Grandma's Rocing Chair

She came home with one of those sick headaches that happens once in a while. There was a paleness about her that betrayed how lifeless and drained she was. He never knew just exactly what to do except quiet rest and the medicine.

Today as she came in, he just went to her to help her in and she just fell into his arms and he enveloped her with his big bear like hug. He held her gently and with his hand he pressed her head into the soft cushion at the base of his neck.

"What can I do for you?" he whispered.

She could only weakly shake her head, not knowing even herself.

He got the pills and handed them to her with a glass of water and watched as she took them. It was a very parental kind of act, like a child who you want to make sure follows your directions. He was not concerned about her refusing to take the medicine, but he was not sure she had the energy left in her to put them in her mouth and lift the glass.

He walked her into the bedroom to put her to bed for a while. He undressed her as you might have done with a very sleepy four year old. He took all of her clothes off as she just stood in a stupor and then wrapped her in the plush terry bathrobe that she enjoyed so much. She was clingy this afternoon and she kept resting her head on his shoulder when he was close enough.

As he was ready to lay her on the bed, he spied grandma's old rocking chair in the corner of the room. It was stacked with clothes and seldom used. It was a family heirloom, but with none of the grace of a fine antique. It was obviously hand made but just as bviously without the fine touches of a master craftsman. It was thick in the legs and rungs, made to be sat on rather than looked at. It had no arms and an unusual seat which was wide at the front and very narrow at the back. The back was straight and not the most comfortable, but functional.

He drew her with him to the chair and brushed the clothes which had accumulated on it away and sat down drawing her sideways to sit on his lap. Her legs draped over his left side and she was turned half way so that her forehead settled back into that soft spot at the hollow of his neck. He held her with his right arm to support her and with his left he brushed her hair quietly and make a quiet "shushing" sound with his voice.

He gently rocked her in his arms and he at last began to feel her relax. He could only hope the pain was subsiding and that perhaps even she might drift off to sleep in his arms. This afternoon it would be the fulfillment of his wishes. Her breathing slowed and he could feel her fit herself into his chest to be more comfortable and although he kissed her hair behind her ear softly, he was not sure if she was asleep or in a dream like daze. He just rocked gently and thought of the joys of this plain old rocker.

She had liked it the first time she saw it. It was in a shed where it had been stored after his grandparents had died. It was so plain that no one else in the family had coveted it and it had begun to show the signs of ill attention with the wood looking dried. They had commented at the strange design of the seat and his mother had told him that it was grandma's knitting chair. The explanation seemed plausible enough... plenty of room at the from for a wide lap to work from and narrowing at the back in an almost "Y" shape to allow the threads to be worked and to spill from both sides.

They had brought the old rocker home and even he was amazed at the fact that the only attention it needed was just a good lemon oil polish and some rubbing. He figured the legs would need to be tightened and glued, but when he sat down in it and then wiggled, he found it absolutely solid. He even turned it over and looked. He didn't know the secret nor could he discover it. He didn't even know if his grandfather had built it himself though it still did show the marks of the plain tools with which it was constructed.

He was surprised that she wanted the rocker in the spare corner of the bedroom. At first it was her reading chair near the window. It was only after a warm spring night when he got up to sit in the small breeze that they discovered it's real secret.

It was not hot enough to turn on the air conditioner, but during the night it warmed and he woke up damp with his own perspiration. He decided not to disturb her, so he shed his damp shorts and sat in rocker with the light breeze cooling him. She had awoke too and her cotton gown was also damp and uncomfortable. With only the moonlight, she stood and pulled the gauze type fabric over her head and he could make out the juncture of her thighs and the swell of her breasts as she pulled the gown free and let it drop in the floor. She spotted him sitting in the dark and walked over and seemed undecided what she wanted to do. At last seeming to have settled on joining him rather than going back to bed, she walked toward him straddling his legs and the wide seat and then sat down with her head finding the same familiar mark at the base of his neck that she was now sleeping on.

As she moved forward to lay against him, they both noticed, almost as if by accident that as she moved to settle against him with her body pressed solidly against him from her forehead to her womanhood, her legs found the narrowness at the back of the chair. Now rather than being spread awkwardly, she could curl her legs around his hips with ease and her feet could touch the floor.

"Ummmmm... do you think your grandma knew about this?" she whispered?

It was like an electrical charge. Sleepiness left his eyes and he found himself swelling against her soft separation. He push them back in the rocker and she settled firmly against him, trapping him and rubbing him. She could push them back with her feet and her hips slipped back slightly.

He wasn't quite sure when he had really entered her. The rocking was slow and she was bathed with both her own wetness and his excitement. The lovemaking was exquisitely sweet... slow and playful. The idea that his grandparents had discovered this secret was a delight in his mind.

He had felt her clamp her legs tightly around his hips and the familiar shiver of her climax. She had brought him with her over the edge and he filled her with his love. She had put her head back into that hollow and they continued to rock gently with him still in her until they both drifted off into sleep, curled and cuddled. He was a little stiff the next morning, but he considered it a small price to pay. The chair now was far to intimate to be put anywhere but in their bedroom.

They didn't use it very often... it seemed reserved for very sweet gentle moments. They didn't talk a lot about it, though often there was a passing secret smile that reminded them of it’s secret and the unanswered questions about it's "original" intents.

This afternoon it was a peaceful and secure place. He found that having her close like this was very comforting to him too. He leaned his head on her hair and at some point joined her in the peaceful regions of semi-slumber with the joys of delightful dreams filling his head.

He was roused by a soft kissing below his ear... a tickling sensation. As quiet voice... perhaps that of an angel whispered, "You OK?"

He whispered back not to break the magic of the moment, "You OK?"

"Much better, M'Lord"

As she turned to bring her arms around his neck the soft plush robe opened at the top and her breasts broke into view. And he knew that the secret of grandma's old rocking chair still had magic for them.