Visiting Grandma Vicy

Mom was devastated when Dad left, but I thought it was for the best. It had not come as any surprise to me that he'd been playing away, and I'm pretty sure Mom suspected he was cheating on her for some time. I knew he'd been seeing his office manager because I had seen them together on at least three occasions. When I saw them leaving a motel at four in the afternoon, I did not tell Mom; I knew she'd find out soon enough.

When Mom finally caught Dad red-handed, she told me, then hugged me so hard it took my breath away. With tears in her eyes, she asked me if I'd stay with Grandma for a while so she could sort things out.

"What do you mean 'sort things out'?" I asked.

"To be honest, I don't know. I'm unsure if it will be reconciliation or divorce; I suspect the latter.

"I'm sorry it's come to this, but he's done it once, Mom; he'll do it again."

"Yes, I guess so." Mom burst into tears and almost collapsed. I held her to me until she steadied herself, then helped her to a chair.

Eventually, Mom's tears eased off and her shoulders stopped trembling. When I asked if I could do anything to help, she said she wanted to be alone, and it was then she suggested I visit her Mom for a few days. I agreed and asked if she could call Grandma to explain the situation and the reason for my extended visit.

Grandma Vicky had lived in the city for over three decades with Grandpa, but when he died, she sold the property and permanently moved into their house at the beach. Of course, Grandpa had left everything to Vicky; hence, she had more than enough to modify the place how she wanted: A large tennis court, a vast swimming pool, and magnificent landscaped gardens. It was hardly a 'little cottage by the sea' any more.

If Jamie Lee Curtis had a twin sister, it would have been my grandma Vicky. Undoubtedly, one of her best features was the short salt-and-pepper hairstyle. She was slim, fit, and always dressed impeccably. I'm unsure if Jamie Lee is good in the kitchen, but Vicky is a great cook.

When the door opened, the unmistakable smell of Chanel Five hit me. It wasn't that she had applied too much of the perfume; it was because it was the same scent my mother used. "Hi, honey," Vicky said, hugging and kissing me on both cheeks.

I hadn't planned to talk about home but could not help saying, "I take it Mom's brought you up to speed about her and Dad?"

"She did. I hope your Dad's happy with that pregnant little tramp."

"Pregnant?"

"Yes. Didn't your Mom tell you?"

"No." I was stunned; it hadn't dawned on me that the girl was pregnant. "Are you sure?"

"Yes, I'm sure."

"Wow," I replied, not knowing what else to say.

"Your Dad is such a fool; that girl he's banging is half his age."

"I didn't know that either. I've only seen her from a distance."

"Let's hope your Mom can escape from him soon. In the meantime, you can stay with me as long as you want to."

"Thanks, Gran."

Vicky released my shoulders and stepped back. "If you keep calling me Gran, it will make me feel old. Please, call me Vicky."

"Okay, Gran... sorry, Vicky."

She looked at me from head to toe like she hadn't seen me for months. "I'll make dinner while you clean up. I've made up the guest room. The wardrobe and drawers are empty, and there's everything else you might need in the bathroom."

After showering, I changed into clean jeans and a fresh T-shirt and joined Vicky in the kitchen. The smell of frying garlic and onions made my mouth water. "What are you making?"

"I'm making a spicy tomato sauce to spread on the spinach and ricotta cannelloni I prepared earlier. I hope you like Italian food?"

"Yep, I love it."

"In that case, pop into the wine cellar and select a nice Chianti to go with the meal. Leave it on the table after you've opened it, and let it breathe."

I disappeared into 'the wine cellar' ─ also known as 'a large cupboard under the stairs' in other homes. When I stepped through the doorway below the stairs, I scanned the long rows of wine along one wall: the top row held a variety of Chardonnays. The second was a selection of Sauvignon Blanc, Pinot Grigio and Gewurztraminer. The third, fourth and fifth rows were all reds, Pinot Noir, Shiraz, Syrah, Malbec, Merlot, Chianti and various blends. There were over a hundred bottles of wine along the shelves, plus several unopened cases toward the back where I could see the underside of the stairs.

After picking a Chianti with the oldest date on the label, I returned to the dining room, placed the bottle on the table and called out, "Where can I find a corkscrew, Vicky?"

"Top drawer, right-hand side of the free-standing prep table."

After a quick rummage through the drawer, I found the corkscrew, opened the bottle and left it on the table with the cork alongside. The smell of garlic mixed with tomatoes and mushrooms made me hungry. "What's next?"

Vicky picked up the frying pan and stepped over to the preparation table. She smothered the cannelloni by pouring the sauce directly from the pan into the oven-proof dish that held the pasta tubes. They were soon submerged in the thick red liquid.

"You can make yourself useful, Ray. The grater's in that drawer; I need about two cups of Parmesan to cover this." Vicky pointed at the drawer below where I'd found the corkscrew.

As I grated cheese, Vicky retrieved two glasses from a glass-fronted display cabinet and then the bottle of Chianti from the table. "Have you tried Chianti before?"

"No, never."

"You're in for a treat."

Vicky poured two generous helpings, handed me one and said, "Cheers."

"Cheers," I replied, sipping the best wine I'd tasted for some time. Blueberry and chocolate flavours struck my tongue and made me drool, my mouth awash with saliva. "This is fantastic, Vicky."

"Yes, I thought you'd like it."

When we finished our wine, Vicky said, "Okay, Kiddo, dinner's ready." She opened the oven door, and the smells intensified. The Parmesan had melted across the cannelloni and formed creamy lines between the spinach and Ricotta-filled pasta tubes. We grabbed our plates of pasta and sat at the table.

Vicky looked at me as she was about to fork food into her mouth. "Tell me what's happening in your life, apart from your Mom and Dad splitting up."

"Well, I finished college a few weeks ago and started looking for employment. So far, no luck. I'll keep sending out my resumé; maybe my luck will change."

"What about girlfriends? Are you sowing any wild seeds?"

"Vicky, please." I felt the warmth flush my cheeks.

Vicky smiled; she seemed so excited for a moment, and then what appeared to be disappointment crossed her face. "You're not gay, are you?"

"No," I said impatiently.

"Hey, take it easy, Tiger. I've nothing against gay people; I'm only asking to find out if you're sexually active or in a relationship. Please don't take offence."

"I'm sorry, Vicky. I haven't taken offence. And, to answer your question: Yes, I have an occasional girlfriend, but nothing permanent. I'd like more, but they're not always available. I like sex. There you go, I said it." I couldn't help it; I laughed, and Vicky laughed even harder.

"What about tennis?" The speed she changed subjects made me shake my head and smile again.

"We were talking sex and girlfriends; what does tennis have to do with it?"

"I'm only asking you if you still play tennis; if you do, maybe we can play in the morning?"

"There's nothing I'd like better than a set of tennis with my very fit, good-looking Grandma." Vicky grinned like a teenager.

When we had finished the cannelloni, Vicky stepped over to the refrigerator and returned with a bowl of fresh fruit salad. She placed it on the table before retrieving a tub of ice cream from the freezer.

"Wait till you try these raspberries, Ray; they are to die for."

I tried the raspberries, the ice cream and all the other fruits on the plate, which were delicious. When our spoons returned to the table, I said, "That was fantastic; thanks for a great meal."

"Yeah, I enjoyed it too, and before I forget, I should mention that you're my favourite grandson, too."

"I'm your only grandson."

Vicky reached across the table and touched my hand. "I know; that's why your my favourite."

The wine had made me feel a little dizzy, so I returned Vicky's smile and said nothing.

"I guess we'd better clean up and have an early night if we're going to play tennis in the morning. Agreed?"

"I'd like to try more from your wine collection, but I suppose an early night is sensible."

The following morning, I woke up to the sun and wandered around Vicky's house and the surrounding area. I found a bar I'd never seen before, hidden behind a double doorway in the lounge's back wall.

Obviously, I'd been to Grandma and Granddad's beach place many times but never looked around in any detail. While Vicky slept, I thought I'd check out the garage. It had internal access, enough room for two cars, and plenty of storage around the walls.

I saw a bright red Honda four-wheel drive motorbike against the furthest wall. Granddad had been a keen fisherman and installed a wooden tackle box above the rear mudguard for all his fishing gear. I sat on the bike to try it out. The seat was much wider than I expected, and a smaller second seat behind this finished where the tackle box began. I looked around the rest of the garage and saw Vicky's new Audi. It was white and shiny, but I liked the Honda better.

Vicky eventually caught up with me as I returned from the beach. It had been windy down by the water, and I felt sure my hair was sticking up like a cockerel. As I broke the tree line and walked over the lawn toward the house, Vicky called, "Are you ready for breakfast, Ray?"

"I sure am."

"How does scrambled eggs and bacon sound?"

I grabbed Vicky's hand and playfully dragged her toward the house. "Bacon and eggs sound great. Get into that kitchen and rattle those pots and pans."

We laughed as we ran through the garden like lovestruck teenagers. I fell through the front door in my fake hurry to enter the house and landed on my hands and knees in the foyer. I was out of breath from laughing and had tears running down my cheeks.

"Come on, silly, up you get." Vicky laughed and grabbed my backside to help me from the floor. "You can help make breakfast."

Making and eating breakfast was my first chance to catch up with Grandma in a way I hadn't been able to since Granddad had died. At the funeral, so many people wanted to pass on their condolences to Vicky that it was difficult to even get near her. Then, afterwards, her closest friends tried to fill the void left by Granddad's passing. Of course, this attention did help, and if anything, it slowed down Vicky's grieving process.

"Tonight is the third anniversary of Granddad Bill's death," Vicky said. "Did you know that?"

"I did," I replied. "And I know because I have it marked on my calendar."

"I'm pleased to hear that, honey. I miss your Granddad Bill, and it's good to know others remember him too."

"What do you miss most?"

"If I'm honest, I think the thing I miss most is being unable to talk to someone when needed. You know, someone asking me how my day was or checking to see what I'd done in the garden."

"I know what you mean. There's a big difference between being alone and being lonely, right?"

"That's very observant of you, Ray. Did you learn that from Doctor Google?"

"No, I just know how much it can help to talk things through, especially when you're down. And the same goes for when you're happy; you always want to let people know what made you happy."

Vicky's face became a crooked smile as she pointed at me with her first finger. "You're much more grown up than I ever gave you credit for, young man."

"Why, thank you, Ma'am."

"You're welcome."

"What else do you miss?"

She thought briefly and then said, "Sex, massages and the games of tennis we had."

"What, in that order?" I said, also smiling crookedly.

"No, probably not. I'd say the opposite way around. Tennis, massages and then sex. Yeah, that sounds like the right way."

"Okay, I'll keep that in mind," I said, wondering if I'd gone too far.

Vicky made a dramatic move with her hand, grasped her chin and said, "Speaking of which, when are we going to play tennis?"

"There's only one reason we can't play immediately," I said.

"What's that?"

"I don't have my tennis gear with me."

"Well, we can sort that out in no time." Vicky again looked me up and down, weighing up measurements. "You're about the same size as your Granddad Bill. Let's look at his gear and see if it fits."

Vicky took my hand and pulled me along beside her. We entered her bedroom and branched off to the left into a walk-in wardrobe. "This side was Bill's; the other side mine." She pointed to the closet on the right with her thumb as she turned on the light. She opened a series of drawers until she located sports gear. Pulling out a pair of shorts, she stretched them out, looked at them the way she'd looked at me moments before and said, "Yep, these will fit you." Vicky began pushing clothes on hangers from side to side until she found a Nike top, announcing that this would also work. "What size are you in tennis shoes, Ray?"

"Ten."

"Perfect. Try these." She handed me a box containing a new or almost new pair of Nike shoes.

After changing into the shorts and top, I slipped on the shoes and declared that tennis was on. Vicky changed into a similar outfit to the one she'd been wearing when I arrived. She looked twenty years younger, wearing the short pleated skirt and the open-neck top.

Vicky announced, "Racquets and balls are in the shed by the tennis court. Let's go, Kiddo."

"Hey, Vicky. Before we go, I must ask you something."

"What's that?"

"Did Bill ever take you for a ride on the beach on the Honda?"

"No, he didn't. Why?"

"Well, maybe we can do that after we complete the first set."

"Then what?"

"If we feel like it, we could try a second set, or you could jump in a nice hot bath, and I could provide a relaxing massage, so you recover quicker from the tennis. What do you think?"

Vicky flicked back her hair and refastened it into a ponytail. "Sounds like a wonderful day out to me. Let's go; I'm in a winning mood."

"We'll see about that."

When the set was tied at six all, we went into an exciting tie-break. I let Vicky beat me by the last two points, hopefully without making it too obvious. She felt great about her win, but it soon became apparent that she knew I'd thrown the game.

"Did you get a scholarship to help pay for your university fees, Ray?" She sounded suspicious and exaggerated by rubbing her chin.

"Yeah, why do you ask?"

"What sort of scholarship?"

"I received a part-scholarship by playing in the university tennis squad." I smiled and wiped my eyes with the back of my hand, my racquet held across my face.

Vicky ran at me with her racquet swishing back and forth. "You let me win, didn't you?"

After stowing the balls and tennis racquets in the shed, we walked toward the house from the tennis court. Vicky asked if we should change before our motorbike adventure; I suggested we stay as we were and cool down on the ride. She nodded her agreement and said, "Do you need any help with the bike?"

"No, I'm fine; I've ridden this sort of bike many times. If you grab the remote for the garage, we can drop the door once I'm clear."

I could not move the fishing tackle box without unbolting it from the frame, which would take forever. And there wasn't much room between the driver's and rear seats, so it would be a tight fit when Vicky squeezed herself into position behind me.

"You Okay?" I asked before putting the bike into first gear.

"As Okay as I'll ever be; it just shows how much I need to diet."

"No, it doesn't; you have a great figure," I replied. "Let's face it; it would be a tight squeeze back there, even if you were a teenage girl."

When Vicky finished sliding into place, she laced her arms around my waist and clasped her hands together a couple of inches above the front of my shorts. Then, when I flicked the pedal into first gear, and the bike shuddered slightly, she hauled back against my stomach and pushed her hands toward my crotch. Her bare legs held me in a vice-like grip, and I could feel her warm breath on my neck.

"Don't be afraid, Vicky; I won't do anything stupid or go too quickly. Maybe I could teach you how to ride later; you'd be entirely in control then." My talking didn't seem to help calm her nerves, so I slowly set off down the driveway.

After taking a left and right at the end of the drive, we were only two hundred yards from the beach. The road between Vicky's place and the beach access was not exactly a state highway; it was covered in stones, like many rural roads. I left the bike in first gear until we were over the uneven surface. The only issue with this was the vibration level through the seat and across the fuel tank.

When we reached the beach, I could see the surface was no different to the road. It wasn't like the beach in Hawaii or Bay Watch; it was primarily stones. Of course, there was some sand, but I could see more stones than anything else, so it didn't matter which gear we were in now; the vibrations intensified.

I shouted, "You Okay, Vicky?" so she could hear me over the engine noise.

A low moan came from behind me, and the hands around my waist dropped lower still. Despite the vibrations below my penis and balls, I also detected Vicky's legs squeezing harder against my outer thighs and her crotch working its way into my buttocks. I couldn't help thinking about what it would be like if our positions were reversed.

The tension in Vicky's hands and legs rose; she squeezed with her thighs and pulled my stomach until the muscles ached, and then she suddenly relaxed. I slowed the bike to a walking pace and asked her if she'd like to try riding with me in the passenger position.

"Sure," Vicky replied, standing on the footrests and uncoiling herself from behind me. I pushed down on the right footrest, cocked my left leg free of the saddle and came to rest beside the bike.

"Okay, Vicky, I'll give you a quick rundown of the things on the bike before you get onto the driver's seat." I then pointed toward the throttle grip at the right side of the handlebar. I gave it a short sharp twist to demonstrate; the engine revved higher in response.

I then explained that the right handlebar lever was the front brake, and the left lever operated the clutch. "This foot pedal is the gear lever, and the other is the rear brake." When I asked if she wanted me to go over it again, she suggested I work the rear brake and the gears while she worked the steering, handlebar levers and throttle. I thought this a good idea, agreed with the arrangement and took my position to the rear of the seat. Vicky then mounted the bike in an unladylike fashion, taking her place partly on the front of the saddle but mainly on the tank.

"Pull the clutch in, Vicky. That's the left lever on the handlebar."

Vicky held the handlebars so tightly I knew she would have difficulty steering. I encouraged her to loosen her grip and relax before I tapped the bike into first gear. There was a deep sigh, and then she visibly relaxed. However, having dressed in her very short tennis skirt, the garment was more or less around her waist before she settled between the seat, the tank and me.

When I engaged first gear, the bike shuddered, and Vicky slipped toward the back of the bike. The movement meant Vicky's panty-clad backside squashed my north-facing penis against my stomach. She revved the engine, let the clutch out, and the vibrations from below went through her legs, my legs and made their way to our entwined nether regions.