Reading my granddaughter's graphic reports on her new life as a college student stirred memories of my own time in the throes of sexual liberation.
Sandra is the daughter of my older son, Charles. She and her brother, Charles Jr. or "Chip," who is just eleven months younger than her, have always been my favorites among my seven grandkids, though I love them all, of course.
Sandra and Chip take after their parents. My son and his wife, Marie, met at an orgy and have been swingers all their dating and married life. While Charles was getting lots of pussy, he says, he knew that Marie was the woman he wanted to marry when at that sex party she took his substantial dick in her mouth and down her throat with room to spare, swallowed his cum and kept him hard so that he could then fuck her.
Their children are remarkably attractive and borderline brilliant. Sandra is working on her Ph.D. in history while teaching some courses under a professor's guidance. She is, naturally, also banging the prof. She's been credited as a researcher in one best-selling history book. Chip is already making waves at the Law Review during his first year at Yale after earning a B.A. summa cum laude with a double major, business administration and political science.
When they visited me several years ago, the kids not only freely and gleefully discussed their sexual escapades with others but also with each other. They need not have worried that I might object to incest. I had to shift in my chair as Sandra described how wonderful it feels to have Chip's cock in her mouth and to feel it throb when he comes in her throat or pussy. Fact is I've always regretted never fucking my own brothers.
I have to laugh, though, when I think they might be the only two men I've taken a pass on in my life.
I gave my first hand job when I was twelve and my first blowjob on my thirteenth birthday. I discarded my virginity in the back seat of a Buick following an eighth-grade graduation party.
My junior year in high school, I accepted a challenge from my best friend and fucked the entire starting offensive line after the homecoming football game, then went double or nothing with the defensive backfield. Needless to say, I was called on to repeat the feat the following year.
I went on my version of a double date -- two boys and me -- to the senior prom. We didn't stay long. We went to a pool party at a friend's house where everyone seemed to have forgotten to pack a swimsuit. I fucked them both before taking on a handful of other boys. We took the long, long, long way home so that I could give them both blowjobs on the ride.
My classmates in nursing school teased me by saying I was majoring in anatomy, with a special focus on male genitalia. I laughed along with them. I couldn't deny it.
There were the times -- yes, plural -- for instance, when I hustled over to the fraternity where Sandra years later pulled some trains and announced to the brothers that I was ready and willing. They kept a mattress in the basement game room. As a couple of them laid it out on the floor, two others would rip off my clothes. (Once literally; I had to borrow a shirt and pants to wear back to my room the next morning.) Anyway, any number of them would drill my pussy while I sucked random cocks. We'd usually finish with me lying on my back, looking up at them and laughing like a fucking hyena as they painted me with cum from head to toe.
Before I became a nursing supervisor and had to pretend to be a responsible adult, my colleague Ashley and I would find a vacant hospital room, or even just a vacant bed in a semi-private room, and invite the male doctors, nurses and orderlies between our legs. Don't ask me how we did it acrobatically, but we once finished the party with me licking Ashley's cum-filled cunt while a cardiac surgeon and a pediatrician banged away in my pussy and asshole.
The cardiac surgeon became my husband. Charles's father, Sandra and Chip's granddad. Now late, alas, after the disease he dedicated his life to curing struck him down as we strolled along the Champs Elysees two years ago.
Conrad and I agreed on so much -- family (vital, important above all else), medicine (second only to family), politics (live and let live), religion (live and let live), arts (no opera or ballet, please), recreation (golf, tennis, swimming, running), sex (more, more and more).
We hosted formal dinners and cocktail parties to raise money for the animal shelter, the food bank, the community theater, the underfunded public library and public health service. We gave sparingly to political candidates, believing few of them of any stripe were really worth our trust and support. We filled our shelves to overflowing with books -- novels, biographies, histories. We compiled a substantial library of music, from Chubby Checker and the Beatles to Bach and Beethoven.
We hosted orgies. Neither of us possessed an ounce of jealousy. He said he loved to watch me suck other men's cocks, gulp down their cum. I told him I relished seeing his dick slip back and forth between other women's pussy lips. We were the horniest couple we knew -- the night before he planted his face on that sidewalk in Paris, he fucked me twice before I eased him to dreamland with a languid blowjob. Sometimes I think I can still taste his slightly sour cum.
Once when Sandra and I were deep in one of our periodic swapping of ribald tales, she asked me how many cocks I'd had in me.
"Oh, honey," I said, "I really don't know. Frankly, when the number hit three figures, I stopped counting. In fact, there were times when I was so busy with a cock on one end that I wasn't sure who was sticking his dick in me on the other end. I just knew I liked it."
"Holy fuck, gram, you really rocked."
I smiled at her, grazed my fingers over her soft cheek. "I still do, dear," I said. "I still do."
She then told me about a sorority on campus that staged a night during Pledge Week called Blind Bitch Banging. They'd invite entire fraternities over. They'd blindfold pledges and have the brothers fuck them, so the girls wouldn't know whose dick was in their pussy or their mouth. Sandra didn't join that house. But she instituted the game at the sorority she did join. It was so popular that the sisters refused to limit it to Pledge Week and pledges. They held it monthly. They had a signup sheet. They had a waiting list.
I don't mean any of this to be bragging. I don't aim to shock, dazzle or dismay. I just want to establish a baseline of knowledge about me for you to understand what I set about doing after recently re-reading Sandra's missives from college. (A sampling of which, by the way, you can find in the "Letters and Transcripts" section of this website.)
Since my husband croaked, I'd been as celibate as a nun. For sure, I gave my vibrator and dildos workouts. I sucked my cunt juice off my fingers. I hadn't sworn off pleasure itself, after all. But reading Sandra's reports told me what I needed was a return to the days when I enjoyed a steady parade of cocks to play with.
I called my old friend Ashley, the one whose pussy I licked while my future husband and another doctor nailed me.
"Ash, I'm ready to get back in the game. I need your help."
"It's about time, Corey. And, you're still certifiably hot. I've had several men ask about your, uh, 'availability.' You're in that rare category -- a GILF, Grandma I'd Like to Fuck."
