Hannah

Hannah Pennee leaned back, thin legs crossed in her extended, plush upholstered recliner. Holding a half filled wine glass, she breathed, shallowly into the phone. She rubbed her bare thighs together and enjoyed the warm, pressure-created moisture where they joined. "We called those little-boy-thangs dangling 'tween their legs, birds. That's what we called those nasty, little, wriggly worms that men sometimes play with."

"Don't say," encouraged George, and what would you be calling a lady's little fuzzy-wuzzy when you was doing the nasty, down in the hills?"

The older woman giggled. "Never held with using that p-word you're thinking. Thought it was dirty talk."

"Pussy?"

"You're naming a girl's thang that, not me. I'm warning you, I'm hanging up if you persist in talking dirty talk."

George laughed. "I can tell you're eating up every word of it."

Hannah tittered. "Am not." She took a deep sip of her wine.

"So tell me, what did you folks call that sweet thaing you keep hid 'tween your legs?"

"We called it l.c.. Stood for little cat."

"You mean like in pussy cat."

"I reckon that's the kind of tabby it refers to." The sixty-seven year old woman reached for the wine bottle and refilled her glass.

"That's different from calling it, pussy?"

"Comes across more genteel, I always thought," Hannah defended.

"So back in them hills it was the birds and l.c.'s that got themselves together"

"I'm telling you, that's what us folks called ‘em down thar."

"And did your little l.c. grow curly hair like a city pussy?"

Hannah tittered. "Am not." She took a deep sip of her wine.

"So tell me, what did you folks call that sweet thaing you keep hid 'tween your legs?"

The old woman cackled again. "Promise you won't laugh?"

"I'll do my level best."

"You know," Hannah whispered into the phone, "we shouldn't be discussing a lady's private thang like this."

"I said I won't laugh."

"We called it," Hannah cackled again, "l.c."

"Elsie? Like a girl's name?"

"The letters l. c. Stands for little cat."

"You mean like in pussy cat."

"I reckon that's the kind of tabby it refers to."

The sixty-seven year old woman reached for the wine bottle and refilled her glass.

"That's different from calling it, pussy?"

"Comes across more genteel, I always thought," Hannah defended.

"So back in them hills it was the birds and l.c.'s that got themselves together"

"I'm telling you, that's what us folks called 'em down thar."

"And did your little l.c. grow curly hair like a city pussy?"

Hannah tittered, nervously. "I reckon there comes a time when most young ladies sprouted a curl or two."

"I guess you was mighty proud of getting yours."

"I reckon I was, some."

"What we should do," said George, "is get together and get naked."

"Over my dead body," whooped Hannah. "You're shocking the pants off me."

"That's my aim. But I'd prefer your body live once we got those panties out of the way."

"Well har-de-har-har. Ain't about to be happening."

"Tell me," said George, "would you be showing me yourn if I was revealing mine to you?"

"Well now," chuckled Hannah, "I'd have to think some about that."

"For how long?"

"About as long as it would take you to get me drunk enough for that to be happening and you can bet your filthy mind it ain't about to."

"That's a dirty shame," pouted George. "I was thinking we might be having some fun, the both of us."

"Well ho-ho-ho," chortled Hannah. "Of course you was. You're just working ways to get into this old ladies panties."

"Can't deny that. But then we might both learn something."

"Like how ugly an old body can be?"

"I'd say the interesting parts don't change all that much," reckoned George.

"But too many others do," persisted Hannah with a certain relish for the turn the conversation had taken.

"I was speaking of those parts that needs some using to keep 'em in working order."

"Presuming those parts are performing at the present."

"Ain't had no complaints."

"Har, har," teased Hannah. "I do believe I hear a bit of bragging seeping through."

"Just the bare facts ma'am."

"You might be talking bare facts, but you ain't about to see none of mine. But I suppose you've got an inkling of what's there."

"Reckon I'd be eyeing some prime pussy," chuckled George. "Speaking of which, I got to confess, I've never seen me a nearly seventy year old pussy."

Hannah gasped at his impudence. "Well, I never. . ."

"Reckon you could if you was to look in a mirror."

"Well you ain't viewing nothing private of mine. Besides," said Hannah, "Like I told you, that's not what they called a lady's privacy where I was growing up."

"Always was a pussy lover," purred George.

"L.c. is more refined," persisted Hannah. "Anyway, seen one l.c. you've seen Ôem all."

"Way I heard it there ain't no two alike, sorta like fingerprints."

"Do tell?"

"Interesting theory, don't you think, pussy prints stead of fingerprints."

"You got a warped mind and that's a fact. I don't know what I'm going to do with you."

"I know what I'd enjoy doing with you."

Hannah tittered. "No don't you dare be saying that nasty word to me."

"Now what word would that be?"

"Would it be all right if I whispered it your ear?"

"Would not!"

"What if I was to whisper, 'screw'?"

"Now you get out of here. I'm too old for such foolishness. You should be ashamed."

"Come on, now," teased George. "You're enjoying the hell out of our little talks."

"Am not."

"Then why haven't you hung up on me?"

Hannah tittered, softly. "Now you know that wouldn't be polite. Ladies don't hang up on gentleman callers.

"Well think about what I said."

"I'll be doing that."

"We'll be talking some more."

"Reckon we will."

"Might get into a little phone sex next time."

What ever that is."

"Reckon we'll know when it happens."

Hannah giggled girlishly. "Could be, some of that might be going on without the other knowing about it."

"You confessing?"

"That wouldn't be ladylike."

"Little cats crave a bit of petting. You saying you pet yours."

"Good Gar! Are you intimating I'd play with myself?"

"Don't tell me you never got off that way."

"Ain't admitting nothing." Hannah hesitated. "I'm thinking this conversation should come to an end. You're taking things too far."

"When I was a boy, they told me I'd go blind."

"And you been wearing glasses ever since," tittered Hannah. I don't reckon that caused you to stop."

"Not so you could notice," admitted George. "And how long has your sight been on the decline?"

"We ain't talking about me."

"Bet you ain't never stopped petting that little patch of fur, neither."

Hannah giggled. "Even if I done what you're intimating, I'd never admit to doing that."

"Do tell?"

"So tell me," tittered Hannah, "Does that old bird of yours grow some from all this nasty talking you're dishing out?"

"If I told you, that would be admitting to doing phone sex with you."

Hannah giggled. "Wouldn't that be shameful as all get out, people our age involved anything so nasty?"

"Sounds entertaining as hell."

"Would you be endangering your eyesight at this very minute?"

"Considering the direction the conversation's turned, it's possible"

"Dirty talking is what I'm calling it."

"You're eating it up."

Hannah muffled another giggle. "Am not."

"What I'm wondering. . . No I'd better not say it."

"You've gone this far, go on, spit it out."

"What I was wondering is, if you got your fingers inside or outside your panties."

"Good gar! You've got yourself a nerve."

"Are you answering it?"

Hannah giggled naughtily. "What makes you think I'm still wearing some?"

"Spoken like a true lady," laughed George.

"More talk like this and I'll let the old boy see daylight for sure."

"My, my. How you do talk."

"Hey, for all you know he's been giving me a one-eyed stare since this conversation heated up."

Hannah cleared her throat. "That might be about the time my panties hit the floor if truth was to be told."

"You kicked 'em off?"

"Reckon I'll admit to that."

"I reckon that thought makes my bird stand up a bit stronger right now," admitted George. "Like to come over for a peek?"

"It might be interesting, viewing your nasty in that condition."

"I'd like a look-see at that hairy crotch you're calling little cat."

Hannah cackled. "Now would you for a bare fact?"

"I been wondering how much kinky curls your l.c.'s hiding under."

Hannah tittered. "That's for me to be knowing."

"This old sixty-niner is itching to find out."

Whee-whoo! How you do talk. Did you say you was sixty-nine?"

"Sixty-nine is a game."

"You don't say."

"It 's more like do, do."

"Dodo what?"

"Maybe tonguing your hairy old twat."

"Good Gar! You wouldn't dare!"

"Bet your sweet ass I would," breathed George.

"Watch your language," gasped Hannah. "You don't know nothing about my ass."

"Still betting it's sweet," said George. "Bet your pussy makes honey too."

Hannah giggled in spite of herself. "Reckon you won't find out."

"Sure could go for a sample," panted George.

Hannah whooped. "Good Gar. Don't you ever get enough?"

George laughed. "Last few years I ain't been getting none."

"You old reprobate, that's not what I meant."

"Show me a sixty-seven year old pussy and I'll raise you a sixty-four year old six inches, now I'd call that a showdown."

"Might happen at the Rock Hard-on Cafe," she giggled.

"Hannah! I'm surprised at you. How long's it been since you cast your eyes on an honest-to-god boner?"

"Been a while," she admitted. "How long since you sprouted one?"

"Since I been thinking about what your shaggy old l.c. must look like."

Hannah giggled. "Evil," she whispered, "You're pure evil."

"Just sitting here diddling my dong and wondering how it will be before one of us gets off."

"I ain't sure doing this is all too good for an old gal's heart." Hannah sucked in a deep breath. "I ain't sure how long I can go on talking, the way this is turning out. It a good thing I'm sitting down."

"Yeah. I'm getting close too."

"You're figuring to make a big squirt when when that bird goes off?"

"You bet your hairy l.c.," said George. "I'd I'd let you watch if I could watch you."

"That'd be a banner occasion," reckoned Hannah.

"My place or yours?" teased George. "Just looking," whispered Hannah, "no touching."

"If that's how you want it."

I got to admit'" said Hannah, "it ain't the display of my l.c. that'd bother me so much, it'd be showing off of my scrawny butt and skinnny legs."

"Guess I ain't got nothing to write home about in that department," said George. "Don't figure it's my legs you'd be interested in."

"Not if your thang is throwing a boner, it ain't."

"You could bet on that," chuckled George.

"Never happen," declared Hannah. She tittered. "I'd need to be some drunker than I am now."

"I got a jug chilling in the Fridge," said George.."

*** Hannah stood on George's front porch two mornings later, a covered plate in her hand.

George opened the front door to the painfully slender lady.

"Hope I interrupted something you shouldn't be doing, nohow." Hannah beamed on the other side of the stormdoor.

"Just pulling my pud, like I do daily," grinned George.

"Good Gar! How you do talk." Hannah shook her head and suppressed a smile. "I swear, you was born to spout nasty thoughts."

"Always happy to share." George, smiling broadly, held the door open. "C'mon in and squat awhile."

"Brung you something to nibble on. Baked a batch of oatmeal cookies early this a.m. and thought you might like a taste." She smiled coyly. "Cookies that is."

He held the storm door open. "Well come on in, you old bat. I ain't going to rape you."

"Har!" Hannah giggled girlishly. "That don't leave much incentive for a lady to come in." She brushed past him and walked into the small living room.

George leered at her small bosom as she passed. He nodded to the sofa. "Take a load off."

"Might set a spell," chirped Hannah, "long as your nasty talking don't get too far out-a-line."

Hannah, rail thin and nearing seventy, was attired in loose, mismatched sweats. The frizzy red hair framing her wrinkled face was a shade too bright and sparcer than she would have liked. She sat on the edge of George's sofa as though ready to jump up and leave at a moment's warning. "Nice weather we been having."

"Weather's not something topping my list of priorities," snorted George.

"What might be topping that list of yours?"

"That subject we was mulling over t'other day."

"Don't remember mentioning anything of particular importance," said Hannah, with a sly smile.

"We was mentioning the good feelings and --" George nodded toward her loose sweats. "You wearing panties under them rags?"

"Har har. Now that's for me to know."

"And me to find out?"

"Har. Never said that."

"I was wondering, considering what we last spoke about."

"That was strictly phone talk, not doing talk," said Hannah.

"You might say it was phone sex, we was having," said George.

"Do tell? That's funny I didn't feel a thing," snickered Hannah.

"You didn't tickle your fancy even a little?"

"You leave my fancy out of this." A smile crept over her face.

"Tuesday, you was calling it your l.c.," teased George and we was talking about shining a little light on the subject."

"Well," snorted Hannah, "Don't be getting your hopes up." She paused a moment. "Or anything else for that matter."

"Well now. . ."

"I do recall your mentioning a chilled jug in your fridge," interrupted Hannah, " but I don't see you offering some."

"Pardon me all to hell." George jumped up and limped to the kitchen. He returned with two glasses filled to the brim with chiled Rhine wine.

Hannah accepted hers and, little finger extended, sipped ladylike. She patted her frizzy, short-bobbed, red hair. "Now that hits the spot."

She was not, George noted, a bad looking old dame for her age. "We was talking about tickling your fancy," said George.

"You was, not me," said snorted Hannah.

"Last time we talked, you was showing an interest in mine and how it was shaping up from our honest talk."

"You say that was phone sex you say we indulged in?" asked Hannah.

"Was pretty sexy for me, like I told you." George absently scratched the front of is pants.

Hannah nodded. "I reckon it t'weren't too bad for phone talk. Maybe I should traipse home and you might could give me a call."

"Your glass is empty. Let me get you a refill."

Hannah extended her empty glass. "Reckon another dab wouldn't hurt."

George refilled their glasses, returned and tilted back in his chair.

"Looked you was limping," said Hannah. "You hurt your leg or something?"

"Hrmmp." grunted George. "I sometime walk funny when I'm growing a boner."

Hannah shrugged a nonchalance she did not feel. "Don't look too imposing from here at the moment." She looked across to George leaning back in his recliner. "But I do think I'm seeing a hint of your bird pushing against your sweats," she snickered. "It's trying to show off, real brazen like."

George's fingers outlined the enlongated tube at his crotch, pressing the gray material around it until the shape and size was clearly evident. "Was this what you're referring to?" He squeezed the semi-turgid memeber. "Still pretty soft." He grinned. "He ain't reached hard reality as yet."

"Now what would be causing something like that?" Hannah to hide a wry smile. She shifted her position on the couch and crossed her thin legs. "You mean this conversation is getting to you a little bit?"

"I was recalling t'other's day conversation and hoping you might be ready to uncover that little l.c. of yourn?"

"Well I'm not!"

" I'm referring to them cute, curly hairs you're hiding" said George."

"I know what you're referring to," said Hannah. "You shouldn't be mentioning a lady's female thang in mixed company."

"Mixed company is that what we are?" smiled George. His fingers massaged the edges of the projection "What about you showing me the shape of yours?"

"Showing the shape of my what?"

"That hairy twat you got 'tween them skinny legs. I been thinking a lot about your pussy lately. Specially when we're talking on the phone."

"Well now," tittered Hannah. "Don't know whether that's a complement or an insult." Hannah batted her eyes and looked away. "Would you be referring to my l.c.?"

"Your pussy is what I was thinking about"

"I prefer l.c. like we menntioned on the phone."

"I reckon I'd rather see yourn than talk about it."

Hannah nodded. "Might could do what you're doing." She uncrossed her legs and opened her thighs. Her hands grasped the cloth at either side of her crotch and pulled the material tightly across the center and barely displayed the center crease of her sex. "Does that satisfy your curiosity?"

"It'd be more to the point if you was to slip out of them pants and bare it, hairy crack and all."

"You're so romantic. Hannah giggled girlishly. "I swear, George, you get nastier every time you open your filthy mouth." Hannah tried to resist smiling.

"You're loving this. Break down and admit it."

Hannah giggled, girlishly, "Am not."

"I'm thinking we should get down to brass tacks."

"Now what would that be?"

"Revealing cock and pussy."

"Them words are dirty-dirty. I should never give you them initials for a lady's private place."

"So are you gonna be showing that place where your pee comes out?"

"So nasty." Hannah shook her head, it seened, regretfully."That's all I do with it, as you got to know, is pee and ladies don't mention passing their water in polite society."

"I understand there's more pleasurable feelings to be got 'tween them hairy lips."

"Stop it! Good Gawd! How you talk."

"It's called fucking."

"I've told you, I don't hold with saying the "f" word. If I ever done what you're implying, it weren't called that. We said it was screwing."

"There's a difference?"

"Can't say tis or tain't. When a man thang was put to a lady, it was called screwing. That f-word weren't used."

"I guess you don't say cock, neither."

"What men's got 'tween their legs, like I told you, was called birds, whar I come from."

"Don't talking about your l.c. turn you on some?"

Hannah glanced across the small room to focus on his lap. A rather nasty grin turned up the corners of her thin lips. "I reckon this conversation's made your bird swell up some more by now."

"Want I should show you?"

"Now I wouldn't go so far as to admitting to that. I figure talking sex is a fur piece from doing."

"Your little fur piece is what I'm itching to see."

"I'm just betting you are."

"I'll drop my pants if you'll step out of yours."

She giggled. "I figure you're just the men ornery enough to do it."

"And you ain't."

Hannah put her hand to her mouth and mock whispered, "I reckon I'd have to be a mite drunker than this."

"There's more wine in the fridge."

Hannah licked her lips. "Maybe just another little short one.."

George went to the kitchen and made no effort to hide the bulge in his pants. He returned with the jug and filled her glass. "Here's to it."

"If I was to do what you're suggesting, you'd be wanting to put that big, nasty thang up me for sure."

He grinned. "Not unless you was begging me for it."

Her smile grew broader. She moistened her lips with a pointed tongue that exaggerated the gesture. "You really got a big one?"

"Bout normal, I'd say. Maybe seven inches on a good day."

Hannah said, "Ooooh. That'd be a lot, I'd guess."

George licked his lips. "Are you teasing with me?"

"Maybe," she hesitated a moment. "But I still ain't fixing to get involved in doing any messy sex stuff with you."