Blissful Reunion

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.

"Ross," mom said. "Your grandmother wants you to live with her in Palm Springs. She's got a nice house there. Your grandfather was very successful. She wants to make up for things. For you to get to know her and for her to try to make things better for us."

I looked at Barbara.

"Yes, I do," Barbara said earnestly. "I've bought your mom a new home in Manhattan Beach. And I want you to have what you haven't been able to have. I want you to be part of the family."

I heard my mom starting to tear up.

"Oh, Ross," my grandmother continued, grabbing both my hands in hers. "I know I can't make up for the things my Clint did. I know that. But I can help you. I want to help you. Please. Let me."

I felt confusion, anger, fear. I didn't know what I wanted or thought. So, I stood up quickly, jerked my hands away from her, and stormed down the hall, banging my door hard behind me. I turned on my stereo and dropped onto my bed. What the fuck? That was the extent of my self-reflection.

I fell asleep. When I woke up, the sun had set. I smelled dinner cooking in the kitchen. My stomach rumbled with hunger. In the kitchen, mom was sitting at the table, drawing circles on the tablecloth with her finger. She stood and we hugged. I sat down and she served up dinner. When we were done eating, she sighed.

"Please, Ross," she said. "I haven't been able to do things for you. It's made me burn with guilt. Not being able to give you what you deserve. But now, you can enjoy what you should have enjoyed your whole life. Please. Let's try."

I nodded and she smiled.

A week later, I was putting my clothes into a huge cedar dresser in a huge bedroom in a huge house perched on the edge of the desert in Palm Springs. As I pushed a dresser drawer shut, I turned to see Barbara watching me, leaning against the door frame.

"Ross," she whispered, tears in her eyes. "I am so happy you're here. So happy."

She opened her arms and I moved into her embrace. Her arms squeezed my neck and her body - - fleshy and curvy - - pressed itself hard against me. I twisted my hips sideways, hoping to hide the erection growing in my shorts.

August 17, 2002

It was like living in one of those Aaron Spelling shows: the big house; the nice cars; a maid and a cook; gardeners; somebody to take care of everything - - almost. Gramps had started out as a car salesman and then had made it big, really big, in the postwar, L.A. real estate boom. He'd met grandma in a fancy bar on the West Side - - she was an aspiring starlet moonlighting as a cocktail waitress. Dad was born. And then my Auntie Chloe - - who I'd never met. Grandpa moved on to real estate in Palm Springs. Dad moved on to alcohol. Chloe moved on to Seattle. Now it was just me and grandma and a basketball team of servants in the big house next to the desert.

For weeks, I just sucked it all in. Enjoying the food, the entertainment, the cars, the lazy, idling way of life. Up at 11, a swim, a spin in the Mercedes, a nap, a movie on the plasma, some dinner, some drinks on the patio, playing with some toys. Grandma enjoyed watching me enjoy myself. Really, she seemed especially happy - - always smiling, complimenting me, asking me if I needed anything.

To be honest, the house was so big and she seemed so busy, I hardly saw her. When I did, we had a pleasant time. We never talked very deeply or did much together. And so after three weeks, I started getting bored.

That's when the trouble started.

I'm not a big doper but one night I decided to check out some local nightlife. I stopped in a flashy bar not to far from home. I met a guy named Mitch and his stripper girlfriend. We ended up at their place, smoking weed, drinking Jack Daniels, and goofing. I rolled back to grandma's quiet, dark house sometime in the wee hours of the morning with a cotton mouth, a poor sense of balance, and a bag of premium Kona herb.

The one thing about pot is that it makes me incredibly horny. After a joint, I'm ready to fuck the rug. I should have known better.

After dinner the next night, I retreated to Grampa's "screening room" - - a beautiful wood-paneled den with a t.v. screen the size of a garage door and a u-shaped leather couch. I popped open a beer, shut the door, put on a concert DVD of Radiohead, and rolled a massive joint. An hour later, the joints was a mere scrap, the music was sounding perfect, and my cock felt like a lead baton. Just as I was about to pull it out of my jeans and fantasize a sex romp with Jenna Jameson, I heard a knock on the door.

Shit. I turned the DVD down, fanned the air, and pulled myself together. Grandma opened the door.

"Can I come in?" she asked.

I nodded yes.

Grandma was no 16 year-old cheerleader. She was well into her late 50s, but she kept herself together. Always visiting the beauty salon, doing three or four sessions a week at the local gym, always buying new, fashionable clothes, and always sporting expensive looking earrings or necklaces or bracelets. She was a little short with still-shapely legs, a nice big pair of tits, a wide ass, and a deep buttery tan. As I gazed at her through my pot-hazed mind, I could feel something stirring in my jeans. I gulped and sat down.

Grandma came around the couch and sat down next to me - - her sun dress riding up over her knees. She was wearing big silver hoop earrings and a wristful of stylish bracelets. I tried to turn my crotch away from her, afraid she'd see the action in my pants.

I was a little surprised because she was carrying a glass of bourbon in one hand. As she settled into the couch next to me, she drained the bourbon and held the glass out to me.

"Get me some more, will you Ross? You know where the bar is."

The sound in the room was getting funny and I felt like the air was becoming thick. I stumbled to the bar, spun open a bottle of Chivas, poured the glass half full, and returned to the couch. Grandma gently took the glass from my hand.

"I know we haven't had a chance to talk much," she said as she took a long swallow from the glass. "I want to explain why I might seem so reserved."

I nodded dumbly.

She sighed and her mammoth chest heaved up toward the ceiling. She took another pull of the glass. It was almost empty.

"Well," she said with a deep breath. "You dad and I were very close when he was younger. He was always so funny and cute."

I listened to her but my eyes were fastened on her tits - - so big and juicy, encased in a form fitting bra that lifted and separated.

Grandma gave a little giggle. "Oh, we had such a great time together when he was young. His dad, your grandfather, was hardly around. And Chloe, well she was always off in her own world. It was just Clint and me."

She rose to her feet, swayed a little, and then click-clacked to the bar on her low-heeled mules. I watched her shapely calves bend and flex. She poured herself another drink and drifted back to the couch.

"We had a special relationship, your father and I," grandma sighed again, taking a long sip from the glass. "Very special. Do you know what I mean?"

I nodded dumbly again.

"Oh, god," she exclaimed. "You look so much like him. So big. Those beautiful big brown eyes. That sweet face."

I could see tears starting to well up in her eyes. She emptied the glass and smacked it down on the coffee table in front of the couch.

"No," she continued, turning to me. "Of course, you don't know what I mean. How could you?"

She wiped her eyes with the backs of her hands and took a deep breath.

"You and your mom are close, aren't you Ross?"

I nodded, my eyes trailing down the front of her dress to her knees. They were smooth and tan. The bare skin seemed so sexy. I could feel my cock stiffening inside my jeans. I had an urge to lick her kneecaps but instead I turned to look at the big t.v. screen.

"Of course you two are close," grandma whispered. "Just a boy and his mom in that tiny apartment. But Clint and I had something so rare, so special."

Again, I could see her eyes growing watery.

"I think sometimes that it was the kind of relationship that can either save you or destroy you."

"Oh, god," grandma sobbed. "Oh, my poor little Clint."

Now the tears had started to well in her eyes. I didn't know what to do. I mean I'd never met the guy, even though he was my father. And, I hardly knew my grandmother. I gulped.

Grandma leaned toward me, still sobbing. "Please, Ross, get me another drink."

I breathed a sigh of relief and stood up. I grabbed her glass and floated toward the bar. For some reason, the cap on the bourbon had gotten fucked up and my fingers fumbled with it. Damn, next time it's half a spliff for me. I smiled to myself. Finally, I poured the drink. I turned around to sit back on the couch but there was grandma, standing right next to me.

"Oh god," she sobbed. "Please, Ross, just give me a hug."

She opened her arms and I put the glass back on the bar and placed my hands gingerly on her hips. She wrapped her arms around my neck and I could feel her sobbing into my shoulder. I was careful to keep my body from touching hers. It was tough because her body was so lush and voluptuous and hugging me only brought her into closer contact.

"Oh my sweet Clint," grandma sobbed. "You're sweet just like him. Such sweet boys."

Her hands began to rub the back of my head. By now, my cock felt like an intercontinental missile, poised for flight.

"Baby," grandma slurred into my ear. "You're so nice to me."

Her hands continued to caress my hair and now I could feel her body starting to sag against mine. Involuntarily, I wrapped my arms around her waist to hold her up.