[A moment's inspiration. Something hot and sweet, if not many pages. I hope you enjoy!]
"Michael? Your grandmother called. She would like some help clearing out her attic. I told her you'd be glad to help this Saturday."
I groaned inwardly. I love my mom, but she had a habit of volunteering me for duties that I really would rather NOT do.
And don't get me wrong -- I love my Gram, too. But still, spending most of my weekend dragging around dirty old boxes just wasn't something I looked forward to.
" 'kay, Mom," I mumbled and shuffled off to my room where I indulged in downloading porn and jerking off. I figured I'd reward myself in advance, since I'd miss out on time to do this during the weekend.
Saturday came and my mom dropped me off at my gram's house -- a quaint two-story on a quiet, tree-lined lane. The neighborhood had that all-American look: plenty of grassy lawns, each house different from the other (no blocks of look-alike, cookie-cutter urban sprawl); the Normal Rockwell of standard American neighborhoods.
"Michael!" my grandmother opened the screen door and welcomed me in with a tight hug. She smelled good, like apple pie and mild spices. It was a comfy smell, and I kissed her cheek and squeezed her back.
"Hiya, Gram," I replied shyly. My grandmother's affection always felt a bit overwhelming to me and made me contract in compensation. But I liked her, and so it wasn't unwelcome.
My gram was an attractive woman, only in her early sixties, though slightly out of shape. Still, she wasn't OLD old, you know?
"How about some cookies?" she asked with a glimmer. My gram knew my penchant for baked goods, and hers were among the best.
"Maybe later," I said as I stepped in and adjusted to the dimmer interior. My gram kept the curtain drawn "to keep her cooling bills down." I smiled and looked toward the hall. "Mom said you needed help moving things out of the attic?"
My gram nodded, her expression going apologetic and kind of sad. "Yes. I figured it would be good to get rid of your grand's old things -- knick knacks and whatnots, old clothes, that sort of thing."
"Sure, Gram," I said. "No problem. What should I look out for and what should I keep?"
My gram shrugged. "Oh, I'm not sure, really. Pictures I want to keep, of course. Any old photos or artwork. The rest, well, I'll trust your judgment on what might be worth some money and what to donate."
My grandfather had been an amateur painter, but not without skill. He supplemented his retirement with selling paintings -- still-life and a few portraits -- at the local flea market. It wasn't much, but people enjoyed his paintings and it gave him some free spending money.
"Sure, no problem," I repeated and headed to the attic.
The attic. Ah, such a place of mystery and some superstitious dread when I was a kid. Now, it seemed kind of -- empty. Lonely. Devoid of life.
I looked around at the piles of books, stacks covered in old linens, and boxes of all sorts, and sighed. "Where do I start?" Since it didn't seem to matter, I picked the closest pile and started in.
I spent time sorting things and dragging boxes downstairs for three groups: donate, toss, and possible sale. I was startled out of my focus when my gram said: "Here! Some cookies and milk!"
I smiled weakly, thrown by how much I'd lost track of time. I took the plate and glass from her and said, "Thanks, Gram," and munched on a warm, chewy, chocolate chip cookie. "You just made these?"
"Well, I started before you arrived. But, yes, they're fresh baked," my gram said as she surveyed what I had cleared. "Oh, my, but you're fast! You'll be done in no time."
"Oh, hardly done, but I might get a good start on it today. I can always come back tomorrow if need be."
My gram pat my arm. "You're a good boy," she said and headed back downstairs.
I ate a few more cookies and had some milk. Well, soy milk -- my gram had moved on into that realm of alternative "milks" years ago when I let her know I was lactose intolerant. Still, the sugar and liquid renewed my energy and I dove back in.
It was a little after midday when I moved aside some boxes and found a stack of paintings hidden under some drop cloth. The first few were some of my grand's still-lifes -- fruit bowls and flowers, that sort of thing -- but under a few of those was a nude, and it was actually quite good!
"Whoa, Grand!" I muttered and drew the painting over to the sunlight coming in from the small shutter that let a bit of fresh air in. "This is actually pretty nice!"
I studied the painting. It was a woman, probably in her early thirties -- slender and graceful. She had a lovely body, and looked vaguely familiar. I figured I'd ask my gram about it when I had the chance.
Under that were a few more still-lifes, and then a series of more nudes. The model was clearly the same, and in one she was posing with a younger female, probably late teens, and the two of them were caressing each other in a very lovely and sightly erotic manner.
"Grandpa!" I chuckled and set the series out where I could see them all in a line.
"Oh!" I heard my gram say and turned to find her looking embarrased. "I had forgotten all about those!" she said.
"You recognize them?"
My gram nodded and smiled shyly at me. "Of course!" she replied. "Who do you think modeled for him?"
I was stunned and looked back at the paintings. Now, of course, the resemblance fell into place. "That's you?"
My gram laughed and said, "You don't need to sound so surprised. I was quite a looker in my day!"
I smiled and apologized. "Sorry, Gram -- I didn't mean it that way. But, yeah..." I looked at the painting and then back at her again "... you really were. Are! You really are!" I tried to cover my blunder.
My gram bat my arm and grinned at me. She stood next to the pictures and imitated one of the poses. "I know I'm not as lovely as I used to be," she said. "But I can still turn a head or two when I want. These still get plenty of attention, and not just by dirty old men!" she laughed as she cupped her large breasts through her dress.
I laughed with her and nodded. "Yeah, Gram, I can see that!" She brightened at the compliment, even if she didn't take me seriously. I looked at the paintings again, and found myself feeling strangely aroused - just slightly! But it was odd because she was my grandmother, and I was ogling pictures of her from when she was younger and admittedly "hot".
"You're a good boy," my gram said again and kissed my cheek as she left me to continue.
I stopped her and held up the painting with the other female in it. "And who is this?"
My gram gazed at me and her eyes grew mischievous. "Can't you tell? That's your mom," she replied and grinned as she turned and left me alone.
I was stunned and stared at the painting. "Mom?" Again, I was able to see the resemblance, but also found myself examining her figure far longer than I was comfortable doing.
I set the paintings aside in the "keep" pile, and found myself glancing at them time and again as I worked. I knew my mom was attractive, and wasn't surprised to see evidence of just how sexy she had been as a young adult, but the painting -- more so than a photo might have since it was somehow more "artistic" -- kept hold of my attention, and stirred odd feelings of arousal in me that I tried to bury in busyness.
I worked another hour or so and then took a break. My thoughts were obsessing over the series of nudes, and I was wondering if I might find more. My gram was pleased when I said I'd be back the next day to continue.
That night, I couldn't sleep. I was horny and unable to relax, so I went to my porn and jerked off. But my porn seemed so lifeless, so lacking in artistic merit, all of a sudden, and so it was not very satisfying when I finally came.
Sunday, I went over early to get a good start, and was delighted when I found some sketches of my grand's -- more nudes, but much more explicit nudes. Nudes of my gram spreading her pussy as she gazed down at herself. And sketches of my mom, naked, doing similar things -- masturbating and relaxing in sunlight nude. They were lovely and terribly erotic, and I found myself getting really horny and aroused. I tucked those away where I could find them, but hidden in case my gram came up, which she did.
"How's it going?" she asked and gave me more cookies and soy milk.
