After my night and morning with Grandma, I'm so freaked out that I decide not to deal with it. The sex was hot, super hot, but all these ugly thoughts about what it means or might mean make me grimace.
That afternoon, I grab a quick shower, cook up a meal, and head off to work. Eight hours later, as the sun rises on another day, I arrive at my apartment and flop into bed. I fall asleep instantly. When I wake in the early afternoon and check my phone on the way to the kitchen Grandma has left a text.
Need to see you, baby. Tomorrow?
She must have texted me while I was sleeping. I ignore it and make some breakfast. Later I hit the gym for a grueling workout. When I return from work on the docks the next morning, there's another text.
I need you. Please.
I gulp and put my hand on my stomach. I have to resist. There's no way I can handle this. I throw the phone on the coffee table in the living room and stumble into bed.
Another text greets me when I wake.
Answer me. Please, baby. Please.
Two hours later: Don't. Please. I love you.
I press the phone's power button and it cycles off. Lunch, gym, errands, and I'm back on the docks under the sodium lamps with my buddies from Orange Freight. There are no more texts in the morning. I'm staring to feel normal as I head home, strip down to my boxers, and climb into bed.
The doorbell wakes me. The clock next to the bed tells me it's a little past noon. I've been asleep for a little more than four hours. The doorbell keeps chiming. I rub my eyes and roll out of bed. My brain starts buzzing as I realize who my visitor must be.
I open the door and grandma is standing on my welcome mat. She's wearing a short, tight black skirt, an ivory-colored silk blouse, and heels. A thin black sweater is buttoned over her swelling blouse and a long string of pearls loops down across her generous bust. She smiles at me and runs her eyes up and down my body.
"Can we talk?" She asks as she approaches the door.
"Sure," I mumble and shut the door behind her.
She stands in the middle of the living room and does a slow 360.
"It's small," she says to me, smiling. "But tidy."
I nod and head to the fridge to grab some orange juice. I'm only wearing my boxers and a tank. Grandma perches on a stool at the kitchen counter, her heels planted on the floor and her sexy calves flexed to keep her upright.
"Baby," she says in a low, sweet voice. "I know we need to talk."
I pour my juice and turn to her, trying to hide behind the tall glass.
"We were drunk," she continues, running her fingers along her pearls. "We were really drunk. But, we do love each other." She pauses and knits her hands together. "Two people couldn't make love like that if they didn't care for each other."
I almost choke on the juice when she says "make love." I put the glass on the counter and run my hand through my hair.
"Grandma," I say, glancing quickly at her big, brown eyes. "It just makes me feel weird. What we did."
She answers me with silence and studies her hands.
"Honey," she says finally, her eyes still on her hands. "I know how it feels. I do. I understand. But, we're both adults. And." She pauses and looks up at me. "We both have needs. We can't help that."
I pop my head back and grimace. Grandma stands and walks around the counter. She moves close to me and rests her long elegant fingers on my shoulder.
"I had to get you drunk, darling. You never would have gone to that motel with me if I hadn't gotten you drunk. Very drunk."
I whip my head back down to look at her. "You planned it? You wanted me to get drunk."
She sighs. "I don't know if I planned it. I was there at Rizzoli's. You were there. You looked so good. I've been so unhappy."
"Oh, Jesus," I blurt, feeling the juice crawl up the back of my throat. "Oh shit. That's even worse. Even sicker."
She squeezes my shoulder. "Please, baby. Don't say that. There was nothing sick about what we did."
I glare at her. "We're family, I say. You're my grandmother."
She casts her eyes down, her hand still squeezing my bare shoulder.
"I love you," she says. "I want you."
"Noooooo," I reply, pulling myself away from her. "It's wrong. I can't do it. It's making me feel like shit." I turn to her, crossing my arms across my chest. "It wasn't right."
Grandma puts her hands on her hips and stares at me. Her face is hard, her jaw set and her eyes cold. Her mouth tightens like she's about to say something but she stops herself. She takes a deep breath and her body relaxes. She smiles and the smile grows warmer as she gazes at me.
"Okay," she says softly. "I understand. I don't want you to feel that way. I want to be a good grandmother."
She drops her arms to her sides, takes a deep breath, and squares her shoulders.
"Can I use your restroom?" She asks.
Relieved, I point down the hall. "Right at the end," I say and she maneuvers around me, careful to avoid contact.
I finish my juice. Things are back to normal. I feel the pressure and the anxiety lifting off my shoulders. Now that we've made things clear, maybe we can start over. As regular people, regular family. Dodged a bullet, I think to myself. Dodged a fucking nuclear missile.
I place my empty glass in the sink and open a cabinet to grab a bowl and some cereal. The bathroom door down the hall clicks open and I hear Grandma's heels on the hallway linoleum. Her footsteps stop and I pour cereal into a bowl. Just as I'm reaching to open the fridge, I hear a quiet cough from the hallway. I look up and my brain flips upside down.
Grandma is standing in the hall, her hips leaning against the arch of the entryway between the living room and kitchen. She's wearing a gleaming black corset that squeezes her waist and exaggerates her broad hips. The black sheath pushes her enormous breasts up into two, impossible mountains of flesh. She's wearing her heels but her legs are bare and her thick, meaty thighs taper at her knees into a pair of long, slender calves. The string of pearls, glowing dully in the weak sunlight, falls across her upper chest and loops down through her cleavage.
She looks at me and a smile crawls across her lips. I can't speak. My boxers, however, speak for themselves. My cock is raising a tent pole. She tilts her chin downward and observes my erection for a moment. Then, she looks me in the eyes and licks her lips. I'm frozen. I can't move. I have to remember to breathe.
Grandma says nothing. Instead, she turns slowly and walks back down the hall. My eyes attach themselves to the dimpled, naked skin of her big ass is it rolls up and down in rhythm to her swaying hips. Her long, silver hair sways across the black satin of the corset. I hear my bedroom door click open.
I take a deep breath and wait. My cock is now fully erect. I'm angry, but my body hums with lust. I shut the cabinet door and pad down the hallway to my bedroom. The door is wide open and Grandma sits on the edge of the big bed. Her legs are spread wide and her hands rest next to her hips on the bed. She looks up at me with those big, luminous eyes.
I pause in the doorway.
"Love me," she whispers in a choked voice. With her eyes still glued to mine, she strokes her hand up and down her thigh. "Please, baby. I just want to love you."
Like a zombie, I stumble into the bedroom and she smiles triumphantly. She raises her arms and I stagger between her knees.
"That's it baby," she coos. "Let me love you."
I gaze down at the tops of her enormous tits and the string of pearls that disappears into the canyon between them. Her fingers slip beneath the waistband of my boxers and she yanks them down to my knees. She rubs her hands up and down my thighs.
"You're so lovely," she whispers. "Such a beautiful young man."
She circles her hands around the base of my cock and rolls her eyes up to meet mine.
Staring up at me, she murmurs, "That's it baby. Come to grandma."
She gazes at my cock and slides her tongue across its big mushroom head like she's licking an ice cream cone.
A lascivious grin spreads across her lips. "Delicious," she hums, sliding her eyes back up to mine. "I just want to be a good grandmother," she mutters before puckering her lips and slowly feeding my hard cock into her juicy, warm mouth.
I groan and she swirls her tongue against my dick as she squeezes the base of my shaft. My hips flex involuntarily and, with a little grunt of satisfaction, she starts bobbing her mouth up and down. I lower my hands to the top of her head and grab two fistfuls of thick, platinum hair, tugging her ravenous mouth tight against my pulsating dick.
I lean back, close my eyes, and stop thinking. Everything boils down now to the warm meeting place between my cock and her mouth. Her spreads her hands across my ass and squeezes.
My balls twitch and I feel it starting deep inside my groin. Grandma does too. She digs her long fingernails in my ass cheeks, pushing her mouth hard against my cock. I bend at the waist, my fingers clutching her hair, as a wave of searing pleasure jolts across my groin and flows through my cock. I groan and Grandma gurgles deep down in her throat. I'm pumping my seed into her mouth, my cock twitching and jerking, until, finally, I'm drained.
I sigh and Grandma pats my ass and pops her mouth off cock. A long strand of saliva and cum connects the tip of my cock to her lips. She raises her fingers to her mouth and swallows. Her eyes meet mine and she grins. I smile back at her.
"Well," she says, reaching up to push the cups of her corset down over her tits. Her breasts slide down across the stiff, shiny fabric. "I guess." She leans back and raises her legs. Below a trimmed thatch of silver hair, her pussy glistens. "I guess," she repeats, leering up at me. "I guess it's your turn."
I nod and scoot between her legs, pushing her legs wide apart and licking my way along the soft flesh of her inner thighs from her knees to her sweet cunt. My tongue makes contact with her pussy and she squirms.
Two hours later, after a long, hard fuck and another slow cocksucking session, we lie next to each other on the bed. We're both sweaty and exhausted. Grandma's corset hangs off a corner of the headboard. Her hair is a mess and she's wearing one high heel. Our backs are propped up on pillows.
I turn to her. "You know what I like to do after something like this?"
She raises her eyebrows and I open the drawer on my nightstand and extract a small round, metal box. I pry it open and pinch a half-smoked roach between my fingers.
"Care to indulge?" I ask her playfully.
"Oh my," she answers. "I've never."
"I'm shocked," I reply mockingly. "Guess I'm going to pop your doper cherry."
She laughs and I dig into the drawer for a lighter. The tip of the roach glows red and I inhale deeply. I pass the joint to her and she holds it warily between her fingers.
"Go on," I say. "Take a hit. Just inhale. It's like a cigarette, except good for you."
