With thanks to S.C. who inspired this short story about a very special grandmother.
Why is it I wonder that the potential to find a member of our own family attractive is never a subject that is spoken of? I cannot ever remember discussing the merits of any member of my family with another soul. And yet sisters, mothers and grandmothers are female aren't they, they are women in their own right, as sexual and fanciful as any other woman out there I suppose. I can remember conversations when I was younger as to who was the best-looking girls or boys in my class, which actors and actresses or pop stars we perhaps idolised, even the opposite sex in our everyday lives would be graded on their particular attraction and attributes. But our parents and perhaps siblings were always excluded from this practice for some peculiar reason, and yet we were never told that we should not look at them in that manner.
I cannot ever remember a time, where the topic of conversation centred around a member of our families and which could be construed to be of a sexual nature, it was as though our brains refused to even consider that such people could be considered handsome or attractive. My friends never commented on my mother and I never commented on theirs, it was as if it was imprinted on our brains at birth that these people were out of bounds to us. That was why it was a shock when as an eighteen-year-old, I one day found myself thinking of a member of my family in such an illicit way.
Who do you talk to about those types of thoughts, I couldn't discuss it with friends for fear of ridicule or disgust, forever ostracised and looked at as someone peculiar? I definitely couldn't discuss it with my family, we were good Catholics and the thought of discussing my sudden burgeoning desires with them would ensure I was condemned to everlasting damnation. That only left the parish priest and I certainly wasn't going to discuss it with him, sure that my parents would immediately be informed.
I wondered in later life if we all have these feelings at some point, not just males, but females as well, do we all go through a stage where we suddenly have a longing for a member of the opposite sex, but one who is also part of our immediate family. A desire to do things to them and with them that is outside both the bible and the law.
Yvonne was my grandmother on my father's side, she was tall for a woman, wide-hipped and large breasted and each summer whilst growing up, I would spend a week at her home during my summer holidays. Later in life, she reminded me of those types of mature women who graced our television screens, not young anymore, but still sexy and alluring with the promise of unimaginable pleasures. My grandfather on the other hand wasn't my grandfather, Yvonne had remarried before I was born and whilst he always treated me as his grandson, there was something about him that did not sit comfortably.
As her first grandchild, I was spoilt, Yvonne lavishing her love and affection on me each time we visited and especially each summer when I went to stay with her. We lived in Brighton whilst she lived only a short car journey away in Worthing, both of them seaside towns on the south coast. Her home was a large bungalow with a south facing rear garden which we used extensively during the long summers. I can vividly remember the lawns and flowerbeds, the flint walls separating different levels of the garden and the plum tree off to one side. I would watch her as she pottered, deadheading flowers and weeding the borders, some days assisting her, though I was never sure I was pulling up the right plants.
Those visits continued throughout my early teenage years. Even after I turned eighteen, I still looked forward to that week of escape, no parents trying to tell me what to do, no demands from friends and especially my girlfriend. It was a week usually accompanied by brilliant sunshine in which I could enjoy the quiet and slower pace of life, helping my grandmother in her garden, laying out in the sun or wandering down into the town.
It was during my last visit that I was both surprised and enticed when I unintentionally overheard a conversation. It was the middle of summer and I was with her again for my week's break, mum having driven me across. In my bedroom which overlooked the garden, the window was open, trying to capture a hint of any breeze while I unpacked my case, putting clothes away in drawers and the wardrobe.
The sound of their voices was audible in the still air, my mother and grandmother sat outside discussing something that caught my attention.
'You know he's that way inclined?' It was my grandmother's voice, speaking in a quiet confidential way.
'We have never properly consummated our marriage. We have tried on many occasions, but it has become obvious that he does not find me sexually attractive or fulfilling in that department.' She continued sorrowfully.
I was knelt below the window now, trying to hear what was being said but at the same time not wanting to be seen or let it be known that I was privy to their conversation outside.
'I had no idea when we married, but now I am stuck with it, I cannot divorce him, that would go against the church and everything I have been taught. I am happy, but at the same time, I am frustrated. At the end of the day, I am a woman, I have needs, but it would be a sin against God to cheat on him with another man.'
I don't know if my mother turned around and saw my bedroom window open, but whatever the reason, they moved down to the other end of the garden and out of earshot, leaving me struggling to understand the gist of what they had been discussing. My grandfather it seemed, was gay. I wouldn't have known it up until that point although thinking back, some of his mannerisms could be effeminate I concluded. I felt sorry for Yvonne, as my grandmother, I loved her unconditionally but the news of what she was experiencing was maybe the spark that lit the blue touch paper.
Despite being eighteen and with a girlfriend, I was still inexperienced as was she, and together we had discovered the delights of illicit sex when the opportunity arose, sure that both sets of parents would have disapproved. At that age, it takes very little to ignite one's lust and the suggestion that my grandmother was going without put idea's and images into my head as I fantasised about the things we could have done together.
With my mother gone and gran back to her pottering, I decided that some sunbathing was in order as I laid out my big red "Coca-Cola" towel and wearing only shorts, stretched out on it as the sun warmed my body. Perhaps it was the conversation I'd heard, especially the word 'Frustrated' which first sowed the seed in my brain. Turning my head, I peered in her general direction, surreptitiously watching her knelt on her gardening mat, her bottom wiggling as she leant over and dug holes for new plants.
She had full buttocks which looked appetising in her slacks, the material stretched tightly across both cheeks making her panties beneath quite visible and awakening in me a sudden rush of blood. It left me feeling alarmed and perhaps a little dirty as I viewed her bottom, ideas of what I could do with it invading my thoughts. Over the course of that week, some days she would wear slacks but, on most days, she donned one of her dresses. I had decided that I preferred her in a dress, it would hitch up slightly at the rear as she bent forward, giving me a view of the back of her thighs, but never rode quite high enough for me to be able to see her panties. In summer she would more often than not go without tights, complaining that they were too hot in the sun and treating me to views of her ample thighs and plenty of naked flesh.
I'm positive that she never wore a particular type of dress on purpose, it was just that her breasts were so large that each of her dress's managed to show an ample amount of cleavage and I was only too happy to help her weed flower beds on those days, especially the ones where I could kneel on the opposite side and look down the front of her garment, marvelling at her gorgeous mammaries.
Each night, my dreams were lurid, I was copulating with her, both of us naked as we had intercourse on the broad strip of lawn in the afternoon sun or maybe in the middle of the lounge floor some evening. Waking the next morning, a thin flaky layer would coat my stomach as I remembered the feel of her flesh pressed tightly against my own, remembrance re-igniting my desires once more. That's all they were though unfortunately, dreams, I could never approach her and speak of the things that now invaded my mind, it would surely break the special bond that existed between us.
I have no idea if she ever realised what I was doing, if she did, she never commented, and I would return from my weeks holiday with images and visions in my head of gorging myself on her huge tits.
