The story of a young man who looks back almost 40 years later at the woman who was the first love of his life, and in many ways the only one. Their relationship had been a conventional until just before the night described in the story, but the night of the storm changed all of that completely and forever.
..........
"Grandma?" I whispered in the direction of the bed, unsure whether my grandmother would be huddled under the covers or in the closet, which I understood to be her refuge when she was home alone during storms.
"Here Michael."
.......
The voice came from the bed, and when the faint glow of lightning came I saw the shape of the little woman. When the thunder followed a few seconds later I heard her gasp from beneath the sheets. Judging by the time that lapsed between the two events, the storm was still a little distance away, but it was supposed to be a bad one.
Grandma hated storms. Hated thunder and lightning with a passion, and her reactions to the meteorological events would have been comical if she wasn't so serious about it. Seeing this woman, who would pick up snakes in the garden without blinking, go to pieces over the sound of rolling thunder in the distance was strange, but was one of the reasons that I loved her so.
I spent a lot of time at my Grandma's house over the space of my 18 years, and for many reasons. One reason was that after Grandpa left her, she had nobody and I felt bad for her. Another reason was that my mother and father spent most of their time with each other fighting.
They would later tell me that they only stayed together for as long as they did for my sake, but if I had known that I would have told them not to bother, because being around the two of them was not very pleasant at all. Since Grandma lived fairly close, choosing to be there was a no-brainer.
That explained why I spent my childhood hanging around Grandma, but why would a boy who had just become a man, at least chronologically, spent almost every weekend with the grandmother? I had a driver's license and a car, so it wasn't like I had no other options.
The reason was simple in my mind. I loved my grandmother, and by that I don't mean the way we love most of our family. I had two grandmothers, but the way I felt toward the two of them couldn't have been more different. My Grandma Effie made really good toll house cookies and would shudder whenever she heard a swear word, even hell or damn. I got a kick out of her, but it wasn't like it was with Grandma Meg.
I got horny when I was around her, and being somewhat of a chronic self-abuser back then, I admit that most of the time I came while thinking about my grandmother.
The beginning...
It all started that time when I first saw my Grandma naked. It wasn't an accidental occurrence either. I had planned it out well in advance, fixing the blinds so that I would have a great view of her from outside when she went back to her bedroom after taking her evening shower, which was her ritual before turning in.
Over the years I had gotten many little glimpses of Grandma, but had never seen all of her. Since I started noticing girls, I had noticed the way that age had changed her, but the differences only enhanced her beauty in my eyes.
Grandma was always a tiny woman, and I suspect that by that summer of 1973 she wasn't even carrying 100 pounds on her barely five foot frame. When I first started noticing Grandma as something more than my mother's mother a few years earlier, I was about her height, but then I towered over her by over a foot, and was probably twice her weight.
Grandma was so slender that I was able to circle her bicep with my thumb and index finger, and I would do so often. She would get a kick out of it when I would tell her to make a muscle to force my fingers apart, while my heart raced from being able to touch her skin like that.
I figured that Grandma's breasts were small, having looked at her bras in the clothes hamper and examining the lacy cups of her harnesses, which were so old that the size tags were faded into oblivion, but since she had a very boyish build even in her sixties, I figured they would look perfect on her.
So with that in mind I had plotted to see my grandmother naked. I had arranged the blinds just so, and before she took her shower I claimed to be sleepy and turned in early. After hearing the shower go on, I tiptoed out of my room and went outside, positioning myself so I could see perfectly from my vantage point.
The wait that first night was sweet agony, shifting my weight from foot to foot while wondering what she was doing in the bathroom. I pictured her washing her hair, which had become silver grey by then after evolving from the original light brown, not having any idea that her favorite grandson was thinking thoughts that would probably make her faint.
A dog started barking from down the road as I imagined her lathering her hands to scrub herself all over, and I hoped that the dog would shut up so that when Grandma got into the bedroom she didn't peek outside to see why the dog was barking.
Maybe Grandma was shaving her underarms now in the shower, I mused. I had noticed that she had little patches of peach fuzz under her arm earlier in the day when she had made her little muscle for me, so maybe she was running a razor through her armpits and maybe shaving her legs in there while I waited impatiently.
The dog stopped barking, and now the only sound was my heart beating. I felt a cool breeze down below, and when I glanced in that direction I saw that my cock had found its way out of the fly of my pajamas and was standing straight out.
My hand went down and stroked it a couple of times, feeling the blood pumping through my boner as I waited... and waited... and waited some more, until finally, the bedroom door opened and Grandma entered her bedroom, closing the door behind herself.
Grandma had a bathing cap over her scalp, which suggested that she didn't wash her hair that night, and was wearing her old pink robe. As Grandma puttered around the bedroom I wondered whether she would just go to bed like she was, or turn out the light first and then slide under the sheets. That wouldn't be fair, and why would she? She had no neighbors to see her, and her beloved grandson was supposedly fast asleep across the hall.
"Take off the robe, Grandma," I whispered to myself, while she kept fussing with things on her dresser.
What if she didn't look like I had always fantasized? That thought had crossed my mind before that moment, and while my grandmother was an adorable looking woman, maybe there were things underneath the clothes that weren't all that becoming.
I had caught a glimpse of my mother nearly naked once, and the slight of a nasty scar on her thick stomach hadn't been all that pretty to look at, but Grandma was different. So what if she wasn't how I imagined her to be? The woman was on Social Security, for crying-out-loud. My expectations were that she would look fine to me.
As it turned out, I was wrong. When that robe finally came off, and I saw her as naked as the day she was born, she was not fine. She was so much more beautiful than fine that I thought I was seeing things, and as my semen sprayed the siding of the house and my knees buckled, I took everything in.
Over the next three minutes I was able to see almost every pore of my Grandma's body, because she stayed naked as she did stretching exercises, exposing that petite frame to my eager eyes.
The first thing that caught my eyes were her breasts, and as I watched them sway away in front of her I was stunned at how large they were. Part of that was illusion since her waif-like body was so slight, but the way they hung down to her waist was a shock, and while they did sag and seemed very pliant, the bell-shaped tits looked great.
Grandma's nipples were large as well, long thick pegs that jutted out from wide pink aureoles that covered most of the ends of her breasts. What I could see of her stomach suggested that while there was a little softness, she was still pretty trim underneath those pendulous tits.
Another shock was seeing the large triangle of hair my grandmother had between her legs. Her bush looked thin, since I could see her pussy lips through the hair that seemed to still be brown, but the delta was wide and high. Since Grandma's arms were smooth and she had such a tiny patch of peach fuzz under her arms, my theory of being able to guess what was going under a woman's panties by checking out those other areas got disproved that night.
