Age Indifference Pt. 02

AUTHOR'S NOTE: I want to take just a moment to say Thank You to the folks that sent comments on Part l of this series. Most were positive and even those less favourable at least struck a conciliatory note. I will refer to one in particular, the writer saying they'd skipped parts of the sex scenes because "They seemed . . . a little bogged down in minutiae." Again, thank you, and while that may be the case, Holly (and please excuse her for this) is a bit of a detail freak and really likes to 'set things up.' She struggles to just lay out the bare facts: "We got in bed, did it, and both came. It was good." However, I will see if I can't encourage her to tighten up the story line a wee bit going forward (although this episode may not prove to be the best example of that). Great to hear from you! Keep your comments/suggestions coming.

* * * * *

She was old even back then; a derelict, fat and squat and in the eyes of most, ugly (the word used if the viewer happened to be feeling benevolent. But PopPop's eyes were different, and though people said he was crazy he was certain she was worthy of salvation. When he found her hiding in an equally derelict shed on the Sunshine Coast, forgotten and forlorn, PopPop used a vision shaped by compassion and love -- a look I know intimately -- to see beyond her rough shell. With his determined attitude, he committed to giving her back a useful life; certain he could fix whatever was broken.

His love affair with Miss Suzy began little more than a year after his wife had died suddenly of an undiagnosed cancer, and almost a year to the day before I was born to his teenaged daughter. He tried to connect the mother's death to the daughter's acting out and has never spoke badly of her even though, after popping me out -- I was apparently a quick birth, she promptly dropped me in his lap and just as promptly disappeared. PopPop's life was suddenly quite complicated and neglect (unintentional as it was) was again the bane of Miss Suzy.

But tonight, two decades plus since his eyes first saw her and his mind dreamed of what could be, I lay wrapped in the warming embrace of this marvelous man and that of Miss Suzy. Once an unwanted derelict, this old tug has been lovingly rebuilt, painted, stained and polished over many years. Her diesel heart thrums a soothing beat and she rocks us in the gentle swell of a rising tide. Outside, spring has blustered in with a last gasp dump of wet, weighty snow but we know not of its presence and would not care if we did.

A glance at the clock shows it's almost 4AM, and rolling over and up to sit astride his hips, the bed clothes fall away. The chill in the cabin goes unnoticed, Each tick of the clock is a measure of his growing hardness and my pussy releases a wetness to welcome his fat cock's entry. As I synch my movements with those of Miss Suzy there's an almost imperceptible shudder through the hull; an indication perhaps that the old gal knows her rocking plays a significant role in the pleasures being enjoyed by this granddaughter and her PopPop.

Though I rode him slowly, rhythmically, concentrating on making our coupling last, I still pulled the trigger three times; wallowing in shuddering waves of release with each. Shortly after number three we maneuvered our bodies to begin a 69 session that brought us both the ultimate happy ending. My mouth filled with warm cum, I swirled the globs with my tongue to savour the tangy taste before swallowing. PopPop licked me clean then rimmed my asshole as a final gift. Now, ask me why I love him!

The morning sun was doing good job of chasing the shadows from the surrounding mountains, and standing in the galley I watched through a porthole as an eagle glided across the glass-like surface of Rock Inlet and snatched a fat salmon. We were about to make the quick jaunt across to Shearwater for fuel before settling for a nine hour crawl up the Dean Channel to Miss Suzy's berth in Bella Coola. (Like a lot of BBW, she's more about comfort and less about speed!) We'd spend another night onboard before tackling the 10-hour drive home.

Sleeping in the next morning was nice, but it meant a late start and so darkness was well established when we pulled into the driveway. Other than a cooler packed with ice and our ocean catch, everything else was being left in the truck. Gear could be stowed and laundry done later.

Entering through the side door, directly into the kitchen, I flicked on the light and stopped cold at the sight of dirty dishes in the sink and the makings for a PB&J sandwich on the table. PopPop came up behind me and voiced my thoughts exactly: "What the fuck . . . .?"

Like in that familiar tale, a quick search led us to find 'Goldilocks' sleeping the sleep of the just in our bed. But big difference: The fairy tale's flaxen-haired beauty had been supplanted by be a wild and randy brunette who, prodded awake, loudly proclaimed she was "just warmin' the sheets in case, maybe . . .?" My BFF Sara was on scene and totally ready to make the hours ahead exciting and enjoyable, thank you very much! For two people dog-tired from a day-long drive, this gal was determined to make us forget about sleep.

When PopPop and I had first talked about having Sara come visit, I'd told him about some of her unique "skills" while emphasizing my intent to seriously limit her one-on-one action with him. To be clear, Sara and I have been buds for some time and so she's known PopPop, whom she endearingly calls 'Pops,' just as long. She moved away on an "I'm gonna be a rock star" quest (but instead emerged as a now much sought after studio musician), and though we talk constantly -- at least a couple of time a week -- her visits have been few and far between. Those reunions have been special, intimate, "us girls" times that trace back to my first "Sara eats my pussy" experience that produced an absolutely amazing orgasm, the memory of which still kick-starts my juices.

Reaching into her bag, Sara produced a small flat tin containing a nice selection of tightly rolled doobies. A flick of her lighter soon had us sharing hits of (she called it) 'Sour Diesel.' Its aroma and somewhat pungent taste proved the name pretty accurate. "This shit'll kick up yur energy level by more than a notch or two," she stated, adding "and your cravings for 'sweet thangs' will go way up as well."' We mellowed, only a little, before the promised effects took hold.

Sara showed her usual lack of modesty with a naked stance at the side of the bed while I sat, somewhat transfixed I suppose, as she deftly worked to bare PopPop to her sight. There was no fumbling, just anxious haste as she peeled away shirt, slacks (he graciously lifted his ass to help) and then reached to tug down his briefs. "C'mon Pops. Let's have a look at . . . . Holy she-it!" she exclaimed as it came free. "What-a-gorgeous-meat-sandwich! Put that between two lips and savour slo-lee!" Her eyes glistened with lust as she looked at me: "Just gonna have to forgive my fat ass darlin' girl, but I'm gonna have me some of that," the last words came out somewhat garbled as; "howv mwe shum'v thut" as her mouth quickly filled with cock.

On her knees with ass high, Sara displayed a delicious opportunity for me so I moved round and slid between her legs on my back. Reaching up I encircled her hips, pulling them down so her wet pussy was right in my face. There was a muffled yelp when I nipped her clit with my teeth; a less muffled obvious sigh when I ran my tongue down the length of her slit, and an audible gasp when I sent it searching the inner sanctum of her vagina. We were three acting as one. The fun had begun!

The fact that Sara and I have been casual lovers helped her fit almost seamlessly into the love relationship between PopPop and me. She was sharing, caring, and intent on focusing on the satisfaction of all partners, and her participation made the next two days delightful. We snuck in a little sleep, snacky bites to eat, and saw the number of doobies in her small flat tin dwindle (although not to the point of running out). And of course there was a constant shuffling of positions and partners so that no one was missing out on matters of pleasure.

I have made the point that I seriously intended to limit Sara's one-on-one action with PopPop, but sometimes, well, sometimes the best laid schemes . . . often go awry (to paraphrase Robbie Burns). The bottom line is that when someone is really good at something, and you're akin to a dud, it's really best to step aside and let the champion strut her stuff. The simple truth was that though PopPop and I had tried, valiantly, to do anal it had just never happened. Ah, but Sara, a PAWG in the truest sense, took him in her chocolate speedway as easy as slipping a greased sausage into a buttered bun (a rather fitting analogy I'd say!) The girl was good at what she did. They shared the anal slip and slide probably three times while I made minor contributions: adding a clit rub, a massage of his balls, or a combination of both to their couplings. The result, again, was no one missed out on matters of pleasure!

It was when PopPop and I first connected sexually that I finally came to understand the very real difference between fucking and making love. The acts are not the same! The terms are not interchangeable! "The last time we made love he fucked me in the ass," or "I fucked her slowly as we made love," are both total contradictions! Making love is not fucking! Fucking is an act in which one person's pleasure is, or becomes paramount to the wants and needs of a partner. The point I want to make is that the unselfish sharing during our time together was, in a word, LOVE-ly. Alas it was far sooner than we wished for Sara to take her leave. An album session to which she would contribute her incredible musical talents was waiting, but plans were in the works for us to reconnect. Soon!

I am, I should tell you, a yoga person in the most casual of ways with just a few of the basic poses in my repertoire, the "Downward Dog," "Cat-Cow," and "Happy Baby" among them. Truth is, I started fucking (literally) with a lot of these long before I ever knew they had any connection to yoga. So, a dull rainy Saturday and having worked up a healthy sweat, I folded myself into the Child's pose, a tight tuck that brings almost instant relaxation. Emptying my head of random thoughts and on the verge of falling asleep, I sensed as much as felt hands rubbing my butt cheeks, fingers walking between my thighs to touch, rub, massage my clit. It was almost dream-like, but I wasn't dreaming the spreading wetness in my leotards. PopPop's touch was soft and gentle, and as is usual, definitely arousing. His hands worked their magic, moving from ass to pussy to stroking my back, then cupping and caressing my tits. I really wanted to suck him but our positioning barred the way, so I settled for fondling his balls and (with an awkward arm twist) stroking his cock.

Whether it was or not, instinct will get the credit for my deciding to move into the Cat-Cow pose. As I unfolded and rose to hands and knees, PopPop pulled my leotards down and immediately began licking, kissing, fingering. PopPop rimmed me while soaking two fingers (maybe it was three!) in my pussy. Suddenly, with one motion, he pulled his hand back and I felt a single well lubricated digit slide into my asshole. I moaned -- then gasped as a he doubled up; now two fingers were in that tight hole. Surprisingly, to me, I felt only slight discomfort. Positioned at my side he worked the fingers in and out while encouraging me to relax. His voice was comforting and I found it easy to do just that.

When he moved behind and over me I rounded my spine toward the ceiling bringing him in tight, then dropped my belly (effectively changing my back's shape from convex to concave) to raise my ass. "I want to try again PopPop. I want you in my ass so badly. I really want to…" then I felt him start to push in. Why we'd never found success before I have no idea, but maybe my determination to have it happen simply overcame my body's resistance to having my asshole gapped. And oh yeh, it hurt, big time! The whinin' and the cryin' unabashedly uttered in response were the real deal -- Goddamn it, it hurt! -- but I like to think the tears that accompanied his entry were much more ones of joy. Watching his expression of ecstasy -- no other word comes readily to mind -- when he coupled with Sara, each time, drove me to have him experience the same with me. And perhaps it was my focus on overriding the pain that kept me from cumming, but that ended when he flooded my hole with a huge load, and his final thrust brought my own release.

Hurting but happy, I knew that PopPop would not have to rely on Sara alone for his anal dipping and that it would certainly be an important part of our love-making going forward. I slipped into an easy, restful sleep, and dreamed; strangely it might seem, of another time, another place, and of Sara.

But that's another story!

Be Kind. Be Calm. Be Safe.

Love,

Holly