Hello. My name is Poppy. I'm not an alcoholic although I do like a drink, but it seems that I'm some kind of sexaholic, if there is such a word. Since I turned 60 a few years ago, I just can't seem to stop thinking about cock. I think the turning point came just after that big flood, which just about washed out everything I owned and swept away all my furniture and nearly all my memories.
I had to move in with my daughter and son-in-law and their three kids and either piece together my life or start afresh. Here's how it began...
"Oh Mum." Jane wailed "What are you going to do? Everything gone. All of it. Gone."
I patted my daughter's head as she cried on my shoulder, her tears wetting the new shirt I'd just bought. I sighed. I don't know if it was shock or what but I wasn't feeling anything at the time as we stood in the middle of the wreckage of what had been my home these last fifteen years.
"It doesn't matter love." I said "It's just things. No one's hurt. It's just objects. Things."
"But Mum" she said "It's everything. All your clothes, your lovely furniture, the telly, your books." She lifted her head to stare down at the bare floor. "Your beautiful carpet. You only bought that last year. Muuuuum."
"It's alright love. It doesn't matter." I said pulling her onto my shoulder again so she could cry into her Mum's chest, taking me back twenty years and more to missed dates, dropped boy friends, wedding nerves and birth fears. The only thing missing was the snot which used to accompany any tears, those years ago.
A voice from the open doorway made me look up.
"Come on Mum. Are we ready Gran?"
It was my grandson, raring to go. He'd just passed his test and his Dad said he'd best drive because his Mum would probably wrap the car round a tree, the state she was in.
"Just give us two minutes Hills." I said, noticing for the first time that my grandson seemed to have shot up in the last six months. From being a gangly teen with dyed black hair and those ridiculous gargantuan boots he wore, into a lithe young gentleman, dapper even and incredibly, a noticeable preference for which side he dressed.
Then I realised what I was thinking and walked towards the now empty doorway bringing Jane with me tucked under my arm and still blubbing, and trying to shake those thoughts out of my head.
And so I moved in with Jane and her husband; Mike. Oh, and the three kids. Well, I say kids. There was the middle son Hillary, who wouldn't answer to anything but Hills, who I've already mentioned then there was Benjy who was the eldest at 23 and then the youngest was Claire, 19 and so much like her mother.
Claire was at University so they'd given me her room. On either side were Hills and Benjy and down the hall were Jane and Mike. The bathroom was at the opposite end of the hall.
Ever since I'd had the kids (Jane and Alan) I can't abide sleeping with a closed door.
Now I'm not a prude but it's quite frustrating when young men pass by my bedroom door in the late evening without a care in the world or a stitch of clothing. Or those times in the early hours when a rhythmic thumping can be heard from either of the boys' bedrooms and the occasional squeal of some young lady.
It's not that I've never seen or heard anything like it before but after 5 years there's just so much of it. Not that there was a great deal of it for several years before, so make that about 11 years, and definitely not the variety.
So after about four or five months I was really feeling quite starved. I found myself leaving my bedroom door open a little bit more than enough to hear the kids crying, like in the old days. Enough ajar so that I could watch for naked men or boys making their way across the landing. I found myself staying awake long after I'd gone to bed if I knew that either of the grandkids were out 'on the pull' as they say, and feeling vaguely disappointed if they came home without a girl in tow. My new sex life, after all these years had become voyeuristic and vicarious.
The first time I can remember actually listening was when I was woken from a wonderful dream where I had been making love. I can't remember who to, it's not like I hadn't had a few boyfriends before I married. But in the dream I had been making love and the main thing that I could remember was the grunting noise my lover was making as he thrust himself into me and of course I was thrusting back. I must have been still wearing a jumper or something because I could feel the cotton or wool texture rubbing against my hard nipples.
When I finally woke from the dream I was still vaguely thrusting my hips and then found that the sheets were wrapped about my legs had become tight and strained between my thighs, pressing against the lips between my thighs. I began shuffling and kicking at the loose sheet and found that the action was causing the top of the sheet to rub across my breasts and nipples.
The grunting from my dream though, was still going on. It was coming from Hills' room adjoined to mine and was getting quicker. I stopped struggling with the binding sheet and listened. After a few seconds though I realised that I had started to writhe, to feel the sheet between my legs rubbing against my lower lips and sliding across my breasts.
The muffled sound from next door became quicker and then I heard a girl's voice whispering urgently.
"Don't come in me, Don't come in me."
Then the noises stopped, or at least got low enough so that I couldn't hear. I made a mental note to have a chat with Hills about contraception. I thought better and decided to talk to his mother instead, to see if she or his dad had talked to them about it. I thought better still and decided that it would be far too embarrassing to talk to anyone about this because then they would know that I knew.
I heard the bedroom door open and through the gap in the door saw a shadow flit past. I pulled at the sheet of the bed and accidentally brought a fold in direct contact with my clit which made me gasp and also brought the padding feet to a halt.
I jumped out of bed in the darkness and went to close the bedroom door further. But I didn't close it and stood there with my eye to the small gap. The bathroom door opened, flooding the landing with light and I closed the door further but still kept looking. A few seconds later the bathroom door opened again and there was Hills, outlined in the doorway and as he switched off the light the one thing that stayed burned to my sight was of his erection.
A strange mixture of shame and elation threw me back under the covers of my bed where I pulled the pillows around my head to block out any more sounds of anything.
Then I found that the sex life of my grandsons was a weekly occurrence. Mostly Friday or Saturday nights, one or the other, very occasionally both, would bring home a girl and wake me from sleep. The problem was that it was very annoying. It gave me sex dreams and I would wake up the next day feeling frustrated and alone. That's when my own 'sex' life took a different turn.
My libido had all but disappeared with the menopause and it was only very occasionally that I felt the need to masturbate. I didn't find anything dirty or immoral about it just that I rarely felt the need. Then one night, trying not to listen to the lovemaking in the next room, I'd adopted my effective position; face down with the pillow held across my head.
The position wasn't all that comfortable but I usually found myself curled around the pillow in the morning, which has always been my favourite with no memory of how I got there. So I began to settle myself in as soon as I heard the bed creaking next door.
After laying there in quiet comfort for some minutes I began to feel something actually digging in to me between my breasts. I reached under and recognised with my fingers the top of the pen that I had been using to fill in the cross word earlier. I dragged it sideways and pulled the sharp edge across my nipple. I snorted with the shock then drew a ragged breath.
I dropped the pen top and raised myself onto my elbows to get comfy again, without the muffling of the pillow I could hear the shenanigans next door. I heard the phrase "Oh fuck" quickly followed by a hissing shush. It's not that I'd never heard the word before, but not often from a girl. It was probably the piping voice that shook me, causing me to stop still and accidentally causing my hanging breasts to swing from side to side across the ruffled sheet beneath. A cross between a hum and a moan escaped my lips a tingling sensation enveloped them.
It must have been a combination of the half dream I was having, the pen top, the tension in my arms, the voice, the word and finally the unexpected stimulation of ruched cotton that led me to wait, straining for the sounds I knew would be there.
I pulled the pillow aside and lowered myself to the bed. Belly and breasts flattening into the mattress I began to gently writhe in the bed's uncaring embrace. The indistinct voices from the next room, punctuated with the rhythmic sound of their action penetrating the dividing wall served to increase my own insistence from the divan. My movement shifted my body across the confines and now I wriggled madly as the seam slid itself along my right breast. I dropped my hand to the floor, and with my knee hanging across nothing I began levering myself slantwise, pressing hard and releasing my hot nipple to the rougher edge.
A growl from next door "Come here" followed by an "umph" brought a shallow moaning from my own lips and my thigh slid over the mattress till my knee was on the carpet and the sprung edge had insinuated itself between my thighs, coruscating thrill through my tense flesh and causing dimpled waves to undulate from my backside and wash down my thick thighs.
With growing frustration I arched my back and pushed my hand beneath my belly then pulled at the loose flesh there so that I could press my puss further in and harder against the edge. Lost in the sweat and effort, oblivious to the climactic noise from the next room I frotted and fucked my uncaring lover.
* Some things I hate:
Mirrors. A friend of mine whose daughter is a psychiatrist told me I have a poor body image, which is why I don't have, or rather didn't have, any mirrors at home. With these crow's feet, this belly, that sagging backside and these rib warmers called breasts I tend to think that I have too good a body image. My husband said it was much simpler than that, he said I had a vampire complex. So I bit him. My son Alan's kids still call me vampire nanna.
* The next day, at breakfast, we were treated to the sight of Hills' latest. A sweet little thing who, even though she was wearing her 'clubbing' clothes of the previous evening, was something of a surprise. For one thing she was still here at 10 o'clock instead of disappeared into the misty hours of five, six or seven, discretion being the better part of one-night-stand valour. She was quite chatty and keen, but also polite enough to recognise that other people's homes have certain customs or routines which visitors should adapt to rather than take over.
I warmed to her as we spoke through tea and eggs and bacon. And toast. And cornflakes. And a hard boiled egg.
I warmed to her more, in fact admired her for her honesty, tact and genuine lack of embarrassment when Benjy walked in and sat at the table. "Hello!" she said with recognition and some delight. She looked back and forth between Benjy and Hills. "Are you two brothers then?"
It's not often that Benjy mutters or goes red or shows any sign of discomfort. This particular morning he rose straight from the table red faced and muttered about seeing if there was any post.
Jenny, that was her name, looked at me and with a smile dancing in her eyes, her bottom lip caught between pearly teeth and shrugged her delicate shoulders as if to say that even though this was embarrassing (not for her) she wouldn't be letting it spoil her day. I looked across the kitchen at Jane standing at the sink with a cup of coffee raised to her lips. Her eyes rolled heavenward. I couldn't keep from grinning.
Hills sat down oblivious to it all and started to tuck in to the breakfast he had garnered when Benjy stalked back into the kitchen.
"Four for Hills." He stated, throwing down envelopes onto the kitchen table, "seven for me" he declared brandishing them in front of his brother then walked solemnly to his mother and handed her an envelope "One for Mum." Turning, he looked at the few left and then turned back again "Sorry. Three for mum." He said giving her another two envelopes then he stepped to the table again keeping a rather large distance from Jenny and handed me two envelopes. One marked 'Poppy' and the other 'Vampire Nanna.' "And the rest are for dad." He said "Oh and 'The Occupier', 'The parent or guardian of...' and... They've tracked you down at last mum. Changing your name and moving a hundred miles didn't fool them. Reader's Digest." Benjy put down the small pile on the edge of the work surface, picked up a mug of tea waiting there and left.
Jenny pushed back from the table and got to her feet saying "Well, I'll have to get back and ring for an ambulance." We all looked at her with varying degrees of shock. Jenny grinned broadly and explained "Well judging by these," she indicated the mail we were holding "My postman will be doubled on the path with a hernia." The released tension brought laughter.
'Nice sense of humour and impeccable timing too. I thought.
Jenny turned to my daughter Jane and took her shoulders in her hands then brought her face to Jane's and pressed her chest to her own. Jane looked a little embarrassed, I looked at Hills and he was looking at his girlfriend and mum's breasts squeezed together between them. They were both quite well accoutered in the chestal region and I couldn't help being amused and quite shocked really at the brazenness. Jenny broke the hug and said "Thanks for the Breakfast Mrs Hills." Naming my daughter for her son.
Jenny turned once more and closed the distance between Hills and herself with a couple of steps. She put one arm around his shoulder, pressed her cheek to his and laid her free hand in Hills' lap. "Thanks Hills." She pushed him down as he made to stand and said "'S'okay, I know where the door is." then even though whispered and a table length away I heard "I don't think you can walk in a straight line with this." And I saw her forearm and wrist tighten and guessed that her fingers were making her point.
Hills' sickly grin was a sight to behold. Jenny came towards me and I jumped a little bit too quickly for decorum from my seat for the hug I knew was coming. Jenny didn't disappoint and threw her arms around my shoulders. She pulled me close and tight and I could feel her hard nipples poking at the top part of my breasts. Suddenly for a second or two I was swimming in haze and clinging fiercely to this siren singing a promise of sexual release. Whispered sibilance increased the blood flow to throat, chest and cheeks: "I hope we didn't make too much noise last night."
Hills was watching as Jenny hugged me close. I was trying to look anywhere but into his face which is when I saw the effect all this was having on his libido. When I say libido I mean his cock, which had grown inside his shorts thanks to the play that Jenny was making and her earlier ministrations to that appendage. She asked Hills to say goodbye to Benjy for her and then she was gone and I was falling back onto my chair.
"Well," Jane said to the room at large "she's very... erm... personable."
We all busied ourselves, fumbling with letters and envelopes and taking a keen interest in the calligraphy thereon.
* Some things I hate:
Central heating. Oh it's fine for keeping you warm or not having to dance on cold floors first thing in the morning but it does rather lend an atmosphere of negligence to clothing. Now I'm not a prude or anything but these days it seems to be de rigeur to waltz about virtually naked when at home. I don't deny that it's exciting for someone from my background of muffling sweaters and dressing in the bedroom before venturing downstairs but Lord it can be frustrating watching young men in t-shirts and shorts parading around.
* Hills stood up to leave the table and I swear my glance was entirely accidental, but he noticed and sat back down again, squirming slightly as he did so. I don't think Jane noticed because she was busy tearing envelopes open. Hills decided that opening envelopes at the table might be a good idea for now.
I pulled open a flap of the envelope addressed to Vampire Nanna, which ripped and slid a finger into the gap to tear the rest of it. It wasn't any great detective work to figure out who the card inside was from, given the handwriting and despite the lack of signature. Only a handful of people called me Vampire Nanna. I smiled at the verse inside and looked up to share when I noticed that, although they had opened at least two envelopes each neither my daughter nor grandson were going to reveal their own Valentine's admirers.
The other envelope was addressed To Poppy. No surname. Before I opened it I knew it would be from someone present in the house. Poppy is a family name, most other people call me Penny, Penelope or Mrs. Rindt. When I opened the card however my familiar happiness dissolved into shock and discomfiture under which I was mortified to discover longing and yes, plain old lust.
I looked up to see if anyone had noticed, I must surely be the colour of my name, but what I saw was even more shocking. Hills was looking back at me with a grin on his face!
The grin slid into a frown and became a questioning look, that was when I realised that there had been some kind of mistake. Wrong name, wrong card, wrong envelope, whatever. I tried to recover what little composure I had and waved the card, mouthing the question "You?" across the table. Hills smiled and nodded. I scrunched up my shoulders and mouthed "Thankyou."
Hills turned back to his food and I sat opposite regarding the picture within the Valentine card, it has to be said, with some admiration.
But now I had to decide whether to give it back, if so; how to give it back. Keep it, which seemed a bit icky when I thought about it, or destroy it. I just couldn't bring myself to destroy it but I couldn't think of any way to give it back.
My daughter declared that it was about time she and Mike shoved off for their Valentine's outing which was going to be a long day and I was to expect them when I saw them, but not to wait up, probably not the next night either.
Hills stood up still perusing his cards of the day and seemed to have quite forgotten either a) that he was in his shorts, b) that he was still suffering some aftereffect of Jenny or c) both. I didn't mean to look. I didn't even need to look since I could just open the card again to see, but somehow my eyes were drawn to Hills' shorts, well the outline on his shorts. Alright then, his cock.
I tore my eyes away and glanced at my grandson's face. "Hills?"
"Yes Gran?"
"I was just wondering if..." I really didn't know how to say this "No. It doesn't matter."
"OK Gran." He said and wandered off.
I opened the card again and marveled at the excitement that this picture was generating in me.I'm 60. He's my grandson. It's not right. It's disgusting. I closed the card and laid it face down next to my plate.It's cock I thought snatching it open again.
* Some things I hate. Tights. I really hate tights. They're constricting. They're not at all feminine. They're hot. They're fussy. Theyalways leave a mark on my tummy, especially now that there's more tummy to mark. I hate tights. I won't wear them.
* I never did get a chance to talk to Hills or to try and sort of give back the photo. Besides I still couldn't think of any way to return it that wouldn't be embarrassing to both of us. So I just put it in my purse, behind the photo of my husband, god rest him and went to get my morning soak. Being a lady of leisure, as my son calls me rather than pensioner or retired, I do like a nice long soak in the mornings. When I'm at home I can start the day with this leisure but while staying at my daughter's I thought it prudent to wait until everyone had had their chance in the bathroom.
Now that they were all gone, to their jobs and outings and whatever I was alone.
Now, I'm not a masturbater by trade, just an enthusiastic amateur really, I don't have a secret drawer filled with toys and lubrication, there's very little porn on my hard drive and I'm not exactly enamoured of Mills and Boon, but I do occasionally like the odd session now and again or, like that night and now I come to think of it quite a few nights since I moved in here, the mood does take me sometimes, but not very often in my soak time. This morning was a little different. The hot water and the image still burning in my mind's eye of erect cock, along with an empty house and time to spare had ganged up on me and pushed my wants towards relief.
Looking around the bathroom as my fingers made lazy circles on my belly, occasionally pressing the nails into the flesh there for that added frisson, I became aware of two things, well I saw one thing and that brought back memories of something else.
In my younger days, when sex was everything and I could easily have become a professional wanker I discovered water. To be specific, shower head water. I think I must have masturbated each and every time I had a shower or a bath and I always used the forceful jet of water from the shower head for these times, pulling my lower lips apart and spraying the warm jets directly onto my clit until the day I really needed something inside. No shampoo bottles were handy, my fingers were -- well, my fingers, I needed something impersonal, something to fuck myself with. I needed cock, or something similar in shape. My horny little self needed penetrating and I was actually trying to force the nozzle of the shower head inside and then I realised that it actually came apart.
I turned the water to a smaller trickle and unscrewed the body of the shower head, fumbling in my eagerness to push something inside, to feel something further than my fingers could reach and I was not, definitely not going to try putting my whole hand in there, even though my friend Anna had urged me to try. She'd bragged about how deep and how thick and how wonderful it felt. She had even demonstrated one drunken night and after half an hour had urged me, begged me, to put my hand up her and I admit I did enjoy the experience, fisting my best friend, but she'd passed out on me and frightened me off for life.
So anyway, I'd screwed off the shower head and was twirling it in my fingers, savouring the moment when I'd jab that makeshift dildo inside. I was even talking to it. "You're going to fuck me aren't you? You're going to fuck me hard and deep. You're going to fuck my hairy cunt until I scream."
I was still holding the 'empty' hose of the shower in my hand and was actually thrusting my hips at the upside down shower head, making waves large enough to slop over the rim of the bath tub. I was all ready to start jabbing myself deep and hard with that plastic cock and, going with the flow as it were, found that I was quite astonished at how much I'd worked myself up. Then I was answering "Oh yes I'm gonna fuck you. Fuck you hard you dirty bitch. You dirty wet little --". Wet. That was it. My clit was already being massaged, being hit with a million drops of hot water in a constant stream from the end of the headless shower.
I dropped the head and reached across and turned up the water slightly to make a harder, steadier stream. By then I had my heels dug into the corner of the bath with my shoulders below the water level and my hips high and clear. With the fingers of my free hand I parted the hair and lips of my now, just about, pulsating pussy and trained that stream of water over and across my clit. It was difficult as I began thrusting again, to aim the jet properly but the on-off effect of the massaging water only served to heighten my ecstasy. I came in seconds.
It's been many years since then and I'd almost forgotten it altogether but now I found myself carefully unscrewing the shower head and turning the water to a good temperature to capture again those frantic efforts of more than forty years ago.
Cum slut. Is that a noun or a verb? Both I suppose, well at least for the moment it would be a verb without the necessary adjunct required to make it a noun. No cock, three dots in a triangle, no cum.
I didn't realise how much effort it took to lift up my hips so that I could see my pussy hair, springing now wet and wretched above the surface of the water like a bedraggled cat, pussycat. Hehe. So I let about half the water drain out until I was barely covered. Fortunately I had been lain down long enough that my breasts had flattened somewhat and were resting like two out of breath puppies in the crook of my arms. The flab of my belly had spread across and down so that I need only arch my back a little to see where I would be aiming the water.
I held the nozzle and angled it towards my now pouting pussy, swooshing the stream back and forth, this way and that...
When he comes in I'll say 'Thanks for the Valentine's card." And he'll say 'That's alright Nanna' and he won't be looking at my face when he says it, he'll say it to my boobs. I'll be wearing that halter top without a bra and he'll be staring at my cleavage. When I put it on I'll tie it as low as I can, push my tits into it so that they're nearly hanging over the edge with my nipples just below the seam so that he'll be able to see the areola.
Then I'll say 'Did you mean to send that picture as well?" and he'll say 'Course I did Nanna. I thought you deserved a treat, it must be a while since you've seen one." And I'd punch his shoulder for being cheeky. Then I'd say 'I ought to take your trousers down and smack your bum for that.' then he'd get a bit embarrassed and start mumbling so I'd ask him to lend me his phone while he made us both a drink. When he turned away I'd pull up my skirt and take a photo with it.
When he came back I'd hand back the phone and say 'Just returning the favour.' And he'd just stand there gawping at the picture of my minge framed between two of my suspenders because I'd be wearing stockings beneath my skirt and nothing else.
Then I'd say 'Pictures are alright I suppose...' and he'd look at me and smirk and say 'Well, do you want to see the real thing?' and I'd just nod and he's say 'Ok, but ladies first.'
Then I'd say 'cunt?' and point with both hands at my crotch 'or tits?' and I'd hold my tits in my hand and hold them up making my nipples pop out over the seam, watching his eyes bulge and his ears burn red at my language.
He'd say 'Tits first' and I'd reach round and undo the halter then pull it down to my waist. He'd just stand there rubbing the palm of one hand over his cock which would be thick and hard under his jeans.
Then I'd unbutton his fly and pull the waistband down. It would be a bit difficult and I'd have to wriggle his jeans to get it over his erection then I'd let them fall to the floor and he'd step out of them. When I reach for his shorts he'd step back and say 'cunt first'.
Then I'd go all coy and stand up and cross my arms over my chest and say. 'We shouldn't be doing this. I'm a sixty year old woman and you're my grandson.' Then he'd be all confused and I'd have to egg him on. I'd nod at him with wide eyes then uncross my arms and wave my hands at him and say 'No. No.' then I'd pull off my halter and crook my elbows around each breast so that they were held in view but as though I were trying to hide them and put my hands over my mouth and say 'We shouldn't. I'm far too old for you. You can't expect your granny to show you her hairy old minge. People would call me an old whore.' I'd nod at him and he'd catch on and say 'Show me your cunt or you don't see my hard cock.'
He'd notice the little shiver every time he used a dirty word and say 'Well I've already seen your tits you dirty old cow.' And I'd nod and shiver and he'd say 'So show me your cunt you filthy old bitch.'
Then I'd pull my skirt up slowly, letting him see the stocking tops, the suspenders, the pink flesh of my thighs and finally my hairy old cunt and he'd just stand and stare and moan. Then he'd say 'Right. Better. Now do you want to see your grandson's cock?' and I'd say 'I'd like to see it, but that's all, just looking.' Then he'd get a bit mad and say 'oh no. You've gone too far for just looking you dirty slut.' Then after a minute he'd say 'Well? Do you want to see my big hard dick you filthy old cow?' and I'd reach forward and pull down his shorts and his gorgeous cock would spring out in front of my face and I'd be on my knees in front of him and I'd look up and say 'What are you going to do now?'
He'd just smile and say 'You.'
I'd stand up and say 'No. You can't. I'm you're grandmother. What are you going to do to me?' and he'd say 'I'm going to stick this dick up your cunt and fuck you like you want me to.'
...and that's when I came, bucking my hips and gasping for air as my orgasm swept from my clit, radiating a tsunami of contracting muscles and quivering flesh, through my belly and chest, shaking my head in a hopeless denial of the surge but still and on I kept the stream of water directly on my clit as I barked and huffed my physical joy.
Well there's no harm in fantasy I told myself. But oh, I needed some loving arms.
After I'd cleaned up the mess I'd made of the bathroom I went and got dressed. There wouldn't be anyone home until late evening so I just threw on a shirt and skirt to slob around the house. If I'd been at home it would have just been a housecoat. But, this wasn't my home and it wouldn't be right somehow.
Except for the man that came to read the meters I never saw a soul all afternoon.
Between watching the afternoon programmes on the telly and every now and again retrieving my Valentine to look at occasionally, with my mind wandering where ever it wanted I was so surprised by the knock on the door, and panicking about the photo that just wouldn't go back in its place, that I completely forgot that I was wearing just two items of clothing and answered the door with my tits down to my navel and the fresh breeze playing havoc up my skirt and ruffling the hair between my legs.
As it turned out I didn't need to feel even slightly embarrassed. The guy looked at me once then asked where the meter was. I showed him the way and found myself slightly irritated by the very quick once-over and dismissal.
I know I haven't got a great figure and there are a few wrinkles around my eyes but I don't think I'm completely ignorable. Maybe I'd built myself up in my fantasy this morning. Maybe he hadn't noticed that I was bra-less. Maybe he was gay. Maybe I was just a sad old woman who was wishing I could still attract dick. That last was probably what drove me to it.
I asked him if he fancied a cuppa. Surprisingly he said yes. So while he sat at the kitchen table I marched back and forth between cupboards and worktops swinging my hips, accidentally brushing by him, bending low to look in a cupboard that I didn't need anything from, and making sure that he damn well noticed my tits swinging underneath my shirt and even gave him a glance down my shirt when I bent forward to give him his cup. Then I actually sat opposite him with my legs crossed, showing as much thigh as I dared and batting my eyelashes at the poor sod.
He was honest, I'll say that much for him.
He said straight out "Look love..." then he dragged his eyes from my chest and began again "Look love, tell me if I'm out of line here but are you coming on to me?"
Naturally I made a complete fool of myself and played the coquette. "What if I am?"
"I'll tell you straight love," he said "You are a very good looking woman. What are you fifty five? Fifty six? Doesn't matter. I'd give you one any time and here's the but: I've had this job for three months. I've been married for two. I'm getting more than enough at home and the bosses are very strict about what they call fraternisation with the customers. You've got a nice pair of legs and a fine pair of tits and given any other situation I'd lay you down now across this table and fuck the arse off you. But I know where my loyalties lie. Ok?" Then he took a big swig of tea and sat back.
Good looking? Nice legs? Fine tits? Who does he think - "I'm sixty actually." I said.
We had a nice ten minute chat then about this and that and occasionally the other until he finished off his tea, stood up and said "It's been lovely to meet you, and I mean that and thanks for the tea. And the offer." Then he winked broadly and went out the door.
That quite set my day up, and made me feel quite... energetic. Alright then, horny, randy. The rest of the afternoon was taken up by my regular visit to the hairdresser's. I splashed out on a manicure too, didn't want any raggy nails for later.
It was teatime when I got back and there was still no sign of life in the house so I had some beans on toast, a cup of tea and then upstairs to put on my make-up. I propped my valentine on the dresser and looked in the mirror.
Who am I kidding?
"Actually," I said to my reflection "you're not trying to kid anyone. You've had a nice day and you're going to make yourself feel good, with a bit of chocolate, a little wine and making your life seem worthwhile again. That's all." I smiled at myself, convinced.
I'd laid out the halter top, which had a kind of built in bustiers, stockings and suspenders and a flouncy skirt I'd had my eye on for a few weeks and bought on the way back. No underwear.
Downstairs I settled onto the couch and pressed play on the video remote. A nice quiet evening in and a bottle of Zinfandel. Just nice.
When the credits rolled at the end of the movie I was just emptying the last of the wine into my glass and looking at the clock noticed it was way past my bedtime. No one back at this time, so not likely to be back either. I turned off the telly and stood up swaying ever so slightly which is when I heard the sound of a key being inexpertly tried to find the lock of the back door.
Well somebody's home and slightly inebriated by the sound of it.
I went to the door and raised my voice to ask "Who is it?"
After a second or two an answering voice said "Hill -- (hiccup) Hills."
I took the key from the hook and unlocked the door. Hills fell forward and I instinctively caught him in my arms and helped him stand.
"Ha- Happy Valentine's Vampire Nanna. (hiccup) Nanna Poppy."
"Oh Hills." I said. "Just look at the state of you."
He drew a deep breath and stood up straight. "I'm alright Nanna Poppy. Just had a nice drink that's all." And staggered forward again.
I wasn't sure I'd be able to bear his weight, what with all the drink he'd obviously had and my feet seemingly having a mind of their own too. Somehow we both staggered through the kitchen, me supporting him with his arm across my shoulder and my arm around his waist.
As we arrived at the couch he turned his head and breathed fumes into my face saying "Are you alright Nanna Poppy?" When I didn't say anything he answered himself. "'Course your alright Nanna Poppy. You're Vampire Nanna," then he pushed his face against mine, cheek to cheek "My favourite Vampire Nanna." And he gave me what I suppose he imagined to be an affectionate hug but what in fact was his hand grasping my breast as he crooked his arm around my shoulder.
I didn't move. I daren't move. If I moved he would fall. I held tight to his waist, my whole body trembling both at our precarious balancing act and the sheer thrill of his squeezing fingers. But Hills made his own decision and fell anyway. Onto the couch.
If he fell from there he wouldn't hurt himself, so I went back to the kitchen and noticed Hills' key just outside, I picked it up and locked the door. As I turned back my knees buckled and I fell against closed door, shaking and with my heart thudding. It must have been the wine, but I could still feel the imprint of his fingers. I waited and gathered my strength, breathing hard until I'd calmed a little and could stand straight.
Had I turned him on? Did he really cop a feel? Or is he just drunk and I'm a stupid old woman? Only one way to find out.
I pulled my skirt up and folded it around the waist --band until the very top of my stockings could be seen if I bent over. I leant forward and pulled at the neckline of my halter, letting my titties hang forward so that when I let the fabric go it held a generous amount of cleavage peaking over the top. I looked in the reflection from the microwave. Not quite enough. With one hand inside and the fingers of the other hooked into the neckline again I pushed and pulled until the areolae of both nipples was plainly visible.
I straightened my back and swung my hips as I walked into the lounge. Approaching the couch I spotted my purse and retrieved my Valentine's photo of Hills.
For some insane reason I took the photograph and pushed it up my skirt then rubbed it against my pussy.
"Hills?" I said in my smokiest voice as I rounded the couch "Did you send me --"
I stopped. I sighed. I recognised a drunken stupor when I saw it. The slightly uncomfortable pose. The slack drooling lips. The faintest buzz of a snore.
"Happy Valentine's Hills." I whispered as I kissed him lightly on the forehead and gave his crotch a hopeful squeeze, which brought nothing. Not a murmur. Dead to the world. I smiled with mixed feelings of relief and remorse.
I was putting the photograph back, having wiped it on Hill's shirt and that's when the insanity returned. I stood swaying slightly at the end of the couch inches from my grandson's head but for some reason carefully placed so that should he wake he would have to turn to see me. Then I pulled the hem of my skirt up to my waist to display the bush between my legs and murmured "Look at what you could have won." Then I giggled. Then I swiveled my hips, dancing my crotch above his unwary head.
"How d'you like them apples?" I asked, spreading the lips of my quim with my fingers and thrilling at the snagging of hair. Then I pushed two fingers into my cunt and brought those fingers to my mouth then licked of the ripe juices. Letting my skirt fall I reached and pulled the tie loose behind my neck then pulled the cords downwards to let both titties hang down in plain view. I shook my shoulders making my tits wobble and swing. "How d'you like them melons?"
Making my way up the stairs, which wouldn't behave properly and kept moving from side to side I decided it was probably for the best that nothing had happened and wasn't likely to. He was getting all the cunt he wanted, as I'd witnessed on many weekends and wouldn't want anything to do with a flabby old slapper like me. In the bedroom I put on my old dressing gown, I really must get a new one hardly any of the buttons worked, and went into the bathroom to wash.
When I came out, slightly sobered, I realised that Hills would probably be cold in the night and pulled the duvet from his bed to take downstairs to cover him up. When I got to the top of the stairs I yelped when I saw an unexpected figure coming up, unfamiliar because it was crawling very unsteadily one step at a time and was struggling against both the alchohol and the fact that his shirt was falling from his back and his jeans were around his knees. I laughed out loud and Hills looked up in bleary focus.
Come on Jen, don't laugh, help me upstairs."
Jen?
I threw the duvet back on Hills' bed and walked halfway down the stairs to meet him. By this time he'd crawled out of his jeans and was wrestling to remove the shirt. Once again I put my shoulder under his arm and an arm around his waist and held on to the banister rail with the other.
"Come on then Hills."
"Up the wooden hill." He laughed. "Wooden hills."
We stood up and with Hills sliding down one side and his arm around my shoulder pulling the other way all the buttons on my dressing gown pulled open. What the hell. I thought, he's not going to notice my swinging tits, the state he's in and he's going to have to fall over and look up to get even a peek at my hairy minge which was effectively hidden below my stomach. So we struggled up the stairs like some kind of skittish naturists one step at a time.
When we reached the top of the stairs, despite our bedraggled state and the absence of remotely sexy clothing and no make up I found myself actually quite turned on. Dragging a half naked, drunken man up the stairs and me with most of my wears on show brought back a very faint memory and I found that the insides of my thighs weren't rubbing but sliding across themselves due to the trickle and dribble of honey juice building in my quim.
As I stood on the top step, with Hills sagging at the knees on the step below I let go of the banister rail and grabbed his wrist, then swung my hip behind his to give him impetus for the final riser. Then I found that I'd inadvertently, or at least I hadn't planned it, well not on purpose, but my dressing gown had slipped around so that my naked hip was planted firmly against Hills' backside.
I dipped and stood clinging to Hills' arm and then found that I was pressing his open hand against my naked breast. Hip to hip and hand to breast we paused so that we could catch our breath I told myself. So why am I pressing his hand so firmly onto my tit? Why is my hip sliding and making as much contact as possible with the cotton of his knickers and the muscled flesh of his thigh?
Somehow, some little while later, we got to Hills' bedroom where he collapsed and was snoring before I'd even eased the kink out of my back. To do this I'd placed the fingers of both hands in the small of my back and arched backwards to ease the muscles there. What I noticed I'd also done was open my dressing gown wide and if anyone were to walk in now, or if Hills opened his eyes, they would see an old woman flashing her wrinkly tits and waving her hairy cunt at a half naked boy.
The thing is, the thrilling glorious thing is, at that moment I didn't actually care. I was just so excited at the thought of being caught that I stood there exposing myself, almost willing him to open his eyes and see his naked granny gyrating in his bedroom.
Now I was definitely going to have to find something to frig myself with, give myself another virtual fucking.
I turned towards the door but stopped in mid step when I remembered something from a first aid course or book or something. An unconscious person needs to be laid in the recovery position, especially if puking is a reasonable or likely occurrence. So, tutting at my sensible self I turned back to put Hills in the appropriate position. I pulled his arm across his shoulder, raised his knee then put my hand on his shoulder, my other hand on his hip with my forearm along his thigh and his knee crooked in my elbow then pulled and with very little effort Hills rolled easily onto his front. Unfortunately this also rolled him perilously close to the edge of the bed, in fact his knee and arm were off the bed altogether. I pushed him back again and except for snoring he didn't make any other sound, or even seem to notice all the manhandling he was being subjected to. So much for him waking and catching me in flagrente.
All the rolling and dragging had somehow maneuvered Hills so that only his body was on the bed, his feet were on the floor and his arse was half off the bed too. I know I'm fairly strong and Hills doesn't really weigh all that much, but I could see that if I was going to get him on to the bed I would be quite sweaty before I'd finished and would probably need another bath. That thought and the shower head in mind spurred me to take on the task.
It may seem odd, given my on off arousal of the past hour but when I reached for his hip again to move him it was the first time that I'd actually noticed what lay beneath his knickers, or that he was anything other than my grandson that needed to be comfortable in his own bed. Now the insanity was creeping back. I was leant over a young man, well a young man's cock to be precise with my tits swaying back and forth not inches from where it lay. He hadn't made a muff with all the dragging about had he? Would he respond now if I just took a quick look? Just to satisfy myself that the picture in my purse was of the one in front of me now.
I edged around so that I was in front of him now and pushed my hands along the underside of his thighs, across the muscles of his backside and hooked my fingers in the waistband of his knickers. I tugged slowly so that they slid across his arse and all the while a rather less drunk and horny part of me was screaming. "You can't do this. You're sixty years old. This is incest. If it's not illegal it's definitely immoral. Stop. Stop now. Don't do it."
My hands and eyes were as oblivious to that voice as Hills was to the rest of the world as I eased his knickers over his arse and then pushed my hands back again to cradle that bare flesh in my palms.
"What would he think if he woke up now to find his granny mauling him? He'd run screaming and he'd never talk to you again. He'd sit in the pub and tell all his mates that he was raped by his dirty old grandmother. Stop it now. You can't do this.
I slid my hands around his hips and let my fingers glide across his stomach feeling the fine darkening hair on the palms of my hands. When I curled my fingers again into the waistband the voice ordered:
Don't you dare pull down his knickers."
I pulled down his knickers.
Put them back on. Pull them back up
I pulled them along his thighs and off his legs.
Right, that's it now, he's undressed and you can roll him up the bed to sleep.
From his feet my eyes traveled up and up his dark haired shins and calves, to his knees and on upwards past the warm insides of his thick thighs.
You've done enough. You don't need to look. It's just the same as all the other cocks you've seen. Don't look.
I didn't look, I stared. I devoured the sight of his young cock, laid limp across his groin above the thick haired sack of his balls.
You've had your look. Now you can leave. You can lie in your own bed and be ashamed that you even thought about this.
It was just a cock. A prick. Very similar to every other that I'd seen. But that's because it was soft. Not at all like the photograph. Even the balls were shrunken and smaller. So I still couldn't be sure. Of it's own accord my hand, which had been resting on Hills' thigh began creeping and sliding towards his groin. I vaguely wondered if it was true that even if the mind is unconscious, the prick has a will of its own.
NO the voice screamed. It's disgusting. Don't even think about touching it. Don't you dare dream about getting your own grandson hard. Making his cock stiff and his balls swell. You can't even be contemplating making that young, thick cock come to life in your fingers. Feeling the blood flowing through those blue veins and standing straight and strong in front of your own eyes, at your own hands.
While my hand traversed the distance between Hills thigh and his flat stomach I leaned slowly forward until my cheek touched his thigh and I felt the stiffness of my nipples scratch and graze his shin as my breasts flattened against his warm flesh.
I turned my hand palm up and scooped my fingers beneath Hills' cock then lifted my hand to see it. Nothing seemed to be happening. It was just limp prick. My lips blew softly rippling and flattening the hair surrounding the base of his shaft and around his balls. Was something happening? Hills' cock seemed to be getting warmer against my hand. I snaked out my tongue and circled the very tip along, across and around his balls and curled my fingers so that they were just touching the outside of his dick, then I'd be able to feel if it grew thicker or slid along my fingers if it rose in height.
Sure enough, thanks to my hot breath and very loose clasp I watched as his cock enlarged before my gaze. Before very long my fingers were being gently stretched apart as the shaft thickened and elongated across my palm.
I gave it a squeeze and lifted my head to lick once from Hills' ball sack up the length of his now familiar prick and then got to my feet ready to push him onto the bed and cover him then do the decent thing and leave him to sleep.
But standing caused a coolness on my inner thighs, I looked down and saw the slick film of pussy juice there and the insanity came forward again, this time with no dissenting voice.
It's a prick and it's ready. If I'm facing away it doesn't belong to anyone I know. It's just anonymous cock. And I need it in me.
To be on the safe side I locked my eyes on Hills' slack unconscious face and took hold of his rigid prick. I wanked it gently a few times then more vigorously so that the skin pulled over the head of his shaft revealing then hiding the deep coloured glans beneath.
Encouraged, elated and a little bit miffed that I hadn't and wouldn't wake him I turned opened my legs and straddled Hills' thighs. Throwing back the trailing folds of my dressing gown like some concert pianist sitting on his perch I then reached between my legs and pulled the cock straight, to point upwards and at my wet cunt anticipating a symphony performance.
Careless now of anything that happened further I growled "Oh fuck" as I arched and slid delicately to surround that cock. I set my hands on the bed, either side of Hills' hips and burrowed his shaft deep inside me.
Whilst I wiggled my hips, just to feel the almost already orgasmic sensations pulsing from having cock up my cunt I paused. Was that a noise from downstairs? Unbelievably I was distracted from this long sought fucking by my own imagination. Guilt? Fuck guilt. Fuck me. and I almost howled as I withdrew deliciously from smothering that shaft.
I paused again at the top, balancing and straining both my muscles and my hearing for any sound at all. None, nothing, no one there. I literally fell to fucking my hard won anonymous cock, reveling in my first proper penetration in God knows how long.
I was almost delirious with joy and the unused but familiar sensations percolating from my engorged cunt to the scalp on my head. Then I did hear a noise. Voices and treading on the stairs. Not now came the now carnally engrossed separate voice. It's ok. the voice assured me. Don't make any noise and they won't hear you. They won't look in and they won't find out.
But now I was terrified. So why was I still sliding up and down this greasy shaft? I was actually trembling from fear of discovery. That they would open the door and find this old bitch riding her comatose grandson like a dirty slutty old whore. But still I continued fucking that marvelous dick. Still gorging my filthy hunger with his hard cock.
The voices became more distinct as they drew closer and I recognised Benjy's deep tones answered by a fluttery high pitched unguessable voice.
Oh God. Oh fuck. They're going to come in and catch me fucking Hills. and still I carried on.
The other voice said They're not coming in. Even if they do, when you see the handle turn just stand up and turn around and explain that he's drunk and you're getting him into bed.
And how do I explain his hard on?
It's a piss hard on.
How do I explain the cunt juice?
Don't let them see.
Oh fucking hell. Then I almost growled again as I plunged once more and a shattering flood of gut wrenching, muscle tightening spasms swept through me making me quake and shiver.
The voices receded along with my orgasm and I stood on trembling legs to wonder at the sheer excitement that was still coursing through me at the thought of being caught in the act.
Now bravado caught me and I shucked my dressing gown to stand completely naked in my grandson's bedroom almost daring someone to walk in and see me nude standing over Hills' still rampant prick as I wrestled his body into the middle of the bed. Before I turned him over I planted a kiss on his cock head and gave it a suck then I turned him face down as I originally intended into the 'recovery position' taking care and great delight in adjusting his glistening cock beneath him.
I threw the duvet over him, picked up my dressing gown and strode through the door. Each step down the stairs bounced my naked tits against my ribs and I exulted in the cooler air I walked through. When I reached the living room I flung my arms wide and twirled through the darkness lit only by standby lights and what leaked through the curtains from the lamps in the street, flickering and glittering on my sweaty, glowing body, highlighting my bare breasts and puffy pouting cunt.
I picked up my purse and made my way back to the stairs. When I looked up my bravado fled and left me shivering and nervous but relieved that guilt and shame had not yet made their mark. I pulled my nightgown around me and crept as quietly as possible to my bedroom where I slept the sleep of the sated in my sweat and slick juices.