Utica New York, in the summer of 2008.
*******
It was another hot day in Utica, but thankfully there was a breeze that made my wait bearable. I had been outside of the supermarket for about a half hour, but I would have done it standing on my head if I had to. The woman I was waiting for was worth it.
When I first arrived outside of Price Chopper, I had first just watched the woman of my dreams as she worked the cash register, observing her cheerful attitude as she rang customers up. Everybody seemed to like the perky blonde cashier, or at least that was the way it seemed to me. Then again, I guess you could say I was prejudiced in that regard.
She was only about 5'2" and maybe 100 pounds soaking wet. Her hair was blonde - and only her hairdresser and I knew for sure - and she wore it cut short. She had a petite body, but that was because she wasn't one to flaunt. Matter-of-fact, she went out of her way to minimize her assets.
The name tag that rested on the bosom of her tan store issued uniform read Betty, while the people of the neighborhood knew her as Mrs. Comstock. I had another name for the woman; this woman that I had loved and lusted after for as long as I could remember. I called her Grandma.
****
Grandma didn't notice I was at the store until I went inside and bought a soda. She had just finished ringing up the previous customer when she looked up and saw me. Immediately, her face lit up with a smile so genuine that I knew she was glad to see me.
If Grandma ever stopped greeting me like that, I don't know what I would do. Things are different now than they used to be. I used to visit her to talk and play games, and maybe have a sandwich or something.
These days, when I see her, while I still enjoy her company and her cooking, I have something more on my mind. Thankfully, she's not offended by my impure thoughts. In fact, quite the opposite is true.
Grandma says that I've given her a new lease on life. "You've jump-started my heart, Robbie!" she's said on more than one occassion. "You make me feel young again."
All of this came about because of what she called "a moment of weakness", but while it might have started out as that, it's evolved into something far greater. You see, while I have a girlfriend, Amber, who's 18 like me, she's more of a ball-buster than anything else.
My lover - the woman who excites me and satisfies my needs, is Grandma.
***
"Oh, your fella is here to help you get home, I see," the black woman who worked the customer service center said when she saw me carrying the bag of groceries she had bought and walking toward the exit. "Wish I had a grandson that took care of me like that."
Grandma only smiled at that, giving a cheerful wave and we headed out onto the street for the three block walk to her house. Grandma didn't really need the help, because the bag was light and the neighborhood wasn't all that bad, but I liked the idea of people thinking I was taking care of my Grandma, even if they didn't know the truth.
"Scorcher out here today," Grandma declared as we neared her house, a modest single family home on a street that was beginning to show signs of decay. "No wonder people were coming in dripping with sweat."
"It was worse before without the breeze," I told Grandma, noticing the perspiration that darkened the armholes of her uniform.
It was a sweet sweat, that much I knew. Like everything else about Grandma, it exuded a pleasant scent that never failed to get my pulse racing. I had experienced the joys of that moisture many times; wearing it and tasting it, and hopefully very soon I would be once again savoring the flavor of Grandma Betty.
That was what I used to call her, Grandma Betty. I had two of them, but in my heart there is only one, so I just call her Grandma now. She's told me that I could call her Betty now that I'm a man, and especially when we're having our special moments, but I can't do it. I just like "Grandma" better.
After we got inside of her house, I told her to sit in her favorite chair while I put away her groceries, and then poured her a big glass of lemonade. Grandma smiled when she saw me return, and the drink seemed to be an elixir of sorts.
Maybe it helped when I took off her shoes and massaged her feet, which were hot and always bothered her after a long day at work. A few minutes of my rubbing seemed to do wonders, and as I worked my way up to her ankles Grandma smiled when I bent down and began sucking on her toes, nibbling on the hot little guys while I rubbed her ankles.
"That feels so nice," Grandma said. "I thought work today would never end. Your old Grandma ain't what she used to be."
"You aren't old. You're beautiful," I told her while I let my hand slide up the loose slacks to her calf. "I feel a little fuzz here. Want me to shave your legs again, Grandma?"
"I think I'm okay for now, Robbie, but thanks."
Shaving her legs and underarms was something I offered to do as kind of a joke one time, and Grandma said that she only said okay because she knew I wouldn't do it. That taught her never to doubt my willingness to do anything for her, and besides, it turned us both on, especially when I did her armpits.
She didn't have much hair growing there anymore, but she said that in her hippie days back in the 60's she used to let the hair under her arms grow. She showed me a picture of her and Grandpa that proved it. She was wearing a Grateful Dead tie-dyed tank top, and she wasn't kidding when she said that back in the day she had more hair under her arms than I do, and that's a lot.
Anyway, after turning down my offer of a shave, and figuring she was really tired, I told her that I would be taking off. When I said that, she seemed shocked and asked me if something was wrong.
"No there isn't, Grandma," I said. "It's just that you seem worn out."
"I'm getting my energy back, and the higher your hands keep moving the better I feel."
I was massaging her slender yet shapely calves now, and Grandma was sighing as I kneaded them, squirming in her chair.
"That's my boy. You know Wanda, the woman that works the desk?" Grandma asked me, and I nodded. "She told me that you were so cute, and that she thought you were a precious little fellow. You know what I wanted to tell her?"
"No Gram."
"I wanted to tell her that although you may seem like a cute little guy, that precious boy's got a big beautiful cock - and I'll bet it's hard too, isn't it Robbie?"
I blushed, like I always do when she talks about how big my cock is, but she knows I love to hear her say it. I guess it's not all that big, but 7" inches or so looks impressive on a twerp like me, and Grandma knows me well. After a few minutes of being around her and touching her, I was every bit as hard as she had figured.
