Sometimes It's Hard

* 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.