My Diary 09 Hiking With Grandad

My Diary 09 - Hiking with Grandad by Emily Harrison

I was loving University, I was well into my studies, but everyone needs a break.

I'd been so looking forward to the end of term and the summer holidays, and now having arrived, I wanted to fill it up with as much fun and interesting stuff as I could.

One of the first things I'd arranged, was a trip up to Scotland to stay with my Grandparents. Everyone has two sets of Grands, if you've read any of my earlier diary entries, you will already have read about my Southern ones. I hadn't seen my Scottish Grands, however, for a while, so I really wanted to spend some time with them again.

We're always in contact, but due to their relatively remote location, it's always a bit of a trip. There is, however, always an open invitation to head up north, so, after a few weeks of planning, it was all arranged, a week up in Bonnie Scotland would be great.

My Grandad is a hiking nut, he's always out on the Highlands amongst the heather, the scots pines and the thistles, so part of my week up there was going to be hiking with him. In fact, I jokingly said I'd only visit if he promised to take me on a long hike up in the Highlands. I was so looking forward to that.

I wanted to do a few other things over the holiday period too. I wanted to spend more time helping out at the care home, I wanted to visit Mum and Dad in France and maybe even enjoy another short naturist holiday with my elderly gay neighbour Albert.

Also high on my priority list, was another visit to my Southern Grands, which of course meant another tryst with the Colonel. Added to all of that, would be my weekly visits to my old teacher Mr Thomas, lots of swimming, running and cycling and I'm sure I'd find a few 'new' distractions to fill the remainder of my summer with too.

But before all of that, one of my tutors at Uni, Abi (short for Abigail) had invited me to a pub lunch. She's really nice and had been so helpful in my studies over the past year.

Sorry I've rambled on a bit here, let me rewind a little and give you a quick recap of myself before I start.

My name is Emily Harrison, I've just this past week turned 19 and am currently attending University. I'm fit, I have what I guess you could call, a petite but athletic body. I'm roughly 5ft 2 inches tall, I have longish brown hair which is pretty much always in a ponytail. I get told quite a lot that I'm pretty, even though I wince a little each time I hear that. I think it's because I'm rather shy, I can go as red as a beetroot at any given moment, especially if someone's complimenting me for something. I think people see me as an innocent, which to a certain extent is true, a persona that I don't mind either.

I'm also, out of choice, still a virgin, and I have this, you could say, rather unconventional 'thing' about elderly men. I've been enjoying some rather naughty adventures recently, and although wishing to remain a virgin for as long as possible, I'm very much enjoying everything else that an occasional naughty adventure, with 'the right' elderly man, can bring.

And elderly men seem to be attracted to me too, I don't know why. Maybe it's my looks, maybe my personality or it might be because of the 'innocence' thing, I don't know. I've also been told I look a lot younger than my age, which will, I suppose, be great when I'm 92, but now?

So anyway, today is my lunch with Abi, tomorrow I'm going to help out at the care home, and then Monday first thing, I'll be on a train heading up to Scotland to stay with my Grands.

I woke at 7.32 am. My lunch with Abi was scheduled for 12.30.

Of all my tutors, Abi is by far the nicest. She's probably in her late 40's I would say, although she could even be early 50's. Dark hair, fairly slim, and quite beautiful actually. But more than that, she's incredibly fun, smart, kind and caring too.

I'd had quite a few chats with Abi during my first year at University, she'd been incredibly kind in steering me through some of the more challenging parts of my coursework. The downside, however, was that from the start of the new term, she would be working in another department, which was a real shame, as we'd become pretty good friends over the past year.

This was going to be the first time we'd met up outside of Uni, however. I wasn't entirely sure of the purpose of our lunch, I had an inkling that she was going to make some suggestions regarding my course and where I might need to specialise if I was to go further in my chosen field.

Anyway, on such a warm day, dressed in my new short navy pleated skirt (£19 in Debenhams, a bargain!), my light blue silk blouse, no bra and a white thong, white ankle socks and my white Adidas trainers, I headed off to meet up with Abi.

We'd arranged to meet at 'The Cowherds', a little 'olde worlde' country pub, that we both knew. I arrived bang on time, and as I cast my eyes around, I spotted her sitting in a quiet area, just by the window. She gave a quick wave in acknowledgment, as I navigated my way over to her table.

After a customary hug, I plonked my bag at my feet, and we sat and exchanged our normal friendly chatty greetings and general chitchat, before eventually deciding to scan the menus.

I'm a veggie (well in truth, a pescatarian) and normally you get one option, two if you're lucky. So it looked like the freshly battered cod with triple-cooked chips, mushy peas and tartare sauce for me, which was pretty low on calories too. Abi ordered the same, together with drinks from the attending waitress, who having now poodled off to fulfil our order, allowed us to continue our chat.

It was a lovely lunch, we talked about many things, but as the conversation progressed I started to get a feeling that there was more to this get-together than just lunch and a chat about my Uni curricular.

And then something happened that I wasn't quite expecting. We were chatting about something innocuous and Abi stretched out a hand, placed it on mine and held it for a moment. It took me a bit by surprise. It felt a little weird, but also rather nice. And something, that I really didn't expect, I got a definite tingle, and it was a very pleasant warm and fuzzy tingle too. You know the kind.

I couldn't quite fathom what I was thinking at that moment and for some time after, but one thing I did know for certain. I liked it.

As I said, it was a lovely lunch, I was stuffed, especially after the Bramley apple & blackberry crumble. I think we both could have sat there for many more hours, chatting away and enjoying such an enjoyable and relaxed lunch together.

Abi however had another appointment later that afternoon, so after paying the bill and gathering up our things, we made our way outside.

A little earlier, when chatting about what we were going to be doing later, Abi had kindly offered to give me a lift home, dropping me at my flat on her way further on.

It was only a 5-minute drive, and arriving outside my flat, we had a rather awkward goodbye hug, as we negotiated past the hand brake and steering wheel of her sporty little Mazda MX5, we cheek kissed our goodbyes and promised to get together again once I was back from Scotland.

Climbing out of such a low-seated car, and especially wearing such a short skirt, I tried but failed to extract myself without my underwear flashing into view, I clunked the door shut and waving our goodbyes, Abi zoomed off.

There are those mornings when you wake from a lovely deep sleep, just wishing you could stay in bed forever. My duvet had been kicked aside during the night, as the weather had again been very warm, and certain areas (how can I say this as lady-like as possible?) ermm, well certain areas had become perspiration traps and therefore a little moist during the night.

When I'm home, I always sleep in the nude. There are of course those few days each month when, as our gym teacher at school, Miss Roberts, used to say, 'the decorators were in' and panties were therefore worn. Also, on occasions when visiting family and friends and 'staying over', sometimes a nightie might be more prudent. And as I can't stand long nighties, as whenever I have worn one in the past they always get tangled up in my legs, I'll always now wear a short one. The shorter the better too.

So anyway, there I am, naked on my bed, half awake, wondering whether I had time to get my fingers wet, down in a certain place. I was getting those little itchy tingly feelings down there once again, but no, I don't have time. I'd promised to be at the care home for an 8.15 am start, and if there's one thing I hate in the world, it's being late.

I forced myself out of bed, walked to the bathroom, plugged the bathplug in and turned on the taps. My plumbing leak had been fixed a little while back, so we were good to go. With my bath running, I quickly made my bed, got my clothes ready, dived into the kitchen, made tea and threw a couple of slices of Warburtons Danish white into the toaster, and while that was doing its thing, retraced my steps to the bathroom and now with a full bath, turned off the taps.

With toast buttered, I was munching as I was getting my bath towels ready.

I'm not too bad at multitasking huh?

I enjoyed my bath and even though I still had some tingles going on, I couldn't afford the time to play (don't you just love those warm, soapy moments in the bathtub when you feel in the mood!!).

In a matter of about 15 minutes, with the bath water gurgling to its oblivion, I was out of the bath, standing on one fluffy towel, whilst drying with another. Hair, face, back, arms, bum, vagina, legs, feet, I was done and relatively dry in under 3 minutes. After having applied every visible (and not so visible) bit of bare skin with coconut oil, and after giving the bathtub a quick squish around, I made my way back to my bedroom.

A few minutes at the mirror to get my face on, and then clothes. And although as soon as I was at the care home, I would be changing into the requisite 'uniform' of a dress/tunic type of thing, I still like to look presentable when I leave the flat.

And with the warm weather, it was definitely a thong kind of a day. So one of my smallest white thongs, then my dark blue shorts, I can't wear a bra in this heat, I just get too hot and sticky, so just my pale blue tank top/vest and white ankle socks. Once my trainers were on, a quick brush of my hair into a ponytail, and having brushed my teeth, my bag was over my shoulder and I was out the door, down the communal stairs and on my way to the care home.

The care home I help out at isn't enormous, we have around twenty or so permanent residents, which fluctuates over time naturally. We also have a few temporary residents, there for short spell stays for a variety of reasons.

If you've read my earlier Diary entries, you'll know that I've been volunteering there for a little while now, which has led to some rather naughty little adventures.

I arrived bang on time and headed to the changing room (a glorified broom cupboard, and not much bigger either), saying hi's and hello's to any resident or staff member I encountered on the way. Getting out of my clothes and into the tunic/dress that is standard wear for carers here, I was ready for my day of helping out.

If you've read my previous diary entries, you will have read about a particularly naughty resident, Bob. No matter the time or day, he will try and grope whoever the carer is who happens to be helping him out at the time. In fact, there are a few other male residents who, although not as bad as Bob, will also attempt a little 'innocent' grope of a bum or a titty, as they're being helped in and out of beds, chairs or baths.

Now when this first happened to me, I must admit I was quite shocked and a little embarrassed. I mean, what do you say when a 93-year-old man, with lightning speed, puts his hand up your tunic and has a quick feel?

That first time, I was really annoyed. On reflection however, and because of this 'thing' I have for very elderly men, I've started to enjoy thinking about how naughty and exciting it felt. So much so, that the few times since that incident, when I've helped out at the home, I've gravitated to Bob's room.

Now I would never admit that I've enjoyed being innocently groped, I will always feign mild outrage and annoyance, but secretly I'm finding that occasionally being groped by Bob, or indeed any one of the other likeminded 'gropers' at the home, is really rather enjoyable.

So anyway, it was a pretty busy day. In the morning I was mostly getting residents into the dining area for breakfast and then assisting whoever needed help with eating. After that I was asked to do the rounds and visit those who were in their rooms, making sure they were ok and chatting with them.

It was such a warm day, I was sweltering and glad I'd decided on just a thong and no bra under my tunic, anything else and I'd have been a mess. As it was, every crevice was struggling to remain perspiration free, but some areas had pretty much lost the battle, particularly under my arms, my vagina and between the cheeks of my bum. Even my 'Salt Of The Earth' Melon & Cucumber deodorant was struggling to cope.

Bob (the groper) was one of those who didn't stray much from his room, and when doing my rounds I noticed him sitting up on his bed and decided to see if he needed any help. Now knowing what I know about him and his wandering hands, I knew it wouldn't take him long to chance his arm and attempt a grope.

I'm not sure if Bob ever recognises us carers, our names or faces. I'm pretty sure to him, we're just titties and bottoms, and targets to be fondled. But having rather enjoyed his last attempt and thoughts about it since, hey why not?

"Hi Bob," I said as I entered, "do you need anything, your bedclothes tidying?"

"Yeh," he grumpily replied. Bob wasn't one for conversation, I haven't had more than a couple of sentences out of him since I started helping out at the home.

Those familiar little tingles down below and associated butterflies in my tummy were back, however, knowing he'd attempt his normal grope. And even though I have a smallish bum, I knew that wearing such a tiny thong would, once his hand was up under my tunic, give him quite a bit of bare flesh to grab.

I can't make anything too obvious, however, and any grope by Bob would always have to be accompanied by a reprimand by yours truly.

And it didn't take long this time. With my back to him, bending as I was, with my legs slightly parted whilst tucking in the side of his sheet, up under my tunic and between my thighs went his hand, his fingers easily sliding past such a thin barrier as the string of my thong between my bum cheeks. On such a warm day, the perspiration down there seemed to glide his fingers effortlessly to an even moister target.

'Count to five' I was saying in my head, as two fingers slid straight up inside his target. I instantly and involuntarily pushed back slightly, which of course produced an even greater penetration up my vagina. They were all the way in.

...2, 3, 4, 5

"Bob," I said, in my best outraged voice, at the same time pulling away and turning to give him a stern telling off. Well, a gentle reprimand anyway!

"That's really very naughty," I said, as I tried to show him my best 'angry face' whilst at the same time trying to conceal my 'joy at being fingered face'.

"That's the last time," I said, knowing of course that it probably wouldn't be.

As I made my way out of his room, I glanced back over my shoulder to catch him putting those two, by now, very wet fingers up to his nose, and then into his mouth.

As I walked away and down the corridor, trying my best to get the string of my thong back aligned in as ladylike a manner as I could, I couldn't help but smile to myself.

What a naughty man he is!

Well yes, what a naughty girl I am too, but what can a girl do?

The next morning I was up extra early. The train journey up to Scotland was going to be a pretty long one, so an early start and on one of the first trains out too.

I'd packed my bag the night before. Clothes enough for a week, hiking boots, my light wet weather jacket, numerous shorts, vest/tank tops, a skirt, thick hiking socks, ankle socks, a short nightie, thongs and knickers enough for the week, toiletries etc. I was good to go.

Grandad had told me that the weather up there was currently blisteringly hot, so much so, that he'd suggested that I also packed some sun cream.

Getting to the train station with plenty of time to spare, I bought a bottle of water and a packet of minstrels for the journey from the Costa Coffee just opposite, and then headed through the station barriers, along the platform, to my carriage Coach C. Jumping on board I made my way to my reserved seat. Seat 14.

With a smile and a 'good morning' to the elderly lady who was to be sitting opposite me, I then began the process of extracting necessary journey items from my bag (iPad, phone, tissues and Kindle) before humping it up into the luggage rack.

As I settled down into my seat, within minutes the train had started to slowly and smoothly depart.

On such a long train journey as this was going to be, I normally get chatting with at least one other fellow traveller. And this one was no different.

Although our carriage was relatively empty, sitting opposite me was Sister Margaret. In full black nuns outfit, with a hint of white here and there, small round wire-framed glasses and with a rather beautiful little gold cross around her neck, she looked every inch how you'd imagine a nun to look. We started chatting pretty instantly. And what a beautiful, sweet lady she was too.

She seemed to enjoy chatting and although we both had other things to occupy us on the journey, i.e. books and iPad, we did chat quite a lot of the time too.

Although I did find it a little strange at times, as in one of our quieter moments, I was typing up my latest diary entry for Literotica on my iPad with Sister Margaret sitting there, right in front of me and completely oblivious. If only she knew!

The good thing about long-distance journeys, and when the train starts so early too, you do get breakfast included in the price of your ticket. I had a rather enjoyable oak-smoked Scottish kipper with a fresh warm crusty roll and butter. Sister Margaret had the cereal. We both had tea.

After breakfast and after another hour or so zooming through seemingly endless swathes of green countryside, I needed the bathroom.

Finding toilets on long-distance train journeys can be an adventure all by itself. Especially if one or two of the bathrooms, over the expanse of the entire train's length, were 'non-operational'.

Standing outside the 'electronically controlled' sliding toilet door of the one I eventually found, were two other people waiting their turn. Urghh.

By the time it got to me, there was only one person behind me, an elderly gentleman. Bearing in mind his age, and that we had been standing for quite a while awaiting our turn, I thought it right that I should offer him my place.

"No, no it's fine dearie" he said smiling at me and with a hint of a Scottish accent, "I'll wait ma turn".

But I needed to poo, and I don't know about you, but if I'm on the toilet and I know someone is waiting outside, well it can sometimes feel a bit like you're being timed! I.e. 'For goodness sakes, how long is she going to be in there'!

I was rather glad he declined though, because I was bursting to go.

As soon as I was inside, pressing the button and the electronic door swishing shut, I pulled down my shorts, then my thong, I turned to place toilet paper onto the toilet seat (hey you never know who has been sitting on it before you, and doing goodness knows what on it too!!). And as I was trying to position this blasted toilet paper onto the toilet seat, which kept sliding off, I heard the compressed air swish sound, as the electronic door slid open behind me. The elderly Scottish gentleman, who I'd been chatting with only seconds before, was now being confronted by the sight of me, standing with my bare bottom all on show. In mild panic, I turned quickly to try and press the close button, giving him a different view, this time of my little hairy vagina!! How embarrassing.