, he declared, “You’re a little too vigorous for an old man, sweet Lizzie.”

“Because I’m — god! — coming.”

“If you say so.”  He stumbled toward the checkered throwcloth, still spread on the grass.  Falling to his knees, he laid her back among the crumbs.  Now both contributed to the exercise, he with full thrusts and she with hips rotating in the same rhythm.  Her groans resumed and became soft screams.  Perspiration mingled with whipping cream on their bodies.

His buildup was agreeably slow, as it had become during the infrequent sex with his wife.  He had expected a return to youthful jack-rabbitry inside the body of this girl, at least as passionate as any he could recall.  Marvelling at his own stamina, he happily plunged on and on, unconcerned as her nails gouged his back.

But eventually her groans faded and her hips quietened.  She blinked up at him, sweat standing on her forehead.  With a voice of awe she gasped, “God, Pops, I believe … you could shag me to death!”

“Not that far.  Want to take a break?”

“You didn’t … come.”

“No rush on that.”  He kissed her tenderly.  “Liz, you’re amazing.”

I’m amazing?  Huh!  Carrie must’ve got you … mixed up with somebody else.”

“Carrie?  Not Carrie Walters!”

“That’s the one.  She said you were like a rabbit the first time.”  The girl grinned up at him.  “Don’t tell me somebody already made your day!”

“Not today.  Am I too heavy?”

“No, you’ve been a gentleman.  Thank you very much.”  Her eyes were thoughtful.  “But what does it take to make you come: a blowjob?”

He chuckled.  “Is that what Carrie said?”

“Not exactly.  She claimed you’re really an ass man.”

His chuckle strengthened.

“I see you don’t deny it.”

“All right.  I like a woman’s body in my hands.”

Her eyes were contemplative.  “Is that it: boobs not big enough?”

“Nothing’s wrong with your boobs.  You’re still quite young, Liz.  What are you, about 21?”

“Twenty.  My shaving!  Surely that doesn’t put you off!”

He grinned.  “Well, it makes you look like a little girl from a distance — below the waist.  But I never saw anything wrong with little girls.  It was a twelve-year-old who introduced me to this wonderful stuff.”

“How old were you?”

“The same: twelve.  Would you believe she also taught me how to jerk off?  She had older brothers.”

“Really?  They shagged her first?”

“I asked her which one.”  He grinned, eyes distant.  “She said, ‘All five of them.’”

“That’s it!”


“That’s why I love talking about sex with older people.  You’ve lived it.  You have such rich memories!  But it’s strange.  Men won’t talk.  I think you’re the first one to tell me anything.  Are you an ass man?”

“I never turned it down.”

“Goody!”  She smiled invitingly.  “I took a Fleet before I came over here.”

“A what?”

“It’s a big plastic bottle that you squeeze up —”

“I know about Fleet enemas, thank you.  Carrie must have been persuasive.”

“She knows you.  I learned from her that you like to tickle.”

“Doesn’t everyone?”

“I don’t know everyone.  Not yet.  Let me turn over.”

He backed away.  She rolled onto her belly, drew knees beneath chest and raised her buttocks toward him.  Her hands reached back and pulled her cheeks apart.

He stared into the puckered flesh.  “I don’t have any lubricant.”

“Yes, you do,” she corrected.  “Put it into my pussy again first.”

“Did you really take an enema?”

“The last thing before I left home.”

Gathering a mouthful of saliva, he bent far forward and expelled it forcefully into the depression, following it with a working tongue tip.  She gasped and shivered.

His large knob completely obscured the tiny, clenched orifice.  He chuckled at the disparity but pressed ahead.  To his surprise the flesh parted willingly, almost gratefully, which meant, as he understood from previous experience, that she was pushing out internally as if to evacuate.  He slid easily through the expanding ring, chuckling again in pleased surprise.

She said tightly, “What’s so funny?”

Building a slow thrust, he answered, “Two things.  I don’t suppose you’ve ever actually seen a cock enter an asshole, have you?”

“Now why would you suppose that?”

When he was silent, she muttered, “I’ve seen it done to others.”

“When your sphincter pushed back, I realized it wasn’t your first time.”

“You laughed before that.”  She sniffed.  “Was it because my hairlessness made you think of a little girl’s butt?”

“No.  That might be funny, I agree, except you’re not quite hairless here, sweetie.  What amused me was how impossible butt-fucking looks with the cock-head next to a puckered asshole.”

“Until you think what normally passes there.”

“Well, yes.”

“And right after you pull out it won’t look impossible at all.”

“Christ, Lizzie!  How’d you learn all this at 20?  Do you love it that much?”

Her body undulated in a shrug.  “Men love it this way, which I gather wasn’t always true.”

“That women would let them is what wasn’t always true.”

“You’re kidding!”  She turned her head to stare curiously at him over her shoulder. “In your youth women had to do what their men wanted.  Hell, they couldn’t complain even if husbands raped them!”

“That’s still true in some places.  Though it was never really a problem.  Only a fool would force the woman who puts the sugar in his coffee.”

“Why not?  He’d just beat her if she did it wrong.”

He laughed scornfully.  “Not if she sweetened it with potassium cyanide!”

“That’s a good point.”  She grinned over her shoulder.  “Maybe that explains it. Nowadays men sugar their own coffee.”  She giggled.  “So they had to pass a law!”

“And repeal the one that made butt-fucking a crime, though I admit I never heard it enforced between man and woman.”  He chuckled.  “This is a curious subject, my sweet little catamite, while engaged upon it.”

“Your sweet little what?”

“Aha!  So I found a word new to you, eh?  I only had to reach back a couple thousand years for it.”

“What is it?”

“Well, originally it was a young boy, usually a slave, whose anus was kept well-jizzed by his master, but I think it’s the willing asshole that’s important, not what swings in front of it.”

“My god, you are an ass man!  You’d like this better if I were a boy, wouldn’t you?”

“I don’t know.  I never fucked a boy.”

“Well, my boobs aren’t much bigger.”

“But your butt is.”  He slapped and squeezed both rounded cheeks at once.  “No, I definitely prefer female flesh.”

She rose to hands and knees, disconnecting them.  For a moment he feared she had taken offense, but she only spun around and slurped his wet manhood into her mouth.  To his further amazement she swallowed most of the shaft.

“Good god, Liz!  What do they teach in school these days!”

She released him, laughing at his tone and expression.  “To try it in case you like it.” She paused to lick her lips.  “I do.”

“You like …”

“My own chocolate.”


“Two or three hours after a Fleet.  You stuck your tongue in there.  Didn’t you notice?”

While he boggled at her she gulped him again and slurped juicily before turning about to resume her previous position, buttocks elevated and cheeks spread.  He gaped at the previous pucker now transformed into a large, purplish orifice.

“See what you’ve done to me?” she accused over her shoulder, eyes twinkling.  She grinned at his expression and added, “Do it some more.”

He could only obey.  When he was well seated, her sphincter clamped him.

“Go to it, Pops.  Bang me hard and fast.  If I pass out, just keep banging.”

Through her flesh he felt a hand vibrating the clitoris.  He grasped her hipbones in either hand and began to shove fiercely into her, testicles slapping against the hairless labia.  His thrusts neared maximum length, but she timed her sphincter exquisitely, keeping the ring closed tight except when it would force him out.

Her groaning voice deepened to a strong contralto.  He pounded her furiously, ignoring his growing shortness of breath, feeling the release finally rising through his prostate. Then he froze.  Grunting with each spurt, he ejaculated into her bowels.

She screamed.  Her sphincter relaxed.  When at last he released the grip on her hipbones, she sagged limply forward.

Gasping for breath, he spread her nether cheeks and stared in fascination at the huge opening.  Also gasping, the girl put her hands back to hold herself open.

“Thank you,” he said, suddenly resolving to accept the implied invitation.  Forming the four fingers of one hand into a V, he inserted them into her easily to the knuckles.  From there he popped them into his own mouth.

She raised up on an elbow and grinned at him.  “Well?”

“Well what?”

“How do you like Liz chocolate?”

“A hint of spice.  Unlike the rest of her.”

She seemed to frown.  “You don’t find all of me spicy?”

He sniffed.  “I don’t find a hint.  You’re solid pepper.”

“Thank you, I think.  Pepper burns.”

He nodded.  “Exactly.”  With a sigh of fatigue he knelt beside her.

She sat up languidly.  “I don’t think I burned you.  Who was up whose ass?”

“Pepper engages the taste buds,” he replied obliquely.  “Instructively, in this case.”  He took a breath.  “I see I’ve fallen out of touch.”

“With what, Pops?”

“With the ‘New World Order’ as it pertains to casual sex.”

“‘Casual!’  What makes you think this is so casual?”

“It has to be, Lizzie.  Obviously we have no future.”

“We don’t?”  She was definitely frowning now.

“Must I spell it out?  You’re a rare darling, Liz, whose regular lovers I already envy.  But you know what everyone will say about you if I leave your grandmother and take up with you.”

Her frown disappeared, replaced by a slow smile.  “You really thought about that?  Pops, that’s sweet.”

He shrugged.  “That’s what it means for a man and woman to have a future.”

“Maybe in your day.  I have an apartment, you know.  And if you care what anyone thinks, it has a backdoor.”

“Lizzie!”  He stared at her.

She chuckled.  “Now why should that idea upset the tom cat of the country club?”

He shook his head.  “Let me understand you.  Do you propose an affair?”

She chuckled.  “Nothing so formal.”

“Formal?  You want to continue with casual contacts, is that it?”

“Pops, there’s nothing casual about your dick up my ass.”

He snorted.  “It seems that you and I use that word differently.”

She explained patiently, “Casual sex is just release, like masturbating each other.  This afternoon means more than that.  I like you, Pops.  You tell me things.  And you make me feel special.”

“Well, yes.  Leaving out your svelte body and winning ways, you are my first step-partner, which I suppose is pretty special.”

“Would you like to have two step-partners?  Millicent gets together with me from time to time.”

“Millicent: now there’s a set of tits!  If she’s half as frank and open, the two of you would be quite a combination.”  He grinned mockingly.  “But she’s only an in-law step-granddaughter: not the same cachet.”

“Don’t be too quick.  Millicent’s a swinger, Pops.  You do know what that means?”

“Likes a woman as much as a man, eh?”

“Especially together at the same time.”

“My god!  And you’re both married women.  What do your husbands say about all that?”

“Not much.  I’ve heard them say, ‘Let’s trade back.’”

He shook his head.  “If I join your set, you’ll hear more than that.  Teddy doesn’t like me.”

She sniffed.  “Millicent doesn’t tell him everything.”

“Doesn’t she?  And your husband?  I don’t know Rafe very well.  What do you tell him?”

Her bantering tone and expression faded.  She looked away, squinting at the orange sun half set behind distant trees.  “Nothing now.”

He studied her thoughtfully before following her gaze across the long, sloping meadow.  The scene was very peaceful in the evening stillness.

She leaned forward, elbows on knees, and sighed.  “You did know about him, didn’t you?”

“Know what?  I didn’t see him at the picnic.”

“No, you didn’t.  He’s off getting drunk on his last night of freedom.”

“‘His last —’  What do you mean?”

She laughed harshly, not meeting his eyes.  “And Granny doesn’t like me.”

“What are you talking about, Lizzie?”

“You didn’t hear?”  She sighed.  “Tomorrow morning he’ll surrender.”


“To begin serving his three years for embezzlement.”

He blinked at her.  “I thought the sentence was suspended.”

“On condition he repay the money.  He missed the deadline.  Granny wouldn’t help him.”

“Yes, I know her attitude about that.  But why doesn’t she like you?  You’re her blood granddaughter.”

“Because I ‘married such a louse,’ quote-unquote.”

“She said that?  Must have been a private conversation.”

“It was.  I wanted her to help him — actually to help me.  We fought, I’m afraid.  You could sum up her final advice as, ‘Get lost.’”

“That’s tough, Lizzie.  At least you should be all right.”

“You think so?  Are you also going to tell me, ‘Get a job?’”

He studied her face.  She glared stonily back.  He said thoughtfully, “I suppose Rafe liquidated everything.”

“Every last cent!”

They sat silently for a while as the sky reddened.  She shivered.

“I guess we’d better get dressed,” he suggested but without moving to do so.  “What are your plans, Lizzie?”

She took a very deep breath and hitched herself against him.  “The fact is, Pops, I’m scared.”

“Scared?”  He made deprecating sounds.  “Nothing to fear.  Henry Miller said, ‘The world never lets a pretty woman starve.’  And you certainly qualify.”

“Thank you.”  Her arm snaked around his back and she pressed a nipple into his side.  Her voice was muffled in his neck.  “What I’m hoping is to entertain my step-grandpa.  I’d like to try out for the part of the girl who’s the most fun he ever had.”

His arm fell gently on her shoulders.  He murmured admiringly, “You’d be plausible in the rôle.  But in the meantime how do you plan to eat?”

“You’re in Henry Miller’s world too, Pops.”

“Meaning I won’t let you starve?”

She gestured at the cloth upon which they sat.  “You leave lots of crumbs.  And I already know you have funds of your own.”

Right behind the words he felt a hot tongue in his ear canal.  “Checked up on me, have you?”

“For a long time.  You did this to me at your wedding to Granny.  You were a little drunk, I guess.  But it thrilled me right down to my toes.”

“That reception was wild.  What were you, about 14?”


“You’ve had a busy seven years, haven’t you!”

“So have you.”

“I’d tapered off a lot — until today.”  He laughed.  “Let’s get dressed and go find supper.  You’re right: I haven’t starved a lover yet and I won’t begin with you.”



Contact kellies@dhp.com