I don't even know why I bought the magazine the first time. I mean, why would an attractive 24-year old lad with an 8-inch uncut cock want to look at something called Swinging 60s? If you don't know it, it's a soft porn mag in which women over the age of 60 take off their clothes and talk dirty. I'd split up with my girlfriend six months earlier and I hadn't had so much as a sniff of another lady since then. I think I was so fed up with young girls that I swore to myself I'd concentrate on more mature women in future. I've been attracted to older women -- by which I mean about ten years older than me - ever since my English teacher at school, Miss Johnson, used to flirt with me. But while I was browsing in a newsagents shop I happened to glance up and see this glossy magazine cover showing a white-haired woman scooping massive boobs into her hands and almost -- but not quite -- extending down as far as her snatch.
I suppose I was more intrigued than anything. You see thousands of publications with teenagers showing off their bodies; I found myself wondering what would persuade a lady of that age to flaunt herself. After I'd bought it I decided it must be that they were all probably former strippers and porn stars who had decided to stick to what they knew to supplement their old age pensions. The editorial claimed otherwise though: it said they were all 'real' women, true amateurs who wanted to show that getting old didn't mean you lost interest in sex, or that you weren't still beautiful. There were about 15 photo spreads, .showing women ranging from ages 60 to 74.
They certainly didn't look like professionals: they didn't have the dull-eyed look, the artificial plastic look, or the too-bright smile you get to recognise on the usual porn models. Most of them either had extra folds of flesh around their bodies or were stick thin everywhere except on their bust. As I turned the pages I started feeling my mouth turn dry and my cock beginning to get aroused. They might have been as old as my grandma, well some of them, anyway, but they were still surprisingly attractive. A lot of them had pretty faces, there were some magnificent smooth tits with very suckable nipples, and a lot of red gashes as they held their pussies open for the camera. There were also acres of pubic hair. I really don't like the modern trend of girls shaving or styling their pubes: let it grow wild and woolly, I say, and most of these ladies did. Without really meaning to I found my rock-hard cock in my hand as I stared at Carol, 66, from Manchester, and a couple of minutes later I spoilt one of the best pictures of her when a big gobbet of jism landed right across it. After that I was hooked. I still didn't really understand it, but I found these ladies incredibly sexy. I started to buy every edition of the magazine and even to look for glamorous granny type websites, of which there are thousands.
It was buying my fourth edition of Swinging 60s that changed my life. When I got it home -- I still lived at my parents' house -- I smuggled it up to my bedroom and opened it at random. The first sight my eyes locked onto was a pair of plump mottled white thighs framing a thick pad of wiry dark grey hair surrounding a big wide-open pussy. Immediately my hand moved, with a mind of its own, towards my fly and eased out my already semi-stiff cock. My eyes trailed up past a couple of big belly folds to huge tits hanging down, crested by small pale pink nipples with wide areola. The boobs appeared very smooth and creamy white, with the tiniest glint where they had reflected the photographer's flash. My hand firmly stroking my dick now, my eyes moved up again, across a couple of double chins to the face, and -- Jesus Christ! It was my granny! I'd never seen Gran without glasses, and this woman didn't have them. She was calling herself Gladys as well, rather than her real name of June, but I looked closer and, yes, it was definitely her. I turned over the page, and there was another picture of her on her knees, her tits hanging down and her backside pointing straight at the camera, pushing a small gold vibrator into her pussy. I suddenly shuddered and gasped, and realised I'd actually just tossed off to pictures of my dad's mother.
Hardly able to breathe with the shock of what I was looking at, I turned to the first page of her photo set, where she was dressed in a nice respectable blue dress and a cardigan, with a string of pearls around her neck. She'd been wearing that very dress the last time I saw her, two weeks earlier. It was slightly low cut and, in retrospect, I remembered thinking then what a nice cleavage she had. In that first photo she was also wearing her specs, and that ended any doubt I might have had that it was my grandma. As if in some kind of drug-fuelled dream I read the text which accompanied the pictures. 'Glamorous widow Gladys may be 78, but that doesn't mean she feels past it. She says, "I haven't had sex since ten years before my hubbie died, but I think about it every day. There's nothing I'd like more than to suck some young lad's nice stiff cock then get him to fuck me with it, good and hard. I'm getting wet just thinking about it." If there's anyone out there who fancies a shag with an enthusiastic, experienced woman with 30 years sexual frustration built up, why don't you e-mail Gladys@Swinging60s.co.uk'.'
I sat back stunned. This couldn't be happening. Okay, all the women who posed in the magazine, and on websites, were probably someone's mother, someone's grandmother; but not mine, the sweet old dear who called me her precious Petey, who'd bounced me on her knee as a baby, and had taken me to see Santa Claus every year until I was 10. Not her. How many other men of all ages were wanking looking at her at that very moment? My first thought was to burn the magazine, just in case Dad somehow saw it and dropped dead of heart failure. My second thought was whether it was possible to buy every copy in the world and burn the lot! In the end I hid it at the back of my wardrobe, with my other copies, went down to tea and tried to act normally in front of my parents, as if I didn't know that Granny Ward was the centrefold of a pornographic magazine.
For two days I completely ignored the magazine and left it unread in the wardrobe, although in my mind it was glowing like a pile of unstable uranium. Finally I did take it out again. I'd just look at the other birds in it, I told myself. When I get to Gran's bit I'll just flick past it, as if it isn't there. But when I reached the 'Gladys' pages I gazed at each picture in turn, mesmerised. I tried to be objective about it. She was the oldest woman in the magazine, but she was also probably the most attractive. Her tits were magnificent and her cunt looked so juicy and screwable...I groaned; without even realising it, I'd jerked myself off looking at my naked grandmother -- again! The following night when I did it, I at least knew I was, I just felt as guilty as hell. By a couple of nights later, I was actually quite looking forward to getting back to my room and beating my meat over Gran's pictures.
Every evening I read the accompanying text, and the words kept echoing in my head: 'why not e-mail Gladys'. I glanced at my computer, in the corner of my room. Why not? Gran didn't know my e-mail address, and it was just a laugh anyway. The e-mails didn't really get passed onto the ladies, they just went to the magazine, where the staff no doubt pissed themselves laughing at the sad tossers who sent them. Well, that's what I thought.
So I sat down at my PC and, my hands trembling slightly, I wrote my e-mail. I hadn't thought it out at all, and just typed whatever came into my head. In the spirit of the magazine, though, I wanted to make it as dirty as possible. 'Hi Gladys, Big John here (well, I wasn't going to risk using my real first name), eight inches of rigid manhood, and it's all for you. I'm in my twenties, and I go like a stallion. I can't believe you haven't had it in 30 years -- are all the blokes in your town queer? I think you've got a fabulous body, with tits I'd love to suck on, and a silky snatch that could drive any man wild. I'd like nothing more than to fuck your big tits, lick out every inch of your cunt, then put you on your hands and knees and ram my monster cock up you until you beg me for mercy. After that you can suck me off, and I might even give your arse a good licking before I spend the entire night fucking you senseless. I am very, very serious about this.'
I had doubts about it the second I'd pressed the Send button. Just a week earlier I would have said that my grandma would die of embarrassment if she read something like that, addressed to her. Lucky it was all a wind-up. A couple of days later -- and a couple of wanks over Gran, it was starting to get addictive -- I opened my e-mail In-Box one night to discover to my amazement, an e-mail from Gladys@Swinging60s. With trepidation I opened it, my jaw dropping as I read the text. 'Dear Big John, I like the sound of what you're suggesting, especially the bit about licking my arse, nobody's ever done that to me and it sounds as if it might be nice. My husband used to fuck my tits, and I love sucking cock, I miss the taste of spunk as it trickles down my throat. I live in Surrey, where do you live? I'm not sure why a young man with 8 inches would be interested in a fat old wrinkly like me, but if you really are serious send me another e-mail and we'll see if we can do something about it. Luv Silky Gladys.'
There was no way my grandma had written that! Clearly someone at the magazine was having a laugh at my expense. I wasn't sure whether to be annoyed or amused. However, I thought I might as well play along. I replied that I was totally serious and that I was free at the weekend. I didn't want to say I also lived in Surrey, so I lied that my home was in Essex, on the other side of London but an easy journey on the M25 motorway. The reply arrived the very next day, and totally shocked me. Gladys suggested I cal round at 2.00pm on Saturday, and gave me her address -- which I knew very well since I'd been visiting Gran's house all my life! I had to face up to reality. Gran really had written that stuff about how she liked to suck cock, and what she had done with Granddad. I felt physically sick -- yet at the same time I could feel that a huge stiffy had developed in my pants.
I could hardly sleep that night, and for the next couple of days I couldn't really concentrate at work. Obviously I wasn't really going to go through with it. Gran was expecting a sexual partner to turn up on Saturday, not her grandson. It went without saying that I couldn't sleep with my grandmother. But an evil little voice kept nagging away in my head, asking whether I would prefer her to make a date with some complete stranger, who might just knock her on the head and rob her blind. And as for sleeping with her, incest was only a stupid social taboo. What harm could it do -- she was hardly going to get pregnant, was she? I obviously found her sexually attractive, it was clear there was nothing in the world that she wanted more than to get laid, and what greater gift could a loving grandson give his granny than whatever she wanted the most? On Friday night, as for the umpteenth time I masturbated over photos of my grandmother posing naked, I made a decision. I would go round there the following day, explain the position and apologise to her. Maybe I could even help her find some nice old man to spend her remaining years with. The trouble was, she didn't want a nice old man, she wanted someone who would shag the arse off her.
