It was going to be hell. Here we were, first week of summer vacation, and I was stuck. We had gone to visit my grandmother in Wisconsin the way we did most summers and some Christmases. That was OK-I liked my grandmother. I guess you could even say I loved her in the way that grandsons do. She was still young as far as grammas go and lots of fun. When I was little she let me help her bake cookies and gave me quarters and taught me how to count in German (her parents had come from Bavaria).
She was going to retire in 3 years, but now she was still working. She went in early, so she got home around 3 or 3:30. And almost every evening we went out to the movies or to get root beer an ice cream, or something else that was at least a little bit of fun. During the day my mom would go and visit old friends and I would do a bit of work in the garden before it got too hot and then after lunch go to the library or loll around watching reruns and drinking iced tea.
Like I said, it was going to be hell-not because of any of this, but because at the end of the first week my mom got a phone call. Her childhood friend Julie had moved to California a few years ago and she had invited my mom to come spend the summer with her. Not me and my mom. Just my mom. Mother made it clear when I asked her about it. "It's a girl thing-we don't want any kids hanging around." Julie's kids were gone for the summer an I would be "in the way." It did no good to point out that technically I wasn't a kid because I could vote and join the army, but my mom would have none of it. She just laughed.
"We'll all know when you're a man, and that hasn't happened yet."
"But what am I gonna dooooo??" I wailed, --- like a kid.
"You stay here and take care of Grandma and her garden."
I couldn't believe it. Grandma was fine, we had fun, but 6 weeks in a little (and I mean little) town where most of the teenagers had gone on vacation-not that I knew that many anyway, but the friends I had were both away for the summer.
"You'll love it," my mom said.
I knew that I couldn't be mad at her. Julie had invited her alone and it was pointless to argue about it. I couldn't go anywhere else because in the fall I was going to spend a couple of months in Europe and we were saving money for that. My mom wouldn't have gone except Julie insisted on helping her out with the plane ticket.
So, after pouting for a couple of hours, I decided to make the best of it. I was pretty good at adapting to new and sometimes disappointing situations. For example, when my longtime girlfriend left me the year before, I was dating someone else within a week. So, pull up your socks and be happy.
My mom left, and things went on the way they had before for a few days. I did a little gardening and watched TV. I also did the housework to give my Grandma a break and because I was good at it. I could cook and clean pretty good. After dinner, which I sometimes fixed, Grandma and I would do something together, even if it was just walking up to the city park in the cool of the evening and getting a cotton candy. I was still young enough to enjoy cotton candy. On Saturday we planned to drive into Dubuque, Iowa where they had a-wait for it-a shopping mall. Pretty boring summer, but I was happy enough.
About three days after my mom left, there was a slight change. Or rather, Grandma changed. She became a lot less careful about - well, about shutting the door when she took a shower, or keeping her door closed when she was getting dressed. She started brushing against me as we moved around the admittedly small house and putting her hand on my arm or shoulder. Sometimes she hiked up her work uniform (she was a cleaning lady at the hospital) and unbuttoned the top buttons as she cooled off after work.
I didn't object. There was nothing overtly sexual in her behavior-just slight sexual tension that, frankly, I enjoyed. Not that I did anything. Because I did the laundry I handled my grandmother's bras and panties, and I confess more than once I fantasized about some older woman-not grandma, but maybe one of her friends-wearing them, taking them off, and spreading her legs for me to fuck her. It was great jack-off fantasy.
And, my grandmother wore stockings everyday. Never pantyhose, always, stockings. Many of them were the old-fashioned kind that required a garter belt. She washed them herself in the bathroom sink and hung them on a rack in the bathroom. Again, more than once, I had put my hand inside them and rubbed them over my face dreaming of sexy legs wrapped around me while I jerked off. I didn't dare wrap them around my cock in case I got spunk on them.
(Once when she was at work I tried them on. It felt great, but didn't look so good in the mirror-I had a man's legs and the hair rather spoiled the effect. High heels probably would have helped.)
About a week after mom had gone I was sitting in one of the armchairs in the living room, which was almost filled by two chairs, a couch, a TV, and a coffee table. A tiny room with doilies and knickknacks all over. I was watching some old show when Grandma came in. She was sweaty-as I was. There was no air conditioning and the temperature had hit 99 that afternoon.
"Hotter than a heifer's butt," she said as she flopped I the opposite chair. That was the kind of expression she often used. I didn't know how hot a heifer's butt was and I didn't want to know, but I agreed. "Hot enough to make an Eskimo cry," I said, and she laughed. That's one of the things I liked about my grandmother-she was good humored.
"Don't mind if I get comfortable do you?" she asked I was only wearing a pair of gym shorts in the heat and knew she must be hot with that sort of housedress from the hospital on. I figured she'd go change into shorts and a halter top or something like that. I'd seen her wear that once or twice over the years. Besides, she had the kind of figure that could do that without looking too repellent.
She stood up, undid the buttons on her uniform and before I could say anything, slipped it off. There she stood 5 feet of front of me in her panties, bra, and stockings. That's better," she said, and she sat back down.
"Don't look so shocked," she said, "If you don't close your mouth somebody will park there." Another one of her phrases. I closed my mouth, but I'm sure I didn't lose my shocked expression. It wasn't her body-that was just an ordinary (if there is such a thing) 60-year-old body, nice enough but not spectacular any way.
"Oh, come on, I'm sure you've seen a million women in bikinis, haven't you? I nodded, still dumbstruck. "Well this is just the same thing."
But it wasn't. First it was my grandmother. I'm not sure how I would have felt if she had put on a bikini. I would have expected a one piece conservative swimsuit. Second, a bra and panties is not quite the same as a bikini. It's the association; especially when a woman is wearing them. And then, her stockings. Already at 18 I was a fan of women wearing stockings. I adored nylon covered legs. And the garter belt and garters made them even more exciting. The inevitable happened. My cock started to swell.
