It was snowing far harder than predicted, a powerful storm dumping two inches an hour in a wind-blown fury. Charlie looked out the window, marveling at the strength and beauty of nature. His mind turned to his grandmother, an elderly but capable woman of 66, certainly able to fend for herself but in a storm like this, but probably needing the help of her 19-year-old grandson.
His mom had the same thought.
"Charlie," Cynthia said, looking over the shoulder of the short, slim boy into the storm. "Maybe you should get over to Granny Libby's and help her out, check on her. I just called, she's fine, but maybe shovel her walk to get a jump on things."
"Sure, Mom, I was thinking the same thing," Charlie said. "Heck, I have a four-wheel drive, shouldn't be a problem just yet."
He loved his Granny Libby, loved her with all his heart. He'd spent a lot of time with her growing up, marveling how, as she aged, she remained fit, strong, assured, even after her husband died. She was a devoted athletic buff, running, hitting the gym, all of it maintaining a tall, sinewy body that Charlie took note of as he hit puberty, ashamed of himself when they'd go to the beach and he found himself staring too hard at that magnificent body.
For some reason, as he drove in the blinding snow this night, images of those times flashed in his mind, his grandmother, then in her 50s, a stunning vision of beauty and fitness, her shoulder length blonde hair, her flashing blue eyes, her amazingly taut body.
"Jesus Christ, focus, focus," he finally grumbled to himself, gripping the wheel and willing down the thickening in his crotch.
He got there, pulled into the drive and opened up the garage, tucking his car alongside his grandmother's, then raced upstairs where Libby was huddled on a couch, a blanket around her.
"Charlie!" she said, surprised, standing to dart over to hug him. "You dear boy!"
She held him close to her and through her bulky sweatshirt he felt the soft warmth of her small bosom, another source of his pubescent fascination back in the day. She held his head to it, arms around the back of his head, and he inhaled the gentle scent of her perfume.
"Such a good grandson!" she cooed, resting her chin atop his head, easily towering over the little lad, a good four inches taller then he at five-foot-nine.
"No problem, Grandma," he groaned, pressing himself into her almost involuntarily, feeling her strong thigh through her sweatpants dangerously close to his crotch, where his ever-ready dick was threatening to betray and humiliate him. "Uh, I'm gonna shovel you out now, just get ahead of things so it'll be easier when the storm's over."
He worked long and hard shoveling the driveway, then both walkways, actually working up a sweat in the bone-chilling cold, while inside, his grandmother happily whipped up some cookies and hot chocolate for her hard-working grandson. Whom, she thought to herself, was turning into one very handsome young man.
She stopped her cooking as a thought raced into her mind, the thought that the skinny little boy had developed into a rather muscular little specimen, owing no doubt to his proficiency in sports. The muscles she'd felt while they were hugging, an embrace that warmed her in disturbing ways. She's always preferred smaller men, her late husband was inches shorter than she as well.
"Libby, get a grip," she mumbled to herself, shaking the thoughts away before they could take hold firmly. "He's your grandson, for heaven's sake."
Charlie finally came back inside, shedding his bulky coat and boats that Libby eagerly took from him to shake off and hang on the hallway coat rack while the boy went inside, delighted to see the spread she'd laid out for him.
"Grandma, you didn't have to," he laughed, munching cookies and swilling hot chocolate, happy for their warmth and that of his beaming grandmother who watched and laughed with him.
They sat in the living room, talking long into the night, minutes spilling into hours. Charlie finally got up and looked outside. The storm showed no signs of abating.
"God, it's ugly out there," he said, his grandmother coming up behind him, putting her hands on his shoulders, making him jump. "I maybe...maybe I should get home."
"Probably, before it's too bad, though you're welcome to spend the night here," Libby said, kissing the back of his head tenderly. "You won't have classes tomorrow, that's obvious. Does your mother need you at home?"
"No, Dad's home, the other kids are, she should be OK," Charlie said, not wanting to leave, questioning whether he should
Just then, the answer came. The lights flickered off, then on, then off. And stayed that way. Charlie and Libby raced from window to window, to confirm what they knew was probably coming. Power was off up and down the street, likely all over town and beyond.
"Oh my," Libby said, instinctively wrapping her sweater tighter around her slim torso.
"Jeez, that's not good," Charlie said.
Libby lit some candles and they sat at the granite kitchen island, chatting more, trying not to notice the mounting cold. Libby lit her gas stove, opening the door and warming the area only slightly.
"That's dangerous, we probably shouldn't leave that on," Charlie said.
