The dialogue is as best I can remember but every stitch and touch is totally accurate. Why wouldn't they be the number of times between visits home I lay on my bed and relived them?
I had never actually slept with another person before, lay awake most of the time after; I did not think I could just up and leave. When she slipped on her dressing gown and made for the kitchen I stretched out and slept like a baby.
* * *
It might have been a scenario I conjured up on my way to the bathroom for my first hand crank of the day but would certainly have made a quick retreat had I known my mother's mother was topless the other side of the open airing cupboard door. Had often pulled off looking at a picture of her I removed from Grandpa's collection I had found in the loft but, 'wow' this was for real.
The door closed. "Oh!' exclaimed Gran standing there holding a bra in one hand and the door handle in the other. Neither of us moved. For me no problem; the expectant half hard waiting for my hand was tucked well into my briefs.
Tits that were full and did not hang as much as you would expect breasts that size on a woman her age kick started my erection like jump leads attached to my balls. The circles and nipples that normally did their best to make themselves known through her blouses and jumpers were as good as advertised. Always showing a fair amount of cleavage she often had me imagining a hand down the front of her dress feeling a big soft tit.
In an ideal world this was a scenario I would have wished with one or two of my mate's mums. I'd be coming onto her strong, telling her how good she looked instead of standing there like a dumb idiot.
'Oh,' Gran said again. Although her eyes did not settle on any part of me for more than a few seconds I saw them take in the roll my burgeoning cock made; she could hardly have been unaware of my open mouthed stare at her chest.
Of course Gran knew of my obsession; I'm a tit man. I stood there transfixed, they were amazing. I always thought her attractive, always liked wholesome, and she is, but never in a month of Sundays have guessed she had a chest to die for.
She had often caught me looking, which was why she now brought her shoulders back to lift the breasts she was proud of, to pause while I studied them, to lick her lips after a quick look at the roll in my briefs and to say, 'Good morning,' as if it was the most natural thing in the world to be half naked with her half dressed grandson. I went into the bathroom and stood at the sink. Sometimes you can have a wank that is more effort than it is worth and sometimes they are so memorable you're soon into another.
After a shower I sat in the drying chair, balls on the cold woodwork, teasing myself to make it last, stroking a rock hard cock thinking about those tits, wondered at the chuff outlined atop those chunky thighs. Wishing I had the picture of her lying naked in the hammock I had that memorable wank that suddenly had me standing at the sink pointing Percy at the porcelain.
Ten minutes later, doing a reccy to make sure she was not around, I walked back to my room proudly waving a pole in front of me slowly tossing watching her out in her garden until I spread cum on the windowsill; two for my beautiful grandmother in twenty minutes.
* * *
'Good morning, again, my lovely boy. Breakfast?' no sign of the embarrassment of our earlier meeting. Calling me her 'lovely boy' was her favourite expression. With her chatting so casually I felt slightly ashamed; would she still be thinking of me as her lovely boy if she knew I had been standing with my cock in my hand looking at her bent over her roses, studying the outline of her bum, imagining lifting her dress over it before I closed my eyes.
'I'm so used to wandering around half dressed I forgot I had a guest,' she said, turning to reach up for mugs, the backs of her shapely legs showing smooth and firm, 'sorry you found me standing there like that,' leaning over the table to pass me coffee to watch my gaze work its way up from her low cut dress until it reached her eyes and me blush. She did not appear to be as sorry as a grandmother should have. Any shame I felt went feeling my cock stir.
'You can stand there like that before I go into the bathroom whenever you like,' I replied, not expecting her to recognize the double entende. She shook her head, a look of wonder settled on her face. Her eyes sliding from mine to my chin, to where my body disappeared below the table, and back to my mouth.
'Did you?' raised her eyebrows, 'is that why you were in there so long? Were you...,' her face bloomed into a smile, 'imagining I was...,' her eyes lost focus for a second or two, imagination doing overtime, 'I was....?'
'Standing next to me like you were outside,' I interrupted finishing the sentence for her, 'like that, half dressed.' Gran watched me closely when I said half dressed.
'Just....half dressed?' she asked, raised eyebrows.
I looked into her eyes, 'probably doing a little more.'
A throaty, 'couldn't be much more than I was earlier.....oh,' it dawned on her what 'doing a little more' meant, where seeing her like that might have taken my imagination, turning to the toaster to cover her blushes, 'sorry,' she giggled, 'too inquisitive.'
* * *
During breakfast we made the usual small talk; all the time trying not to look at each other in that deliberate way people do who are itching to move the conversation in another direction, subtly, without being caught. We did the washing up in pensive silence; it was so bloody obvious what we both wanted to talk about yet knew the subject was forbidden.
'Same time tomorrow, then?' I asked, hanging up the tea towel, nodding towards the hall.
Gran frowned, 'same time tomorrow?'
Then her face suddenly looked like a rabbit caught in the headlights. Had someone seen into her dark corners; seen her secret thoughts? The ones she was going to have tonight lying alone on her bed? Had she said something to imply....what? Then her expression cleared, she'd been to the fair, on rides that scared her but created an excitement that made her want to be frightened again. Her face lit up, 'Oh, yes. I see. Okay.'
'And that will be?' I asked.
The look that crossed her lovely face I shall always remember; looking straight at me, her pupils dilated, 'Normally I get up about seven,' she replied.
* * *
We carried on our day in the usual way. Usual except for the fact Gran, during the course of the morning, appeared to encourage my obsession with her tits by not wearing a bra. I tried to think back, to remember if it was something she normally did. Was wearing the cotton blouse that showed her nipples off so beautifully something she had done before? So obsessed with the promise of the next mornings tryst I could imagine anything. Then the incident with the garden hose told me it was deliberate. There was a scream from the greenhouse.
I rushed in to find her struggling to reconnect a hosepipe that had parted. Gran waited for me to turn off the water. No embarrassment; her top soaking wet, nipples announcing themselves with a vengeance; diaphanous cotton stuck to breasts. Whatever else was planned that was not.
I got a good look at tits cradled in folded arms when she made to walk by me giving the opportunity of another look at a wobbling cleavage when she shivered, 'Brrrrr!' That was deliberate. Reappearing in a sun dress that did nothing to dispel the fact she was not ashamed off her body and was comfortable in her own skin.
I shut the door to the bathroom and recalled Gran with her wet top; imagined her letting me help her change into a dry one and give me another good look at her chest. Another good wank followed. I love tits.
A few minutes after seven, the next day, the unbelievable happened.
* * *
Nothing more was said about the greenhouse incident or our promised arrangement. No innuendo, we got on with the rest of our day. Gran was her usual happy, beautiful self; very touchy feely. Was my cock affecting my judgment or were the touches more frequent, the feely feelier, the braless body deliberately closer, more lingering?
I got on with the jobs I was there to do while Mum spent three nights at the Hospice where she regularly took Granpa to have treatment.
Apart from the occasional, 'Stop looking, you're making me shy,' whenever she caught me glancing at her swaying chest, and the continuous half hard, the day was just the same as all the others spent at my grandparents. With all the complaining at my looking she continued bra-less which, although it got me hoping, I was not seriously expecting anything to happen.
Nevertheless I was awake early enough to be sitting on the end of the bed, door open looking down the hall, waiting. By the time she appeared I had quite a hard on having thought through several scenarios; all of which ended with me at the bathroom sink staring at the picture of her propped against a tap I had hidden in there the previous night.
On the stroke of seven her door opened, there she stood, panties no bra.
Like a flash I was on my feet; never once thinking how peculiar it must look, either end of a hall, one just in panties with bobbling tits, the other just in his briefs showing an excited bulge. We met half way.