September 9, 2002
The sun was setting over the top of the backyard fence, and it's orange rays bathed the patio next to the pool in bright, warm light. The hot, dry desert air was calm and still. I laced my fingers together behind my head and shifted in the chaise lounge, idly watching her gobble my cock down into her hungry mouth. She sucked and licked and vacuumed all eight inches deep down into her warm, hot mouth.
"That's it!" I panted. "Oh fuck. Take it all in."
She mumbled in pleasure deep down in her throat. I arched my back to force my cock even deeper, and she grabbed my ass cheeks in her hands and moaned as she attacked my dick. I put my hands in her thick blond hair and felt my balls start to tingle.
"Cumming," I moaned. "I'm cumming. Oh shit."
Her grunts became more insistent as she plunged her mouth up and down my cock. As cum began boiling up through my cock, she pulled her mouth off and began stroking frenetically. I watched her hands - - long elegant fingers and long shiny red nails - - attacking my dick. Leaning back, I surrendered and felt my cock explode in pleasure.
"Ohhhh," she murmured breathily. "That's it baby. Give me all of it."
My cum spurted in deep rapid jolts and I moaned. She wiggled my cock with her hand, pushing it back and forth across my thighs. Warm, wet jism splattered across my lower stomach and my legs. I sighed and relaxed my body, spent. Her tongue, smooth and rough at the same time, licked its way up my dick slowly and she squeezed my thighs in her hands.
"Hmmmmm, baby," she mumbled, as she milked my cock. "I love it when you get hard so fast and cum so hard."
I smiled.
"I love it when you suck my cock," I mumbled. "Can't you tell?"
She laughed and I felt her pendulous breasts shake against my thighs. She settled her head on my hip and stroked my pubic hair. We lay there for ten or fifteen minutes - - quiet, content, satiated. It was the second time she had sucked me off that afternoon.
"Now," I whispered into her ear. "I really am going to have to take a swim."
She laughed. "Baby, don't leave me," she said mockingly.
I smiled and rolled onto my side, dropping her onto the chaise next to me. We kissed, and I stared appreciatively at her massive tits.
"You love my tits, don't you?" she asked, running a hand over one of her big, full mounds.
I laughed.
My cock hung, limp and glistening, along my thigh. "And you love my cock, don't you?"
She smiled and laughed. "Can't you tell?"
I turned to the pool and took two or three quick steps, launching into a dive. The cool waters swallowed me up. It felt fantastic - - especially against my flaccid cock. I swam back to the side of the pool and rested my arms on the concrete lip. She was resting on the lounge, her eyes closed.
"Grandma," I said. "What time is Lupe making dinner. I'm hungry."
My grandmother smiled. "I don't know, Ross. I'll go tell her to start now."
She sat up on the lounge and grabbed her robe off the patio. As she tightened the belt on the robe, she blew me a kiss. Then, she toddled off into the dimness of the house on her short-heeled mules. I smiled and dropped back into the water.
July 2002
Angry? You bet I was angry. I was an 18 year-old ball of hormonally-charged, resentful, bitter, and pissed off resentment. My friends had all gone off to college. But my mother, a secretary, couldn't afford tuition and room and board. And, she refused to take out a loan. I had tried a semester at the local junior college - - but had dropped out after a month or two, pissed off at my teachers, my fellow students, at the whole idea of driving from my house to classes and then back again to the same old place I'd always known.
I'd gotten a job in construction. I'd starting accumulating muscles. I'd started drinking beer. And, I'd started staying out 'til midnight with my friends. Most weekends, the apartment door banged shut behind me at 7 or 8, and I'd be gone 'til late the next morning. Sometimes, drinking with the boys, I'd pick up a local skank for a quick fuck. Once, early in the spring, I'd gone home with the 48 year-old gal who owned the bar we liked to drink in.
For a while, Lucy and I were a regular thing. Or, rather, for a while, I'd get drunk in her bar and Lucy and I would end up fucking the night away. I liked her - - she was salty and straightforward. And, although she didn't have the tight, smooth body of my 18 or 19 year-old girlfriends, she knew her way around the bedroom.
My mom, of course, only knew that I was staying out late. She was, of course, worried. Worried that I'd end up a drunk, worried that I'd work construction my whole life, worried that I was so bitter and angry. But . .what could she do? I'd never met my dad. He and my mom had dated in college. He knocked her up in her sophomore year, and before I even saw the light of day, he was a memory. I hadn't even seen a picture of the motherfucker. He was irrelevant - - except that he had bequeathed such a shitty life to his ex-girlfriend and her angry kid.
So, there I was. Angry. Stupid. Bored. And, it didn't look like things were going to change much - - until the week after July 4th. I'd spent most of the holiday with Lucy and a six-pack of Jack Daniels. I stumbled home around 5 or 6 on Sunday afternoon and put my key in the lock. No need. The door was unlocked. I pushed it open and swaggered into the hall. Two people were talking in the kitchen. Fuck that, I thought to myself. I need a shower.
I rolled down the hall to the bathroom.
"Ross, Ross," I heard my mom shouting from the kitchen.
I grunted and pushed the bathroom door shut behind me. The scalding shower refreshed me. I shaved, brushed my teeth, combed my hair, pinched my cheeks and headed to the bedroom to put some fresh clothes on. I almost felt human again. As I was changing, my mom banged on the door.
"Ross," she whispered through the door. "Come out to the kitchen. There's somebody here to meet you."
I grumbled and finished tugging my t-shirt over my head. Probably some whacky New Age friend of my mom's, I thought to myself. Sitting at the tiny kitchen table, however, was an older woman, tricked out in a fashionable, cotton dress. Her blonde hair was piled on top of her head and although the creases and wrinkles around her eyes and mouth told me she was probably older than Lucy, my bar owner squeeze, I gave her extra points for the long, sexy legs that extended below her dress hem. Of course, I'm a sucker for high-heeled shoes and the white pumps she wore may have swayed my judgment.
She was a good-looking older broad - - big brown eyes, a nice full mouth. She was also clearly very well-maintained - - with long manicured nails, nice-looking jewelry, and those sexy legs. Maybe she was the wife of the landlord? Or, the wife of some doctor my mom worked for?
I stepped into the kitchen and the woman's eyes met mine. I heard her take a sharp breath and saw confusion wash across her face momentarily. My mom pushed me aside and stepped into the kitchen between me and the mystery woman. Mom was smiling oddly.
"Ross," she said, grasping my forearm. "I want you to meet someone."
I shifted my gaze back and forth between the woman and my mom. The older lady stood and straightened our her dress. Nice tits, I thought to myself. They were big with just a short but suggestive line of cleavage revealed by her dress. The woman smiled weakly as well.
"My god, Jane," the woman said in a gravelly voice. "He looks just like Clint. It's remarkable."
My mom's smile weakened and she looked at the floor.
"Ross," she said, with her eyes still glued to the floor. "This is Barbara - - your grandmother. Your dad's mom."
It felt like somebody had smacked me. My brain hesitated and my body froze. My grandmother? I didn't even know she existed. What did she want? Why was she here?
I moved closer to my mom.
"Hello, Ross," the woman said, extending one of her carefully manicured hands. "It's so nice to finally meet you."
We shook hands - - my big callused mitt enclosing her warm hand. I looked at my mom, who was again gazing wanly at the other woman.
"Please," the woman continued. "I know you're surprised. Sit down. Both of you. Please."
She gestured to two empty kitchen table chairs. I sat down opposite her. My mom sat next to me.
Barbara paused, took a deep breath and then began talking. It turns out my dad had become a drunken bum after abandoning my mom. He had been in and out of hospitals, Greyhound stations, and many, many bars. He had also never told his parents about me or my mom. Two years ago, he had been discovered on a park bench in Santa Monica - - dead from acute alcohol poisoning. It was tragic, but in a way, Barbara explained, it had been a relief.
"He was always a tortured soul," Barbara said, her eyes growing rounder. "Always my favorite but always troubled."
A year later, Barbara's husband, my grandfather, had passed away. As she was going through his papers, she discovered a private detective's report from 15 years ago. In it, the investigator described my mother, listed her address, and attached a copy of my birth certificate.
"It was a shock," Barbara said, dropping her eyes to the table. "I just didn't know what to do. A grandson? My only grandchild? I couldn't believe it. For months, I refused to believe it. Then I called the detective agency my husband had used. I asked them to please check their files. They did, and I talked to the guy who had filed the original report. It was all true."
After a month of worrying and fretting, Barbara had called the agency back and asked them to find my mom's current address. A week later, an email from the agency revealed the location of the tiny, cramped apartment my mom and I shared. It had take several more weeks for Barbara to work up her courage.
"So," she continued, raising her eyes and shaking her hair. "Here I am."
I looked at my mom, who looked back and me.
"I know, I know," Barbara said. "It's a shock. Believe me, I understand. But believe me, Ross." She reached over to squeeze my hand in hers. "You are my grandson. And, I want to make all of this up to you. My son was a fool. But that doesn't mean I am."
My mom stood and poured herself a cup of coffee.
