Tyler Grant had led a very interesting life, packing a lot of different experiences into his nearly 20 years, but one thing had never changed. He loved his grandmother.
While most people could make that same claim themselves, the way Tyler loved his grandmother was a bit out of the ordinary.
***
An introduction to the woman I love.
It's been a exhausting couple of days for me, what with driving the nearly 800 miles from school to back home, and then the emotional reunion that came with my return here.
The lovemaking? That took a lot out of me as well, but it was fantastic, as it always was. It was the reason that I had driven all that way as fast as I could, to get back in the arms of the woman I love.
She's sleeping now, and I should be back in bed with her as well, cuddling and spooning up against her, but I'm too tired to sleep. I'm sure you've know the feeling as well, so I decided to write a little.
The subject is the woman I love and it's about our long, and what most would call our out-of-the-ordinary relationship. The love of my life is older than I am - 40 years older to be exact - but that's not the part that most would consider strange.
The unusual part is the fact that the woman of my dreams, 60 year old Alexis Parsons, is my Grandma, and this is the story of how we came to be.
***
Chapter One: How it started.
I was the first, and hopefully only child of my mother, Cindy Grant. My mother got knocked up with me when she was 15, impregnated by the man she loved who was twice her age. Fell in love very young and very dumb, as my Grandma would often say, to a man who loved dope. He passed that love onto her, and from what I've been able to learn, they proceeded to do their best to try and kill themselves.
Thankfully, my grandmother stepped in and offered to take me off of my parents hands when I was about 4. They jumped at the chance to get rid of their little nuisance, packing me, along with my clothes and teddy bear, to Grandma's house.
I seem to remember my mother telling me that she would be seeing me soon, as soon as she and my father could get their act together. It's been over 15 years and counting, so I'm not holding my breath. It's not like they couldn't find me if they wanted, because I've been right where they left me.
Are they alive? Who knows. I neither know nor care. I barely remember my mother and wouldn't know my father if I fell over him. Thanks for having me and more thanks for not keeping me.
That's the end of the sad part of my life, because everything since then has been fantastic. Since being dropped off at Grandma's in this quaint town of Little Falls, New York, I've been deliriously happy.
Little Falls had been Grandma's home all of her life, and the single family house just outside what the locals call "downtown" had been where my Grandma had called home since she bought it with my grandfather back in the 80's. It's nothing fancy, but it's clean and neat and just as nice as the other modest homes in the area.
My grandfather? Never met him, and I suspect I never will. Him and Grandma broke up well before I was born. I don't know but about the story, but from what I can gather, their marriage was no closer to being Ward and June Cleaver's than my own folks had been.
"Wife-beating, whore-chasing, lying no-good bastard," was how my Grandma referred to him after a couple of drinks, in one of those rare moments when she spoke of him.
There's no pictures of them together, or him either. There was one in the shed out back, that had been held to the wall by a little axe, but that rotted away over the years. Suffice to say that I don't expect my grandfather to stop by any sooner than my folks will.
In all the years that I lived with Grandma, she never had a man visit her, or date her. She had a lot of women friends over the years though, and when they visited Grandma would get real happy. Many times long after I had gone to bed, I would wake up to go pee and hear Grandma giggling with a friend in her room.
Grandma not ever having any boyfriends struck me as odd as I got older, and I mentioned to her one time that if she ever wanted to go out on a date or anything, I was old enough to not need a babysitter.
"No thanks, Tyler," Grandma said. "Only gonna be one man around this house, and that's you."
While I wanted my Grandma to be happy, I have to admit that if I had ever seen her with a man, I probably would have been mad, or jealous. You see, as I got into my teens and started dealing with the emotions and changes that come with growing up, I discovered one thing.
I loved my Grandma, and the love I had for her wasn't what you were supposed to feel for your grandmother, or at least that was what my friend Benny Schultz told me.
"No offense dude, but I think your grandmother is hot," he told me one afternoon after stopping at my house and walking to school with me. "She's better looking than most of the kid's mothers, and she's your GRANDMOTHER!"
"I know," I agreed.
"I would do her in a New York minute," Benny opined.
"Me too," I said, and that got a weird look from Benny.
"Oh man, that's gross!" Benny said derisively. "She's your grandmother."
"So? I still think she's hot," I confessed.
"You ever see her naked?" Benny asked.
"Nah!" I said. "Just little peeks now and then."
"Too bad," Benny told me. "It don't make any difference anyway, on account of she's a lezzie."
That stopped me dead in my tracks, and if Benny wasn't my closest friend I would have kicked his ass instantly, but I gave him the benefit of the doubt and made him explain himself.
He thought I knew. I could I not know? It was probably the worst kept secret in town, apparently, yet I was so close to the tree I couldn't see the forest. Alexis Parsons was a lesbian.
Why hadn't anybody said anything? I guess it helped that I was pretty popular in school, and I suppose that it was common knowledge that you could say whatever you wanted to me about the Yankees, and put down U2 to your heart's content, but the one thing that you never did was say anything remotely unkind about Grandma.
A couple of kids had, years ago, and they learned that while I didn't play the tough guy and avoided fights like the plague, I was not somebody to be trifled with. I don't even remember what those victims had even said at the time - certainly nothing like what Benny had laid on me - but after that I never heard a discouraging word.
***
Chapter Two: My Grandma is a lesbian.
It all made sense, and after I thought about it I felt like an idiot. It wasn't like that Grandma ever did anything in front of me to raise any red flags, and I later learned that she made it clear to her lovers that there would be no shows of affection in front of me.
That explained the giggling in the bedroom, and after Benny made me see the light, I found myself even more attracted to my Grandma. It was obvious why someone would find her attractive, and although I admit to being prejudiced, the fact remains that Grandma Alex (my pet name for her) was and is an attractive woman.
Back then when she was in her fifties her hair was light brown and her figure was very shapely. Her breasts were just perfectly proportioned with the rest of her body, which was about 5'6" and 125 pounds. She wore a 34B bra, which I knew because of many times spent in the laundry room caressing the soft cups and dreaming about seeing what filled them so nicely.
The thought of her with another woman - now that was something that really got me excited. Like most guys, the idea of women together was erotic as hell, and imagining my grandmother being one of them drove me crazy.
I began to recall some of the women that had visited Grandma over the years. It wasn't like there were thousands of them, but I recalled at least a dozen. They had been a wide variety of ages, sizes and shapes, and while before they had been in my mind just Grandma Alex's lady friends, they were now something else.
***
Chapter Three: Grandma sees me.
To this day, Grandma Alex maintains that it was an accident that day when she came into the bathroom and saw me naked. She swears that when she heard the shower running, she remembered that there were no clean towels in the bathroom, so she hurried into the linen closet to get me some before I got out of the shower.
She was right about there being no towels in there, but I had noticed that and grabbed one before hopping in. Grandma was also right when she said that I usually took a long time in the shower, but I was in a hurry that day so I kept it down to about 10 minutes instead of 20.
Anyway, the door flew open just as I flung the shower curtain to the side, and there we were, me naked and dripping wet and my grandmother standing there with her arms full of towels.
"OH!" Grandma said, looking first startled and then looking down at my crotch.
"My word Tyler," Grandma said as she set the towels down, still staring at my groin all the while. "You're hung like a horse."
By the time I covered myself up, Grandma was gone, leaving me feeling strange. Hung like a horse? Me?
In truth, if I had been trying to impress Grandma, she couldn't have come in at a better time. I had just finished masturbating before turning the water off, my fist pumping as I thought of - who else? - my grandmother and the lady that had just started visiting her.
So with my cock still semi-turgid, the curtain opened and there I was, looking like a horse, according to Grandma. I was no horse, but I have to admit was a little bit blessed in the penis department.
According to the official measurements that my friend Benny and I had taken when a dispute over who was bigger had risen, I was the winner, Benny's five and a half inch boner losing out to my almost seven inch erection, although Benny was the unquestioned winner in the girth category.
Still and all, even though I was no John Holmes, hearing my Grandma sound so impressed did excite me, and provided the fodder for countless more masturbatory fantasies to come.
***
Chapter Three: Maggie.
The woman that I had been thinking about that day in the shower, Maggie, had become a semi-regular around the house that spring. She was younger than my Grandma, probably in her 30's, and the woman had the most unusual body I had ever seen.
Maggie was about 5'10" and had curly dark brown hair. She wasn't really pretty, and had a face that always seemed sad or angry, but I don't think many people looked at her face anyway.
She worked as a bartender downtown, and always wore these tight black slacks that showed off her skinny legs and almost non-existent butt. The tops Maggie wore were either black or white, and were as snug as her slacks were, and the reason was obvious.
Maggie had the biggest breasts in the history of tits. They were like watermelons rolling around her chest, and it wasn't like she was flaunting them or anything, because the blouses were always turtlenecks and had sleeves too.
