It was eating at me, what I'd done with my grandson. But I couldn't stop doing it. I didn't want to. And neither did he.
Bradley, a dear boy of 19 and always helpful to his old granny, had come to my house one day to assist in putting away seasonal things in my attic. I'd felt for awhile he was fascinated with me, having what I guessed you could call a crush on me. I enjoyed it, secretly, seeing nothing but innocent fascination.
But I never thought it would come to this: Having sex with my grandson.
His increasing fascination was noticeable, particularly when I was dressed in somewhat revealing attire in warm weather. To be immodest, I couldn't say I blamed him. I'm 64, with silver hair but take care of myself and have pride in my body, tall, lean, even muscular.
Especially in the legs. Which is where it all started.
I'd asked him to change a light bulb in the kitchen for me, steadying him on a step ladder. Instantly, I felt his nervousness as he stood, my hands on his legs, then his hard young butt, as he struggled to change it.
I got him down and went up myself, feeling naughty in knowing that in my tiny running shorts, he'd have a clear view of my long, strong legs and butt beneath those shorts.
I was right. As he held me, his trembling hands on my thighs and cupping my ass, I could feel his undeniable sexual tension and knew he was hard, and worse, seemingly about to cum in his pants from the barely perceptible groans he made.
So I decided to put an end to it – but not before I staggered back from the ladder, perhaps subconsciously willing it to happen, and ended up astride his shoulders, my lean legs clamped on his neck and ears.
We'd both stumbled around the kitchen and in my efforts to keep from falling, had accidentally – or not – spun around so my crotch was in his face, my thighs scissored securely around his head, and his dick seemingly about to explode.
And then it did. We fell to the floor, me astride his shocked face, shorts and panty pulled aside in the fall, and he shot his load the instant his handsome young face contacted my rather hairy pussy.
Awkward doesn't begin to describe that moment. Humiliating was more like it, more for poor Bradley than me. For a very long moment that seemed forever, we stared at one another, his face pressed between my thighs for longer than I should have allowed.
But I couldn't move. When I finally regained my composure and slid off him, I slipped back to sit on his crotch – which was soaked with cum, his pants front warm and sticky.
I apologized profusely, aghast I'd done this to him, made him ejaculate in his pants, yet secretly delighting in the fact I had. Forbidden fruit, after all, is the sweetest.
But I calmed down, took control, easing his fears, telling him what had happened was perfectly natural. Then I did something perfectly unnatural.
I seduced my grandson.
It felt so wrong yet so right all at once. Quite simply, I blew him and fucked him, wrenching three more orgasms from the virile young stud, promising him to do the same any time he had a date coming up and feared his biggest problem: Premature ejaculation. Poor boy would cum just kissing girls, he said, and my mind rationalized I was just helping him out.
And I did, over and over. He'd come back several more times, eager for his granny's special loving, even when he didn't have a date.
And all of it was eating at me like a raw nerve, it went beyond lust and satisfaction into depravity – which I could not stop.
I hadn't told a soul. Until the day my best gal pal, Tobey Wolfsen, a 61-year-old gym rat like me, stopped by for an early-afternoon cocktail. Tobey, a gorgeous tall blonde, is a true liberal spirit, and an old, trusted friend. If I could confide in anyone, it would be her; I had in the past, and she was always accepting, gracious, non-judgmental.
And as we sat around my swimming pool sipping wine, the need to confess threatened to overcome me.
I hid it, as best I could, but our conversation, as it often did, veered into the sexual. Both of us were single, long complaining to each other about the adequate stock of suitable men out there, often joking that we should perhaps set our sights on much younger partners.
Tobey, in fact, had dated men 30 years her junior, and often urged me to do the same. As she was doing now.
"You know, girlfriend, it wouldn't hurt you to put your toe in younger waters," she laughed, swirling her wine glass and sipping. "Nothing like a younger man, I tell ya..."
"Yes, so I've heard," I said, apparently somewhat wistfully, something Tobey picked up on because Tobey always could read me like a book even when I didn't think it was open.
She looked at me, head cocked, her long, pretty face slowly breaking into a smile.
"Lannie Markum, you're getting some, aren't you?" she laughed.
My face dropped. I shook my head.
"No, no I'm not, whatever are you talking about?" I said, feeling myself blush. "God, Tobey, sex is all you think about, I swear!"
She leaned forward over the glass table we sat at, putting her hand on mine. She felt it tremble, and her smile widened.
"Thought so," she grinned. "Now don't bullshit me: Who's the lucky young stud and how good is he? From your reaction, I'd say pretty damned good!"
"Tobey, honestly...it's nothing...I mean, no one...really," I said quite nervously.
She leaned forward, her face, smiling, inches from mine. I thought she was about to kiss me. Which truth be told, I would not have minded. I'd had encounters with females many, many years ago, and so had Tobey. We just never acted on it with each other, both thinking what's past was past, we'd gotten mature, married, had children, grandchildren.
We never talked about the possibility of us getting together, but now, along with my incestuous relationship with my grandson, it was the secondary elephant in the room.
And as her face, so beautiful, almost equine with its sharp, exquisitely handsome features, got closer, I wanted more than anything for her to kiss me.
"Don't lie, girlfriend," she hissed, eyes on mine. "Tell me...."
"Well...." I said softly. "It's like this..."
And I told her. Just like that. In slow, lurid detail, looking into her brown eyes, captivated by them, drawn into the telling, feeling relieved, alive, ashamed. Slowly, very slowly, she sat back, stunned, mouth agape, eyes wide. She was scarcely breathing and finally let out a long exhalation.
"Holy....shit..." she said when the tale was told, and I sat back on the lounger by the pool, Tobey leaning on the other arm. "Wow...Bradley, huh?"
"Yes, Bradley, I'm so ashamed!" I suddenly blurted out, putting my glass down and leaning into my hands, sobbing.
"Honey, honey, it's ok, it's ok!" Tobey cried, shuffling over to put her arms around me, hugging me close and comforting me. "It's love, right? You love him, he loves you, it's ok, really!"
"You...you think?" I said between sobs, turning to face her, her fingers coming up to wipe the tears from my eyes.
"Of course, honey, of course," she said soothingly, hugging me tightly.
"Have you...I mean, with..."
"My grandsons? No, no, but that's not to say I haven't thought about it, lord they are good-looking young studs, that's for sure," she laughed. "Maybe I should have them both come by and change my light bulbs for me!"
We roared with laughter, easily and freely. Tobey was so good like that, able to defuse any tense situation, as old friends tend to.
"You know, Lannie...I gotta say, that's pretty hot, you...you blowing, fucking Bradley," she said softly.
