"Fuck Me Now," My Grandmother Urged

A quick scene from me this time. It's unedited, etc., so there will be errors. Apologies for any fuck-ups in the text.

I've disabled voting and comments on this. I'm bored with the yada-yada from trolls and others who complain I didn't write the story as they would have preferred it. This is the scene I wrote, so...

And it's only supposed to be fun so taking it too seriously can't be good for a person.

Anyway, thanks for reading.

GA - Cambridgeshire, UK - 25 April 2021

***

The dark, clandestine excitement rippled through me when I saw her step out of the caravan. The arousal was a heavy draw down in my root, desire tugging my vitals while my cock thickened and grew with urgent need. I knew it was wrong. Inside my head, on a logical level, I understood the sin.

But what I felt inside overwhelmed any and all notion of morality instilled in me by my parents.

I was hot for her body, eager to see her all bare and lovely again.

As I watched, and with those illicit carnal desires bubbling within, she tilted her face towards the sky, closing her eyes as she took a moment with the sun on her face. It was 10:30 a.m. and already warm, the promise of another high blue sky and sunshine no doubt drawing her to the dunes. There was more to her motivation than an all-over tan. I would find that out later. But, for me, on that bright August morning, my mind was full of how I could spy on her ripe, voluptuous, mature, and very aesthetically pleasing body.

"Just off for a walk," I called as I watched my grandmother put her sunglasses on.

Then she hefted the blue shoulder bag higher on her shoulder just as my mother said: "Bloody hell, that's three days in a row. What's the matter with you?"

It was good-natured banter from my mother. She was in the bedroom at the back of the van, the one next to the caravan my grandmother and grandad were sharing.

"There's a lot to see out in the dunes," I said, which wasn't a lie. The main attraction for me was my own grandmother, my mother's mother, naked and working on her tan, big tits swaying whenever she changed position as the sun moved across the sky.

"Don't get sunburned," my mother called as I opened the door to the outside world.

My grandmother was moving at a fair clip, sandals strapped to her feet, hem of her light summer dress twitching, calves smooth and tanned, hips swaying as she went through the gate at the end of the park. I could see the blue water stretching off to the horizon, the blades on the windfarm towers flashing with reflected sunlight as they slowly turned some distance offshore. As I followed, anxious and eager, I saw my grandmother's shoulders and head move beyond my sightline, the path down to the beach steep and narrow, a chokepoint I needed to be mindful about in case she turned and saw me lurking behind.

It wasn't so urgent because I knew her spot. I'd spied on her for two days in a row so far and was confident she'd be in the same place. But there was always a chance she might know a couple or more private places where she could strip nude and take on some sun, which made me impatient and put me closer to her than might have been wise. Still, I got away with it and, after ten minutes of trailing my grandmother along the meandering sandy path, I watched from a dune about twenty yards away, hiding behind clumps of rough gorse which clung to the sand with tenacious fragility.

"Oh," I breathed out loud when she lifted the summer dress over her head.

My grandmother had laid out the large towel, using her bag as an unnecessary weight in case an unlikely wind blew up. She was in a bikini, the two-piece a year or two too small, and even from that distance I could see tit-flesh jiggling, the cups of the bra struggling to hold my grandmother's large boobs.

I sighed as lust lurched deep inside me while I stared at my grandmother and, with her back towards me, her feminine shape setting a pulse through my cock, gooey pre-cum seeping into my underwear, she hooked her bikini briefs with both hands, showing them down past her knees. That action meant she angled at the waist, rump thrust back at me.

Which is when I lost it and hauled out my cock. It was a reckless move, crazy because I was close to the narrow track while my grandmother had some shelter from view down in the concave bowl between the dunes.

I gawked and tugged at my dick, wild with desire, my focus on my grandmother as she unclasped the bikini top and, for a couple of unforgettable seconds, her big tits swayed and swung until she settled onto her front. I wanked, slowly caressing my length while my grandmother wriggled and eventually settled, skin shiny with the sun lotion she must have applied before she left the caravan.

I was so absorbed in what I was looking at and the sweetness of the sensations that I didn't notice the man until he was a few feet away, the dog on its lead, for which I was grateful because the huge brute set to barking and snarling at about the same moment I spotted the man from the corner of my eye.

Then it was chaos: dog barking like it wanted to rip my throat out while the man, after a couple of beats where we stared at each other, set off yelling at me.

Fear was a visceral squeeze down in my guts, the response doubled because of the dog and also because a quick glance into the dune showed me my grandmother was up on her knees, a hand at her eyes like a salute.

As it all kicked off, the man yelled: "What the fuck do you think you're at!"

"I'm sorry," I babbled, repeating it three or four times as I shoved my erection into my shorts.

"Fucking dirty little cunt," he was shouting while the dog kept of snarling and frothing at the mouth.

With the panic rising inside me I saw my grandmother was wrapping the towel around her waist.

"I've got to go," I said to the man.

"I'll set the dog on you," he said. "You stay there, you fucking perv. I know what you were doing. I saw."

As he said it he managed to hold the crazed animal with one hand, lead straining as the dog jumped and snapped it's massive fangs at me, murder in its bark, the man fished a mobile phone out of a pocket in his trousers.

The sight of the phone upset me more than the dog as I blurted: "No, what?"

"I'm calling the police," he said, fumbling one-handed at the device.

As he did it I saw my grandmother was walking up the incline towards us, towel around her waist, a forearm and one hand over her breasts while she shielded her eyes from the sun.

"Caught this one spying," the man called out as my grandmother approached. "Won't tell you what the dirty sod was up to," he added. "But I reckon you can guess."

I gawked at my grandmother, vaguely aware my life as I'd known it was over. Humiliation washed over me in a hot tide. I imagined it all in an instant, in less time than it took to blink I calculated all the anger and outrage coming my way. There'd be scorn and disgust, my mother would make a fuss. I could just see the snot and tears, hear the wailing and the shouts.

Then, as it was going through my head, and with the shock of it in her face, I saw my grandmother mouth: Run.

She accompanied the word with a s quick flick of the arm she didn't have across her boobs, reinforcing the instruction with a jerk of her head.

Then she mouthed it again, turning to focus attention on the man while the dog barked and yanked at the lead.

A moment later, I was off, sucking in air, heart beat in my ears while I kicked up sand and sprinted away from the scene of the crime.

I yelped when I heard the man shout something about the dog, vulnerable at my calves and buttocks as I imagined the slavering beast taking chomps at the flesh.

I was close to blubbing as I made my frantic escape, charging along the path with no clear destination in mind as I swerved down into the dunes, desperate to get clear and away from that huge-fucking-dog.

I blundered along for a minute or more, swerving and jinking, eventually looking back, relieved to see the immediate danger to life and limb wasn't loping along behind me on four hairy paws.

God ... Oh fuck," I gasped as I dropped down into the sand.

I sucked in air, close to hysterical laughter as the adrenalin surge started to cool. Then I sobered up quickly, delight at escaping replaced by dread at what was going to happen next.

With the fear on me, I stayed where I was for as long as I could stand it. There was no shade and it was getting on for midday. The sun beat down. I was thirsty and worried about burning, the combination working to send me in a reluctant direction towards the caravan park. As I went, I wondered if my grandmother was still down at the dunes or back at the van. Would there be a hostile reception waiting for me or did I have time to pack, leave, and join the French Foreign Legion?

As it was I crept closer to the neighbouring vans, anxiety churning my guts as I tried to suss out if I was already in trouble or if I had a short time of normality left before it all went to shit.

"Ah, there you are," I heard my grandmother say.

The first thing I said was: "I'm sorry..." Then I was going to add more but she cut me off with an impatient shake of her head and a gesture towards her caravan.

"Be quiet. Not now," my grandmother said. "Get in there. I want a word with you."

She snarled at me to do as I was told when I blurted a: "But-"

"In there. Now. Stop messing about," my grandmother hissed. "Davey, get a move on, she added. "Before someone sees."

I did wonder what she meant by that but was too ashamed and cowed to ask and, a few moments later, we were in the van, curtains drawn against the sun, the air unit running so the sweat on me started to cool straight away.

"So, tell me," my grandmother said.

She glowered at me, stern, arms folded.

"I'm sorry," I said, mumbling it out.

My eyes skittered away from her face, heat flaring in my cheeks.

"I knew someone was there yesterday," my grandmother said. "I just didn't know who."

"Please," I gasped.

She blurted a laugh, the sound nasty and dangerous. "You're going to tell me just what it is you think you're doing," she told me as her arms fell loose to her sides. Then my grandmother gestured with both hands, her demeanour all about how she couldn't believe what a pervert I was. "I mean, spying on me? Davey, come on. You know that's about as bad as things can be. You do know that, yes?"

I gulped, swallowing down on humiliation, guilt, and remorse.

"No," my grandmother snapped when I said I was sorry again. "I don't want to hear that, Davey. What I want from you is the truth. A reason. God, come on, just be a man and admit to what you were caught doing."

"That bloke," I gasped at the reminder.

"Sorted," my grandmother said as she held up one hand, palm out. "No need to worry. He didn't call the police."

"The dog," I said.

"Mm-hmm, you're lucky he didn't let it go. It was going wild."

She shrugged when I asked: "Uh, how did you stop him? The police ... He was pretty angry."

"Never mind that," my grandmother said as she folded her arms again. "Let's stick to the subject."

"I didn't mean it," I told her, eyes on the tops of my training shoes.

"What you didn't mean to spy and do dirty things?" My grandmother paused and then added: "I'm your grandma, Davey. What were you thinking?"

Humiliation, guilt, and self-loathing rose inside me again. It was a nightmare scenario and I knew it wouldn't end. I'd altered the relationship between us because I couldn't control my urges. I thought she was going to hate me forever.

"I'm sorry," I wailed, repeating myself.

"I expect you are," my grandmother said, softer in her tone. "Look, sit down. We can have a talk about it."

I didn't want to talk. I felt like going down to the beach and setting off swimming for landfall to the east: Germany or Denmark, either would do. A new country, language, and a new life.

"Come on," my grandmother crooned.

I followed her to the banquette set around the table, which was itself fixed to the floor. I was reluctant, ashamed and in pain.

"All right," my grandmother sighed, settled on the banquette. "So, a question for you, Davey..."

I braced myself for the inevitable interrogation, guts swirling with the chagrin.

I wasn't sure I'd heard her right when she first asked, so I looked at her and said: "What?"

When my grandmother sighed again the sound came out exasperated as she rolled her eyes. "I said, do you think I'm attractive?"

My eyes flicked up from the top of the table, pausing on her frontage for a second before I dared look at her face.

I knew in that instant she'd seen the pause, but the smirk that twisted her lips was a surprise.

"Uh, yeah, I suppose so," I said, confused by her look.

"I'm fifty-eight," she said, confusing me even more by the irrelevance.

"Right," I said as I tried to make sense of what she was saying.

"I thought that might seem incredibly old," she said with a half-shrug.

"I dunno," I mumbled in reply.

For some reason that brought a bright peal of laughter from my grandmother. "Oh, Davey," she said, a hand covering mine. "Your face ... Listen, you're not in trouble. I'm not going to tell."

I'd heard it described as a weight lifting off a person's shoulders, which is just what it felt like to me. The relief, the rush of joy and disbelief were immense, the pressure of guilt and fear immediately leaving me feeling lighter, more buoyant, hope a quick rush.

"Oh," I gasped, gawking at her. "Gran, thanks," I said on a sigh as I slumped against the backrest on the banquette.

"Mm, all right," my grandmother said as the smirk shifted to leave her expression intent.

I gulped and sat up straight, immediately aware of the shift in my grandmother's demeanour.

She winced and quickly shook her head when I asked: "What is it? What's wrong?"

There was sadness in her face as she paused and held my stare with her eyes.

"Oh, Davey," my grandmother murmured. "I'm going to tell you something..."

She said it and paused, leaving my head whirling with impressions and questions.

The pause turned to silence between us, the pressure building in me until I was about to ask what was on her mind when my grandmother sighed again, her eyes slipping towards the table.

Then, with a strange anxiousness on her, she said: "Well, you see, I knew you were there. Today. Watching."

When I let out a small gasp, my grandmother glanced at me, attention going back to the table, the words tumbling out as she explained. "I didn't know it was you," my grandmother said in the rush. "Just that someone was up there. I saw you yesterday..."

My grandmother waved a hand in a frustrated, impatient gesture as she tutted and said: "Well, I saw someone. Like I said, Davey, I didn't know who it was. If I'd known it was you I would have covered up. I wouldn't have just laid there and..."

My grandmother had bee staring at me with a tortured expression in her eyes. Then, when she paused again, her eyes fell away, attitude about her own shame.

"Well, I suppose I wouldn't have just made an exhibit of myself," my grandmother added, her troubled attention back on my face. "God, I can't believe I just let a stranger look at me. Naked and everything. Then I find out..."

My grandmother stopped talking, sighing again as she stared at me like she wanted my input.

It dawned on me in the few seconds of silence which followed that my grandmother was trying to make sense of what had happened. It was like she was asking for my understanding, even forgiveness - which came across as strange to me in those early moments because I was the guilty one. I was to blame.

"I'm sorry," I said on a whisper.

As I said it, the hand covering mine gave a squeeze.

"You don't have to keep saying that," my grandmother said. "I shouldn't have posed. It doesn't matter who it was looking, I shouldn't have encouraged it."

"I shouldn't have spied."

My grandmother chuckled and pulled her hand away, expression suddenly sly.

"But you did," she said.

I couldn't look at her as the shame flared inside me again.

"And we can't take it back," my grandmother added.

I shook my head, still not looking at her.

"So, listen, I want to tell you something, Davey."

There was something in her tone that brought my attention to her face.

"Maybe there's this woman," she started. "Middle-aged but maybe she could be considered attractive."

My grandmother gave a half-shrug as she said it, eyes glazing over as though the thoughts leading to her words were coming in from a long way away. It was like she wasn't talking about herself, which is probably what she was going for. The way she told it was like a story, that she was a character in a film or a play or a book. It was fascinating to me right from the off. I sensed there was some revelation or explanation in what she was going to say. Which is why I kept quiet and held myself very still as my grandmother talked her way through it. I didn't want to upset her flow, the words coming out low and with occasional pauses as she considered whet to say next.

"Married," my grandmother continued. "Two adult children. Three grandchildren, too. She thought she was happy. That everything was sunshine in the rose garden. But, well," she went on with another half-shrug, "perhaps her husband, the man to whom she'd been married for close to forty years ... Hmm, well, perhaps this woman found something out. She started to notice some odd behaviour about a year ago. Her husband, I mean. Well, at first she shrugged it off. Put it down to paranoia. But it kept on niggling and, one day - and she's not proud of this, Davey," my grandmother said in a moment of clarity, focus on my face for a couple of seconds before she drifted into that half-state again. "But she might have been obsessed by a need for answers she knew she wouldn't get by direct confrontation. So, one day she looks at her husband's mobile phone.

"Turns out he's not very clued-in to technology. He thinks he's deleted messages and even images ... But, of course, he hasn't.

"So the woman sees absolute proof her husband's seeing other women. Women, Davey," my grandmother emphasised as her focus cleared again. "Plural. Not just a woman, but at least three."

With denial on me I realised she was talking about my grandfather. I didn't want to believe it. It upset me to know the equilibrium in my life wasn't true. Suddenly reality shifted under my feet and I just didn't want to believe her.

"It was a shock," my grandmother was saying.

I'd tuned out for a few moments, struggling with the news, her voice pulling me back to the present.

"She didn't know what to do. For a little while she couldn't think. But, somehow ... Survival instinct perhaps? She managed to muddle through. It was amazing how she could be two people at the same time." My grandmother chuckled and even gave a wry smile before she added: "Perhaps not so amazing? After all, her husband had been doing that for quite some time it seems.

"So, anyway, she muddled through and even went on holiday with the family..."

My grandmother's expression cleared again as she stared at me.

"She stayed in a caravan with her husband, her daughter and son-in-law right next door. Her grandson was there as well. Good-looking boy. Tall, fit, handsome."

My eyes dropped from my grandmother's stare as my face started to burn.

I heard her chuckle but couldn't look up.

"Anyway, so, I think you get the picture now, Davey. That's why I let that stranger - you - look at me like I did. I was down there primarily because I wanted to be on my own to think about things. I can't let this situation continue. This thing with your grandad is eating away at me. I wanted to lie there and thin, to try to come up with a plan.