At the age of 82 I thought my days of having sex were well behind me...until I stayed with my daughter and her family last Christmas.
My name's Ruth, and to be honest I look exactly like a storybook granny, with neatly permed white hair, twinkling eyes behind wire-framed glasses, a round face with rosy pink cheeks and, if I say so myself, a warm smile with nice white teeth – all my own. I'm five-feet-three-tall, not fat but with a substantial bosom. Let's face it, if you were marketing a product called Granny's Apple Pie, you'd probably use me to advertise it!
I live alone in a sheltered cottage in a small town in Surrey, south of London. I've been alone since my husband died when I was 68, and since then I'd never so much as kissed a man. You never really lose your interest in sex – at least I didn't – but at that age you tend to put it out of your mind, sort of just assuming that nobody's going to be interested in doing it with you. I must admit that in my youth, before I met my old man, I'd been quite a little goer, often on my knees in front of eager blokes in the cycle factory where I worked, or leaning over a bench getting rogered; I never thought of myself as a whore, but money was short in those days and a few extra bob always came in handy. But I'd always been a faithful wife, and all that felt a very long time ago (which of course it was).
Anyway, as I said, last Christmas my daughter Susan invited me to spend the time with her family. They live over 100 miles from me so I don't get to see them that often. Apart from Sue there's her husband Darren plus their son Luke and their daughter Christina. Neither of the children live at home now, but they were visiting too. Add to that Tina's husband Pete and their two little ones and it was quite a tight squeeze in Susan's 4-bedroom home; in fact Luke ended up on the lounge sofa, poor love.
I've always got on well with Luke but Tina and I have never been that close – even as a little kid she always seemed to walk around with an expression as if there was a bad smell under her nose. With that and one thing and another I had never really actually met Pete, unless you count a brief handshake at their wedding. He works as a car mechanic and I thought he seemed a nice enough lad. Not that good looking though: 30 years old, just under six feet tall and slim, with shoulder length brown hair, a hawkish nose, sunken cheeks and a ridiculous Zapata moustache framing a goofy smile. I didn't really think much about him for the first couple of days I was there, but I gradually started to realise that he was thinking about me. I thought at first I must be imagining it, but I began to notice that he always seemed to be near me, and he kept staring at me when he thought I wasn't looking. It wasn't simply the fact that he was looking: it was the way he was looking. I hadn't been looked at like that in decades and, ridiculous though it seemed, it was almost as if he fancied me!
Of course, I laughed and told myself to stop being a silly old bag, having ludicrous fantasies about my grandson-in-law. Yet however much I told myself that I couldn't shake the feeling. One evening I decided to put it to the test. We happened to be sitting opposite each other in the lounge, all the family chattering and watching TV around us, and I was wearing a skirt that ended just above my knees (I've always had shapely legs). Very casually I wriggled around in the chair, making my skirt ride halfway up my thighs, and eased my legs apart. Sure enough, within a minute Pete noticed and did a double-take, his eyes locked on my legs. Over the next few minutes he gradually sunk lower in his chair, until he had a view straight up my skirt to my bare thighs above my stocking tops. Still not quite believing what I was seeing, I widened my knees a little more. Pete glanced up to see if I'd noticed his voyeurism – naturally I was looking the other way – then locked his gaze onto my white knickers. I even saw him pass the palm of his hand across the lap of his jeans, which to my expert eye appeared to be expanding! He was so intent on my peepshow that I was amazed nobody else seemed to have noticed. It ended when Tina, clearly bored in the house, called to Pete "Do you fancy walking down to the pub babe?" He leaped up looking as guilty as a kid who'd been caught with his hand in the biscuit tin and scuttled after her.
The next day Pete seemed even more interested in me. At breakfast and lunch he made sure he sat right next to me, placed his hand on mine a couple of times as he laughed at weak jokes I made, and at other times rarely seemed to take his eyes off me. If I'd been forty years younger I'm sure Tina would have noticed, but as it was I was just her boring old gran, and if she saw anything she must have just thought her hubby was being nice to me to keep in with the family. At one point, when I was on the phone to my other daughter in Canada, Pete actually squeezed past me in the hallway, 'accidentally' rubbing his groin up against my backside!
I decided I wanted to get to the bottom of what was going on, so in the afternoon I announced that I was going into the back garden for a breath of air, and just for a moment I locked eyes with Pete. Susan fussed over helping me into my coat, so I wouldn't catch pneumonia or something, then I made my way out. I didn't imagine for one moment that anything would happen if Pete followed me, except that I would satisfy my growing curiosity as to why a young man married to an attractive young woman would take such an interest in her grandmother. I thought at first that Pete hadn't caught my hint, but after a minute or so he appeared and pretended to take a great interest in a barren apple tree. I glanced in his direction then entered the wooden tool shed at the bottom of the garden. It took about three minutes then Pete walked in and said "Oh, hello", pretending very badly to be surprised I was there.
I decided to take the bull by the horns, and the moment he had closed the door behind us I asked, "Okay, so what's going on here? Why are you coming on like you want to fuck me?"
