I have always been proud of my youthfulness. I drive a short distance and walk on a golf course nearly every afternoon, or evening if it's summertime with the longer daylight. I attend city and state meetings and luncheons with many of my contemporaries. And, let's not forget the chores of keeping up a 10 acre farm. I stopped having animals around years ago.
I delivered my only child at 17, making my husband the very proud father of a beautiful baby daughter. Unfortunately, Dave passed away when Debbie was eight years old. Things were not that bad. We had insurance that pays off the house, plus the modest amount of money given to us by the insurance company. Knowing everyone in our small touristy town in central Vermont helped me to land a job at the local hardware store. Debbie and I settled into a quiet, but comfortable, existence.
Now granted, I had my suitors. Not a vast number, mind you, but a small handsome lot, they were. I have always been hardheaded and independent, so I blame myself that nothing ever came of any of them.
The years passed and Debbie, like myself, married at 17, after much crying and heartbreak on my part. Eventually, agreeing to give my consent, she left me to move to Virginia with her husband, who had joined the Navy. I had suspected that Debbie was pregnant. It was confirmed five months after they left and it would be five years before I would meet my grandson.
As the years passed, Debbie and my grandson, Bobby, would visit me for months at a time, as her husband deployed.
Now that you know a little bit about me, I will tell you my little secret. Here I am at 57, and I have been as horny as a jaybird since my Dave passed away 32 years ago. I must tell you that, as he took care of my needs in death, money wise, he saw up to my sexual needs while he was alive. Oh! We had great fun in the bedroom, and nearly every other place else you can think of. He chased me and caught me in a cornfield one day. What a memory! Anyway, those memories and his upstanding name in the community overshadowed any desire to actively seek another man. Modest as I am, I knew most of the single men in the community thought I would be a good prize, the widow of Dave Parcell. In my time, I could turn the heads of quite a few of the married men too. I was a good piece of ass. My Dave told me that and I believed him.
Now don't get me wrong, I am no spinster. After Dave passed I learned quickly to please myself, and I did, two of three times a day and nearly every night. In retrospect, I was probably so numb from sexually pleasing myself that my suitors found me cool and distracted. I tell you, it was difficult keeping Debbie from knowing or catching me in the act. In some ways, her leaving home was a godsend as I was free to walk around my country home nude or discovering new ways to please myself. At the chance that you may think bad of me, I must tell you the rounded bedposts and doorknobs became my best lovers, a long with the occasional soda bottle. If you're not a female, you're just jealous.
Now! I got distracted for a moment. Here's the secret I've been aching to tell someone for months.
Bobby, my grandson, arrived, not unexpectedly, at my door three months ago. I had received a phone call from my daughter telling me to expect Bobby. At 23, after a bit of college, he had decided to see some of our great country before he settled down. I opened the door a month later, a Monday I believe, to see this 6'2" lanky redheaded boy standing before me. I had not seen him in over four years.
"Hello grandma!"
"Hello yourself!" I replied, welcoming him with a big hug.
After cooking him his favorite supper, we sat till after midnight catching up on the previous four years. He gave me the scoop on his mother and father and all appeared well.
"Did you walk from town? How long do you intend on staying with me?" I questioned.
"The weather was perfect for a walk. Didn't want to bother you." He replied. "Mom said she was sure you had a lot of chores that you could use help with. I have to pay for my room and board somehow, you know. Is a month too long?"
"Don't be foolish." I scolded him. "I do have a few things that need looking after, but in no way should you consider such for room and board. I'd even pay you. It will help you in your travels."
The next week and a half gave me renewed vim and vigor. It was, yes, intoxicating, to have a grown man around to cook for and do some of the more strenuous chores. More often than not, we ignored the chores and drove into town to eat ice cream, visit friends, and just show him off as my grandson. I felt more alive than I had in years.
I awoke on a Wednesday morning and began to prepare breakfast, while rounding up clothes to start a wash.
Without thinking, honestly, I opened Bobby's door and shuttered with embarrassment, seeing him lying on the bed masturbating. You know, yanking his cock. It was the most embarrassing moment in my life.
"I'm so sorry, sugar!" I stammered, as I made a hasty retreat, closing his door.
When the poor boy came down to breakfast, it was hard for me to make I contact with him.
"Grandma, it's all right." He assured me. "I should not have been doing that here anyway."
"I should have knotted first." I replied. "I just wasn't thinking. A young man needs to release pent-up tension. And why shouldn't you feel free to do that here?"
"Well, let's you and me just pretend that it didn't happen?" He offered. "Our little secret?"
"What! You think I would jump on the phone and blab to your mom?" I teased.
"No! Grandma!" He laughed. "I appreciate your open-mindedness on the subject."
Well, I'm keen on keeping our little secret but I'm having a hard time forgetting that it happened. Replaying the event in my head, he didn't seem concerned about covering himself. Am I exaggerating? I stood there for 4 to 8 seconds and he had to have Been as surprised as I was. He could've reacted, covering himself, or something.
Now, he hasn't acted any differently. And I haven't been either, openly. But, I am sore with all of the attention I've been giving to my, you know, my pussy, the last couple of nights. To be more exact, my little Rosebud. A clit, I think it's called. All I can think about is his, okay, I'll say it, his rather large cock. I know, I couldn't see all of it, he had hold of most of it, but I saw the head and it was plenty big enough.
Two weeks had passed, and this morning I was a bit surprised when Bobby came down for breakfast. He walked up behind me at the sink and put his arms around my waist, giving me a huge squeeze, catching me completely off guard. Not that I needed my guard up, mind you.
"You know, grandma?" He began. "You have to tell me why you've never married again? You're a good-looking woman. I'd marry you if you weren't my grandma. I'd be sleeping at your front door step, I would."
"What makes you think I need a man? Though you would be a good catch, I figure."
As he was eating breakfast, I pretty much related to him the reasons why I had never remarried. Pretty much the same story I have related to you, leaving out the more intimate things, of course.
"Grandma, I still don't understand how a woman gets along without a man." He said. "Mom and dad are always going at each other, you know, in the bedroom. Don't you ever have yearnings in that area?"
