Gramma Torrie

Roger's Story

She came as I masturbated her while I suckled at her breast.

Her eyes fluttered open and she giggled.

"Are you trying to addict me?" she asked, giggling.

"You know I am," I said, smiling, my hand playing gently between her legs.

"Oh, Roger, God," her hips were rocking with her need and her voice was thick, "what am I going to do without you?"

And I knew the time was right, but I also knew, deep down, at a visceral level, that I had only one chance to get it right.

"I love you," I said, my finger finding the hard little button of pleasure that was her clitoris.

"God help me," she said in that thick, breathy, fully aroused voice, "I love you too."

I was covering her face with kisses, slowly bringing her along with my fingertip, waiting for the right moment, the right instant.

She was moaning now, softly, managing to whisper "I love you," but no more than that.

"Promise me you'll say yes," I said between soft kisses.

"Oh Roger," she said between gasps, "when," pant, "do," pant, "I," pant, "ever," pant, "say," pant, "no," pant, "to," pant, "youuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuu," deep breath, back arching.

"Promise," I said, slowing the movement of my fingertip, feeling her body seeking more.

"Oh, God," she moaned, "I promise I'll say yes."

I kissed her and finished her with my fingers, feeling the release of her climax. She prolapsed completely and I held her womb while covering her face with kisses and telling her I loved her. When she relaxed and her uterus retreated I took her in the straight missionary position, holding myself up enough to stay focused on her eyes as I slowly brought us both along.

I knew her tells by then, and felt her getting close.

As we came together, her fingers hooked into claws digging into my back, we said "I love you," to each other.

I softened then, and slipped out, laid beside her, my fingers soft on her cheeks, holding her eyes.

It was in the afterglow like that, both of us breathing easy, caressing each other that I decided the time was right.

"You promised," I said.

"I know," she said.

"Torrie, I love you. You have my heart. You have my body. You have my very soul. I believe I have yours. Will you marry me?" I asked.

Her eyes got big and she actually giggled.

"Roger," she said, "I'm married, you know that, and I can't get divorced."

"I know," I said, "But when Chester's gone, then will you marry me."

She held my eyes for a significant fraction of eternity. She wasn't moving but tears were flowing freely down her cheeks.

Then she smiled and there was that beautiful 17-year-old bride again.

"Yes, Roger," she said, her fingers shaky as they touched my cheek, "when I am a widow I will marry you."

I wouldn't have thought it possible but I was suddenly hard again. I rolled her onto her back again, slipped inside of her, and covered her face with kisses.

"Mrs. Grandholm does have a nice ring to it," I said between kisses.

She giggled again. I could tell this wasn't sex for her in terms of seeking climax, it was a simple merging of our bodies, signifying our love.

We never got married.

In the end, Chester outlived her.

But we did have three wonderful years together.

The first family reunion as a couple was, well, let's say it was interesting. She didn't want to go but I persuaded her that there would be more who understood her decisions than who condemned her for them. Okay, and besides that, I was proud to be with her and wanted to show her off to the family. So I dressed her in one of the outfits I had chosen for her. Her jeans were tight and her T-shirt, one we had made up was the complement to mine. "Yes, the young one is mine," hers said with a picture of me under the words. "Yes, the granny is mine," mine said with her picture under the words.

Ben congratulated us like we were at our wedding reception or something. His sister even reluctantly seemed to accept us as a couple. I like to think my charm offensive had something to do with that. As we made the rounds I was on my best behavior, but I did tend to keep at least one hand on her at all times. She needed the support at first. Later she was just enjoying showing me off I think. Anyway, we got through it and it turned out to be her last reunion.

For my 30th birthday, she decided she would try to give me the gift of anal sex.

We had been out to dinner and for a couple of drinks. By then the small-town society had accepted us. I was part of the conversations. I was even offered, well, "affairs" is the word I suppose by a couple of the town matrons, offers I gently turned down. I remained head over heels, crazy, stupid in love with Torrie.

We got home the night of my 30th birthday and rather than just heading for bed she had me sit on the couch. She was 74 by then and while energetic, she tended to tire early. So I sat, wondering what she had in mind but pretty sure it would be an interesting gift. The last of her inhibitions were long gone.

In just a few minutes, I had Fox News on to see if we had gone to war with anyone during the day, she came out. She was naked and beautiful in her fresh hairdo and full makeup. I whistled and she giggled and posed for me for a second before coming to where I sat.

She bent forward and kissed me.

"Okay, my love," she said, her palms flat on my cheeks, holding my eyes with hers, "I'm ready."

She turned then, bent at the waist, and reached back to spread her cheeks.

By then we had been together for a couple of years and it's not like I hadn't seen every part of her I ever would without using surgical instruments. But she was different tonight. At her age, she had a bit of anal leakage and she was stained, a dark circle around the tiny bud of her anus. But that was gone. She had obviously snuck off somewhere, I wondered briefly if Limon had such a thing or if she had needed to go to Denver and if so, who had driven her - your mind does weird things sometimes.

Anyway, I was looking at a very pink circle with that tiny portal in the middle of the final little puckered inner circle. It was shiny and seemed to be leaking a little. I couldn't resist touching it. It was thinner than Vaseline but oddly slicker somehow.

She stood and turned.

"I hope you like it," she said, giggling, "because getting ready for you was the most embarrassing thing I've ever done."

"It's beautiful," I said, "but how?"

"The girl at the place said it's a special lubricant, and I just used the little injector to get ready for you honey," she said, a hint of a blush as she spoke.

"Roger," she said, "please honey, take me to bed now. I want this but I'm afraid I'll lose my nerve,"

I stood and took her in my arms.

"You don't have to, you know," I said.

"I know," she said, "I WANT to but I'm nervous, that's all."

I swept her up, making her shriek that funny little laugh she did whenever I did that, one forearm behind her knees and the other under her back, that carrying position you've seen in old movies when the husband carries his new bride over the threshold.

I laid her on the bed and then undressed, slowly. I knew she liked watching me undress so I didn't exactly do a striptease, but I didn't hurry.

What we did, even knowing where it was going, was far beyond just fucking. We made love. I covered her face with kisses, told her I loved her over and over, and let my hand slowly work down to her ass, so skinny. The powerful gluteal muscles were firm under my hand. The slickness there had a funny feel. It was thinner than Vaseline or K-Y Jelly, but oddly slick, almost like WD-40 or Teflon.

"Are you sure?" I asked.

She flashed that grin she sometimes did when she thought she was being "naughty," grabbed a pillow, doubled it up, rolled over quickly, and adjusted the pillow under her hips so her ass was up, on offer, her back was arched, her knees bent. Jesus, I almost came just looking at her like that.

I moved behind her then, my knees between hers, and began tickling her back, fascinated with the little shiny circle where her skinny cheeks met. She hummed softly, she enjoyed having her back tickled, and as I slowly tickled down until my fingertips were playing very lightly on the roundness of her ass, making goosebumps rise, she wiggled a bit.

I used my palms, flat, to spread her cheeks. She was leaking a tiny bit of the clear emollient, and when I touched it I felt her tense.

"Are you sure?" I asked again.

"Yes," she said, relaxing.

My little finger slipped in easily and she hummed deep in her throat.

I moved forward, and used my hand to guide myself until the tip of my erection, so hard now I was throbbing, just touched.

"Relax," I said as I put the first bit of pressure on her.

"It's okay, honey," she said, her face turned so she wasn't talking into the pillow, "take what you want."

There was resistance as I put more pressure and then suddenly my

glans

, the head of my erection, penetrated.

I stopped at that point, watching her fingers hook into claws and try to dig into the mattress.

I waited until I saw her hands relax before I pushed again and then watched, captivated, as I slowly, very slowly, entered her.

There was still an inch or so of my shaft showing when I felt the hard muscle of the top of her rectal vault so I stopped there, my hand holding her hips. I watched her, carefully, for any signs of distress.

"Okay," I asked.

She chuckled and coughed lightly, squeezing on me suddenly, then said, "oh my God, why did I EVER think this would be bad."

"Ohhhh," I said, holding still.

She moved her hips, adjusting her position, and the resistance was gone and the rest of my erection slipped in. I realized I was past her rectal vault into her bowels now and my control damn near failed.

I set up a slow rhythm then, pulling out slowly until I was almost out and then slowly entering her again, watching as she took my full length.

"Is it good?" I asked.

"Roger, Jesus, thank you," she said.

"Tell me you like it," I said. This was part of our lovemaking. I know, a kinky part but what the hell, I was in love with a woman over twice my age and she seemed to like it.

"I like it," she said.

"Do better than that," I said. I had started making her say the words when we started together when I was still trying to break down all of those inhibitions. We had discovered it worked.

"I love it," she said, a soft giggle in her voice.

Slowly out.

Slowly in.

"What do you love?" I asked.

"I love what you're doing," she said, lifting her hips, inviting me deeper.

"Do better," I said, pulling almost all the way out and stopping.

"I LOVE WHAT YOU'RE DOING!" she said.

"And what's that?" I said, not re-entering her.

"Oh God," she said, lifting herself onto her elbows, her back arched dramatically now, "I LOVE IT WHEN YOU FUCK ME UP THE ASS!" she cried, completing our, well, almost our ritual.

I eased in, a little faster than before, and she came. Her anal sphincter tightened almost painfully on me and I could feel her love honey suddenly wetting my thighs.

I grabbed her skinny hips and dug my fingers in.

"Again," I said, another part of what had become our practice.

"PERVERT!" she cried out, laughing and cumming.

I laughed and slapped her ass.

"AGAIN!" I said, thrusting hard, deep into her now.

"JESUSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS!" she cried and came again, her honey thin and watery now as she tired and her Skenes and Bartolins Glands were empty.

I knew she was spent so I surrendered my control and came, deep in her.

After I softened and slipped out I went into the bathroom and got one of our older hand towels, wet it with warm water, and then went back and cleaned her up. She hummed softly as I did.

I tossed the towel into the hamper and then lay next to her.

"Thank you," she murmured, eyes closed and lips smiling.

"You liked it?" I asked, nipping her ear.

"Yes, baby," she said, "I liked it."

We didn't talk anymore that night. She was snoring.

So anal sex became part of our, well, "rotation" is too cold and clinical. Part of our "menu."

The night I lost her had been a quiet night for us. I had worked, by then I was through graduate school and working in a planning agency in Limon. She had stayed home, I think she had gone to a library board meeting or something. She made a meatloaf and we ate dinner, watched an old movie on TV - Elvis Presley in

King Creole

if it matters, she was almost obsessive as a Presley fan, and then we went to bed.

We made love that night, fiercely, passionately, as we always did. She was the aggressor that last night, riding me like a happy cowgirl and coaxing a third erection from me. We were both utterly spent when we went to sleep.

When I woke the next morning, she was gone. I knew, right away, there was no need to hurry. She was cold.

I didn't cry that morning. I got up and got dressed. I kissed her forehead, brushed my fingers across her cheeks, and smiled down at her. She had a smile on her face and in the total relaxation of death was absolutely beautiful.

I called 911 and waited.

Epilogue

I was surprised when I met someone a few years later. I had been, well, not in mourning exactly but just not interested for about a year and then had started dating casually. I met my wife to be at work, as you almost always do I suppose. She filled the void Torrie had left and we married.

Oh, hell, I made that sound so cold. Let me try again.

I met my second love at work. Nature took its course and we fell in love, I asked and she said "yes."

Neither of us had particularly wanted kids but then again, neither of us knew that some antibiotics could make birth control ineffective.

I was 44 when our daughter was born and 47 when our son was born.

As I write, I'm 74 with four grandkids and a fifth on the way. I'm on my third wife - I still count Torrie as my first even though we never did make it "to the altar" as they say.

It's been a good life. As Frank said - "of regrets, there've been a few. But then again, too few to mention."

And still, every so often, at night as I'm drifting off, I think of Torrie.

And smile.