After finishing my first year at University I was obliged to move out of campus accommodation and find digs in the nearby town. Since this meant sharing a house with three or four like-minded souls I was very enthusiastic and spent some time searching the local papers and estate agents' windows.
Accommodation there was in plenty; the problem was that the monthly rental for anything more than a dog kennel was beyond my meagre budget. My mother, who I might add in her defence was funding my higher education, reasonably argued that I could go and live with my grandmother, who lived in the countryside about five miles from the university campus, free of charge.
Needless to say I was not keen on this idea. It was hardly the wild time I had imagined; besides I hadn't seen the old girl for some years, in fact since weekend visits stopped being compulsory. Nevertheless reason prevailed and mum phoned her mother. Grandmother was apparently perfectly willing to put me up and the following Sunday we bundled into the old estate and drove over.
My grandmother owned a large and secluded nineteen twenties house on the outskirts of a charming and desirable village. Although she was only just into her sixties, she had been widowed for nearly ten years and had lived alone all that time. She answered the door with a big welcoming smile and invited us in.
My initial impression, as she walked in front of us towards the drawing room, was that my grandmother had a very good figure and not just for her age. Her waist was trim and her hips flared in a feminine way, leading the eye down to long, stocking clad and very shapely legs.
When she came back into the room with a tray of tea I could see that she was also attractive; she had a rather full face with high cheekbones surrounded by bobbed, dark hair. She also had dazzling green eyes and a full mouth, recently and expertly made up with bright red lipstick. She wore a floral summer dress and as she bent to pour my tea I glimpsed a well- defined cleavage and looked quickly away with embarrassment.
After tea my grandmother showed me around the house. I have to admit it was a great place and hugely better than I could have afforded to rent a room in. I had a large double bedroom with its own en-suite and the run of the house, which included a fabulous library cum office and, the piece de resistance, a small swimming pool in a sheltered and secluded garden.
Not only that, but my grandmother also announced her intention of cooking all my meals and generally attending to all my needs. My one reservation was that I would have to repay her generosity by spending time with her and in my mind she was an old lady and therefore boring.
I moved in in late September, a couple of weeks before term started. Within a few days I realised that my fears of boredom were groundless. Grandmother, or Sylvia as she asked me to call her, was fun, really good fun! She had a great sense of humour, she was interested in almost everything and she was a good listener. In fact I think I had the best of the bargain, she probably thought I was boring!
Sylvia wasn't averse to a drink or two and we spent many a happy evening playing music, chatting and drinking our way through a bottle of wine and sometimes two at weekends. A couple of times she took me out for a civilised meal. I made the effort and put a collar and tie on. She invariably looked great for sixty two, usually choosing a figure hugging dress, dark stockings and high heels.
She was careful with her make-up and choice of nail varnish and I had the strange experience on more than one occasion of being aware of other men in the restaurant ogling her.
Despite being a normal horny twenty-year-old who masturbated at least twice a day and sometimes more, I had no real awareness during this period of my grandmother's potent sexuality. It was not that she behaved in any way in an inappropriate manner, she was just sexy to look at; but I was unaware, at least until the incident with the marijuana.
I should add that I was an occasional cigarette smoker; Sylvia was aware of this and did not particularly disapprove, having smoked herself many years ago. In fact once or twice she shared a cigarette with me as we approached the end of the second bottle of Chablis. However, I had not discussed smoking dope with her for obvious reasons, although I had a ready supply from a contact in the University.
One late Saturday afternoon, when I thought Sylvia was out shopping, she came unexpectedly upon me outside the kitchen door smoking a large and obvious splif. There wasn't much point in trying to hide it so I just apologised and said something crappy about not knowing what came over me.
To my surprise she was unperturbed; in fact she was curious and asked me if I had any more. A few minutes later I was in the rather toe-curlingly embarrassing position of showing my grandmother how a joint was constructed. She said that she had tried it once or twice in her twenties (surprise!) and had enjoyed the result.
Further experimenting whilst her husband was alive was out of the question and since his death she had not been in a position to obtain any, even if she'd known how. Somewhat to my relief she opened a bottle of wine and we sipped a glass as I lit the newly rolled joint, inhaled and passed it to Sylvia.
Taking a drag, she inhaled deeply and let the smoke trickle out through her nose and mouth; she took another and passed the joint back to me. We smoked and drank in silence until the joint was finished.
"Roll another one John," she said, a little urgently.
I was glad to comply; this was just like being with the Uni crowd. We smoked that one and drank more wine. I felt wonderful; relaxed and mildly stoned. Sylvia looked the same.
"What did you think?" I asked.
"It makes me feel warm and happy, I love this feeling!"
We were both sitting on the floor in the drawing room by this time, with our backs against a large sofa. Sylvia's skirt had ridden up to the point where her stocking tops were just visible but she hadn't noticed, or didn't care. For the first time it came home to me that my grandmother was wearing stockings and suspenders and I felt a tiny wave of desire come over me, enough to stir my penis. I was further aroused when she said:
"shall we have another bottle and smoke some more?" I think I felt that if she were sufficiently drunk and stoned I could cop a look at her stocking tops a bit more, or even her knickers.
By the last half of the next bottle, and two more substantial joints, we were both off with the fairies, giggling and saying stupid things and giggling even more. Sylvia's skirt was by now almost up to her waist and I could see the bare flesh above her stocking tops. Vaguely hoping to start an inappropriate line of conversation, I motioned to her legs.
"Do you always wear stockings and suspenders, Sylvia?"
"Yes, they're really comfortable, they feel sexy and they don't make my fanny sweat." At this she burst out laughing. She gave me a comically arch look.
"Do you approve of your grandmother wearing stockings?"
"You've got great legs so why not?"
By this time I had got a full blown erection, which was straining at my trousers. I was rather insolently sitting with my legs stretched out and making no attempt to hide it. Sylvia poured the last of the wine. My erection was obvious and she looked at it as she passed me my glass.
"Well I can see you're a fan of old fashioned lingerie."
I didn't know quite how to handle this so I just grinned and sipped my drink.
"Thank you for the compliment. It's been a while since somebody said I have good legs."
"You're a really attractive lady," it was out before I really knew what I intended to say. Sylvia gave me a rather strange smile.
"And you're my grandson." She stood, leaned over me and kissed me on the lips, holding the kiss for just a fraction of a second longer than protocol may have demanded.
"And I'm stoned and drunk and I'm going to bed, I'll see you in the morning." She left the room and I sat and thought about the evening and her legs and the feel of her lips on mine.
The following day temperatures soared and I was by the swimming pool by eleven o'clock. I hadn't seen my grandmother that morning although I had heard her car leave at around eight o'clock. I was drifting into a somnolent trance, half listening to the garden sounds of bees and birdsong when I heard the patio doors open.
"I think I'll join you."
A few minutes later she appeared in a black one-piece and as she arranged a recliner next to mine I took the opportunity to examine her out of the corner of my eye. The bathing costume showed her figure off to perfection and she had obviously taken some care with her make-up that morning. On top of that she was wearing scarlet nail varnish, something that has always turned me on. The net result was a stirring in my swimming trunks that I had to roll over hurriedly to hide.
We spent what was left of the morning swimming and sunbathing and around two o'clock Sylvia asked me if I would like a glass of wine. The glass turned into two or three and by the late afternoon we were both a bit silly and giggly. Eventually my grandmother announced that she was too drunk to cook and was ordering a takeaway. She came back from the phone saying that the meal would be here in thirty minutes.
"Well, that just about gives you time to dress for dinner."
"Oh and what do you suggest? Stockings I suppose?"
"Well you do look pretty fantastic in them," I said, hoping like mad that she'd go along with it.
