Grampa's Box

Toula stepped into the shower to wash away the smell of beer a cigarettes. Three doubles in a row wrecked her, but it gave her four days off and some quality, private time. She examined herself in the mirror as she did more frequently these days. She was feeling old or maybe it was just tired. Her pretty, green eyes had dark circles now that the makeup was washed off. Her curly, red hair looked ratty. She thought again about getting a boob job. She had always been top heavy and the bra straps were making permanent furrows in her shoulders. But her cleavage was her cash draw in a way, in both senses of the word.

She grabbed a bottle of wine, uncorked it, poured a glass, and settled on the couch. She pulled the rubber bonnet over her head, turned the heat to medium. She gazed at the box.

She was five when she first saw the box. Her parents sent her to Grampa's farm for a month every summer. Uncle Harold and Auntie Ed pretty much ran it, them and her three cousins. Being too young for serious chores, and to keep her out of trouble, Grampa kept her with him.

One day they were in the barn, Grampa working on a piece of equipment. Toula wandered to the back of the barn and saw the box. It looked like a large salt box with a partial top lid, and a hinged, sloping front part. Toula had always had a thing for small places. As a toddler she would pull the pots and pans from the cupboard and climb inside. Or she would crawl under her bed, way into the corner. So, naturally, when she saw the box she had to see.

She was startled awake by Auntie's shrieks. Grampa reached in and fetched her out.

In the days that followed it became kind of a game. After lunch, Toula would go to the barn and climb into the box for her nap. Later Grampa would "discover" her, pull her out, cuddle her.

This went on for a couple of years, but then Toula decided she was a big girl and the whole peek-a-boo thing was beneath her. Still, once in a while, she'd sneak off to the barn.

Toula finished her second glass of wine. She pulled the bonnet from her head. In the bathroom she swapped fresh batteries into the control and pushed the bullet vibrator deep into her pussy. It wouldn't bring her to mind-blowing orgasms, but that wasn't what she needed. All she wanted was that "Ahh" feeling. She pulled on a fresh diaper.

When she hit puberty she realized that that thing between her legs was good for more than just peeing. Her rare sessions in the box came with different thoughts, fantasies. Discovery would have different ... consequences, both in her fantasy world and reality.

Toula lifted the lid on the box. She arranged the straw to make a proper nest. She draped a blanket over the bottom, positioned a couple of more on each side. She went around the house shutting off lights. She stepped into the box.

The box was all but forgotten during her teen years until her 19th birthday. They held the party at Grampa's farm. They brought Grampa from the nursing home. Uncle Harold had the farm up for sale. So it was a bittersweet day for Toula.

Uncle Harold was talking about the upcoming auction, everything must go, when Toula blurted out, "Can I have the box?"

He stared at her as if not hearing right. Toula was equally surprised and wondered where that came from. But presently they loaded the box into her small pickup truck.

Back at her place, Toula disassembled the box. She refinished the outside, made it look like furniture. She left the inside as it was, even kept the old straw. It held the smell of the farm, a smell that had imprinted itself on her brain.

She drilled some holes in the back of the box, covered them with a layer of black cloth to keep the light out, not that she could see any light once inside. And she rigged the button on the spring latch with a bit of string led through a hole into the box.

Toula settled herself into the box, sitting comfortably, hugging her knees. She reached another blanket and tucked it around her shoulders, grabbed another and filled the space in front. She grabbed the last blanket, fumbled the lamp off, draped the blanket over her, hooked a finger on the edge of the lid. It shut with a satisfying thud and clack as the latch caught.

The wine buzz was just right. The buzzing between her legs likewise. She would spend the day and next night, maybe the next, safe and warm in Grampa's box.

04.11.11