It had been about 10 years since I'd last visited my grandmother. It was a strange feeling, seeing the woman I'd grown up adoring for what would seem to be the first time, yet so familiar. On the train from college in suburban Philly to a small town in Vermont, the sights, sounds and smells of grandma baking bread, singing music she grew up with from the 70s ringing in my mind, her letting me licks the spoon after she finished preparing her famous honey nut cookies (everyone in the small town of Rutland loved them). I wondered if she still spent hours in the kitchen baking for folks in the local firehouse and the church suppers. I mulled over how much I loved how nice grandma smelled when we walked downtown.
Grandma was the most beautiful woman I'd ever known. She spent an hour or more every day in the workout room she'd created with grandpa, who had long ago decided to chase some hot tail in warmer climes of Alabama. I recalled that his now ex-wife was upset for about a week, then spent the next weeks reinventing herself from a doting, adoring wife to a steamy woman who could be a pinup model from the 1940s. She'd gotten a decent settlement from the divorce, so she didn't have to work, though she did a little light bookkeeping at a motel in nearby Burlington and working the greeting desk at Wilson Castle. As I understood it she'd become a large personality; big enough and with enough energy to light all 7 plus square miles of the town. Grandma attended every square dance on Friday nights, was quite attractive in her cowgirl hats and fringed skirt that made the young cowboys (and a number of the female dancers, as well) hang out their tongues, all of them wanting to take her home, no matter their age. But mima, as I always called her, was way too classy to hang around with youngsters that were, as she put it "young, dumb and full of cum." She knew she was teasing them, but figured she was doing a public service by helping the young cowpokes find girlfriends of their own age. Grandma posited that some of those girls would be asking that age-old question "is that a gun, or at you just happy to see me."
In the train's sleeper car that must have been 60 years old, I sat up all the way because there was too much rocking to get any rest. My tailbone was hurting by time the train pulled into the station in Vermont. Mima was there to greet me and hugged me tight when she saw me, on her face was the same smile I'd seen a decade before. But that was pretty much the only real similarity.
"Oh my, let me look at you Cassidy. You're as pretty as your mother when she was your age. She would be so proud to see you now," grandma said. I teared up that my mom wouldn't be here to greet us, but a heart attack took her when I was a freshman in college. Mima was the only one left in my family since mom had died and dad had moved with my brother to Australia. I hadn't spoken to them since the funeral, which was fine since the only one I had really spoken to even before mom had passed was my grandma. I was never a great communicator, and Mima seemed to be the only one to understand it was never personal; I just didn't like talking on the phone, though she and I often spoke in half-hour, or longer, blocks of time.
I looked at the woman who had become my mother. There were no wrinkles to give away her age (she was only 64, since she'd had my mom fairly young), and makeup had little to do with it since she pretty much wore just a light foundation and some muted red lipstick. She had put on a little weight since last I'd seen her, but it was well distributed. And I could immediately tell my grandmother was proud of her figure.
"So, hon, what do you think? A little older, but I think I'm getting better," she said, twirling around slowly, making sure that she stood still long enough to highlight her flank. I marveled at her generous breasts with stiffened nipples poking against a clingy t-shirt. As she faced away, I noted her shapely ass with very little "secretary spread" and taut hips with no love handles, but wide enough for any man (or woman) to hold onto. I couldn't help but lick my lips. Grandmother or not. In my college years I'd had young men and even a few women, but none more gorgeous than my mother's mother. I only admitted to myself in moments of weakness, but I'd more than a time or two fantasized how my mom would be in bed. Now I wondered if I could avoid wanting to get my grandma into bed, or if I even wanted to. After all, there was only us now. Mima never mentioned having a companion of either sex, and I never felt it was my place to ask. I forced back the thought, but I silently hoped there was no one enjoying her. I knew it was selfish to hope that she could be attracted to me in that way since I still hadn't formulated my after-college plans, but if I was going to leave Vermont after I visited with grandma I was afraid she'd be lonely, and that longing would only be made worse if I let my fantasies fulfill themselves, or if I even mentioned them. But damn the long legs with heels that lifted her ass and contoured already shapely calves. I imagined having those muscular thighs wrapped around my head as I ate a pulsing pink pussy. I was shaken out of my stupor when Mima told me to hop into her Mazda Miata convertable. She took me the long way, over a winding road that sported lush farmland with rows of sweet corn nearly ready for harvesting on one side of the road, with groves of apple trees that would be ready for picking months after the corn. My grandma seemed lost in thought as the wind whipped her auburn hair with ample gray streaked throughout. What topped her head was the only giveaway of her age, as otherwise she looked to be in her 40s, if that. I imagined that her breasts would sag considerably once she removed her bra, but that was okay with me. Her twins were still desirable. I struggled with my prurient desires for my grandmother, but I opined that it was okay to look, as long as I didn't touch. I bit my lip and tried to enjoy the breeze blowing against my face without thinking about touching the forbidden fruit.
We finally pulled up in front of the house I remembered from my childhood. It had a few updates and a large addition but still had the red brick facade I always found so pretty. As if she read my mind, a skill Mima seemed to have with nearly everyone, she told me that she'd had it built a couple of years ago in case one of us kids visited. "I really never expected Marvin or Henry would come back to see me, but I had a feeling you would visit," she said, referring to my brother and dad. "So, I had a bedroom, an office and a kitchenette put into the addition."
Her having done all that made me think I might put roots down in Vermont. I was kind of tired of suburban Philadelphia. Besides, the idea was plausible since I had an idea brewing for a coffee shop that would be paid for mostly by a generous life insurance policy mom had the foresight to take out, in combination with a small business loan for any amount left. There was no reason for me to go back to Ohio, even though the town of Collinwood, small though it was, was getting too crowded, too big-city wannabe. And everyone with whom I grew up there had either moved or gotten strung out on drugs, or died. Besides, as much as she loved winter, the lake-effect snow from Erie as getting to be too much before she left for college. Four years away wouldn't have changed that idea.
"Mind if I ask a personal question?" Mima asked, but plowed on without waiting for an answer. I didn't bother to answer that I, in fact, didn't mind at all. "Do you have a boyfriend or girlfriend in Pennsylvania, or anywhere else?"
"No Mima. I didn't want any ties," I answered somewhat wistfully. "Any particular reason you asked?"
"Oh no, no. I just can't imagine why some studmuffin would pass up a sweet young thing like you. That beautiful young...er, um, body of yours isn't getting' any younger."
"You mean my sweet young pussy?" I asked, grinning, expecting to get a rise out of her, even though granda was hardly a prude. But my attempt at sarcasm was met with an unexpected response.
"Well, that was the part of your body I was thinking of, but you have lots of goodies to enjoy," she said, smiling lasciviously and letting her gaze sweep the length of my body. Maybe it was my imagination, but I could swear Mima was drooling. There was no hiding that she was flirting. "Come on, let's get your bags so you can wash off the travel dust. I hope you like the way I made up your room. You can make any changes you need to. You don't have to keep to an old lady's taste in décor."
"Old lady? Who you talking about, Mima. I don't know a more youthful, more energetic woman. I'll bet you could run circles around me."
"That's nice of you say, honey, but it takes a lot more work than it used to to keep this frame from falling apart. It was easy when I was your age. But then we didn't really know how important exercise was. Only a few young studs and wannabes paid attention to Jack LaLanne. We pretty much ate what we wanted to. Your grandfather leaving me was the greatest gift he could have given to me," she said, letting her hand sweep down her body.
I wanted to ask her if she ever used it for anything other than to tease a few people, but I thought that would be none of my business. But once again the apparent clairvoyance crept into my grandmother's mind.
"I mostly exercise for myself, and to be ogled by men of all ages. It's very rewarding. But none of them are worth my time. I have my toys to keep me occupied."
